DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Six - Home, Sweet . . . Dilapidated Shack?

The porcelain tiles of the shower wall were cold against his back, a complete anthesis to the hot water pounding against the top of his head. Staring at his toes, lost in thought, Harry allowed the pounding spray to wash away three nights of filth and blood. In his head, he questioned the choice he'd just made. He had done many stupid things in his short life, but this little stunt might actually take the cake. With a heavy sigh, he pushed away from the wall and straightened, lifting his face to the warm water. The hammering spray almost managed to drown out the loud banging on the door of his rooms; an insistent knocking he'd turned a deaf ear to since it began. Just when he was beginning to ponder Hogwarts seemingly endless supply of hot water, the pounding stopped.

Withdrawing his head from the stream, he turned his face in the direction of the door and listened. A relieved smile curved his lips when silence met his ears. With a quick flick of his wrist, he turned the water off and stepped from the shower, reaching for one of the towels draped across the counter. He stared at the mirror hanging over the sink for a long minute, his reflection hidden beneath a thick layer of fog. Slowly, he leaned forward and swiped a hand over the glass, revealing himself in the misted oval. Although dark rings circled his eyes, he still looked the same. Still looked like the same Harry Potter he'd seen in every reflective surface for the last sixteen years of his life. Carding his fingers through his hair, he offered himself a small smile before striding out into the bedroom.

He halted at the foot of his bed and picked up the white shirt that was neatly folded upon the duvet, the cool air raising goose bumps along his arms as he struggled to drag the fabric over his still damp skin. Reaching for his boxers, he carelessly tossed the towel aside, glancing at the small silver clock sitting on the night table beside the bed as he dressed. "Shit", he breathed at the time displayed upon the circular face. Sliding his feet into his shoes, he grabbed his school robe and swung it over his shoulders as he left the room, slowing only to slip the Gryffindor tie free of the doorknob before swinging the door closed on his heels.

Stopping in front of the couch, he flipped the tie over his head and settled it into place with an efficiency borne from years of practice. He gave his pockets a quick pat in search of his wand, swearing angrily when he realized it wasn't where he thought hed left it. Wheeling around on his heels, he scanned the room desperately, slowing only to peer at the clock sitting on the mantle. "Fuck," slipped from his mouth when he accepted the fact he was going to be late for his first class of the afternoon - Potions with the Slytherins.

A silent snarl curled his lips at the thought of seeing Snape for the first time since his incarceration, a throaty growl working its way free of his chest. He stiffened at the sound, clamping his lips together to halt the flow of air from his mouth as he listened anxiously, searching for the wolf inside his head that had been absent since he first ingested the Wolfsbane Potion. He nearly shouted in joy at the aggravated murmur that brushed its way through his thoughts. His eyes fluttered closed as he gave silent thanks to whomever may have been listening, tipping his head back as he listened to the animal's wary grumbles.

Smiling to himself, he remembered his wand was on his desk and rushed over to pick it up, snatching up his book bag and heading for the door as soon as it was in his hand. He nearly tripped over his own feet when something clattered loudly against the glass of the room's only window. Whirling to face the unknown threat, he unconsciously bared his teeth and dropped his bag to free his hands. The sight of Hedwig perched outside the panes had him rushing forward, his fingers fumbling at the latch in his hurry to allow the owl entrance. In his haste, he nearly knocked Hedwig from her awkward perch on the narrow stone ledge, forcing her to flap her wings to recover her balance.

"Sorry, girl," he murmured in apology, pushing the window open and stepping back. He trailed after the owl as she floated across the room on silent wings, frowning at the sight of her unusually ruffled feathers. Brow furrowed, he ran a light hand over owl's head, murmuring soothingly when she shifted away from his touch. Internally pondering the cause of the damage, he carefully freed the parchment bound to her leg, jumping back when she immediately leapt into the air and shot out the window.

Stupefied over the owl's hasty departure, Harry crossed to the window, unfolding the paper as he watched her disappear in the direction of the Owlry. Shaking his head in confusion, he lowered his gaze to the note. Written in dark ink, and a barely legible scrawl, the note read simply:

10:30 p.m.

Hog's Head

Frowning, he flipped the note over, searching for a name or date, and finding nothing. He pulled out his chair and collapsed onto the hard wood, setting the narrow slip of paper amid the school assignments and quills on his desk. His eyes remained glued on the missive and he absently straightened the curling edges with the tips of his fingers, puzzling over the lack of date. Inside his skull, the wolf murmured the answer, making Harry draw a deep breath and close his eyes. For a moment, he actually considered ignoring the whisper, taking the message to Hermione instead and letting her come up with the answer he wasn't ready to accept. Because there was no way he was ready to meet Fenrir Greyback tonight - the night after the full moon when he was feeling admittedly weak and most definitely betrayed.

The dark-haired wizard dropped his chin into his palm, laying his hand over the note as if able to erase its existence with a mere wish. He may have asked the rogue werewolf for a meeting, but he hadn't expected Greyback to reply immediately, and he certainly hadnt expected that meeting to be on the same day as his request was sent. Why, he hadn't even had time to talk himself out of the entire thing yet. Sighing, he swiped a hand over his face and rose, crushing the note in a curled fist and tossing it in the direction of the hearth as he moved toward the door. He may as well show up late for Potions, because the detention Snape was sure to give him couldn't possibly make his day any worse.

XxXxX

Unfortunately, Harry had forgotten how fate loved to screw with him. After walking into the Potions Classroom and disrupting Snape's lecture on why Gryffindors lacked any brewing skills whatsoever, he discovered that the only unoccupied seat was located next to Malfoy at the back of the room - and currently occupied by the blond's feet. His eyes closed briefly in disbelief before he accepted the fact he was going to have to sit next to the Slytherin. Teeth grit, he ambled over to the empty chair and without so much as a growl of warning, yanked it from beneath Malfoy's heels.

Much to the disappointment of the class, his actions failed to garner a response from the blond. Other than the soft grunt he made when his heels connected with the floor, Malfoy neither stirred nor snapped. The group nearly groaned aloud at the unusual lack of hostility from the Slytherin.

Harry, on the other hand, found himself feeling strangely relieved over the other wizard's lack of response - both physical and verbal. With a soft exhalation, he flopped into his freshly acquired chair, giving Malfoy's feet only a passing nudge as he stretched his legs out beneath the desk. He dumped his bag on the floor next to his seat and folded his arms across his chest, assuming a position very similar to that of the blond napping in the chair beside him.

"Are you quite comfortable, Mister Potter?" Snape sneered into the silence. His harsh voice caused an immediate wave of shifting as everyone whirled around to face the front of the room, attempting to appear like they'd been listening to him for the last three minutes.

Barely able to suppress a growl of hatred, Harry gave a tight dip of his head and replied, "Quite." His voice emerged as a rough rumble, the sound finally drawing a response from the apparently dozing Slytherin sprawled beside him.

The soft rumble that vibrated the blond's chest would have been inaudible to the human ear, but to Harry, it was as clear as the ticking of the clock on the far wall. Immediately, the wolf roused, its heightened senses overwhelming Harry's muted ones. In a heartbeat, his entire being was focused on Malfoy, from the pumping of his heart to each flutter of the blond's nostrils, the dark-haired wizard missed nothing. For that reason alone he was able to detect the new but now familiar smell that clung to the blond's skin: the smell of wolf and fur. The discovery widened his eyes and caused his body to tense.

Malfoy, in turn, stiffened. Though his posture remained relatively relaxed, his knuckles whitened where they curled around his elbows and his jaw clenched. One silver eye slitted to closely observe the raven-haired wizard beside him, waited for further action beyond the anxious tensing of muscles.

Harry swallowed and glanced nervously about, hoping that the almost tangible tension swirling around the back table was going unnoticed by the individuals sitting at the surrounding desks. Slowly, he forced himself to relax, uncurling his fingers and drawing in a deep calming breath. He placed his hands on the desk in front of him, focusing his gaze on the blackboard behind Snape while his mind raced. It was true, then. Malfoy really was a werewolf. The wolf whispered a snide 'I told you so' within his skull, though its attention never really left the wizard seated beside them. He didn't believe, however, that the other male would react, at all. Reacting meant possibly exposing himself.

Any reluctance Harry had felt over believing the wolf was gone, confusion and surprise having replaced his hesitancy. Part of him wanted to confront Malfoy, the other part was unwilling to risk possibly exposing himself in the process. Inhaling deeply, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to appear calm and relaxed. Beside him, the blond shifted, easing deeper into his chair. For the remainder of the class, the pair sat quietly next to each other, cautiously attuned to the other's movements.

When Snape finally dismissed the bored group, Harry was one of the first to flee the room, not bothering to wait for Hermione who was gesturing wildly in his direction. His muscles eased as soon as he was free of the room. Nearly sighing at the feeling, he stepped out of the steady flow of students and glanced in the direction of the Potions Classroom, watching for Hermione to appear. He couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at the disgruntled look on her face, her displeasure at being ignored obvious.

"You could have waited for me", she grumbled, hefting her bag higher on her shoulder. Shooting him a narrow eyed look, she slid a proprietary hand through his arm and proceeded to tow him down the hall, muttering under her breath the entire time. When she was finally forced to slow her hectic pace due to a pack of Hufflepuffs lingering in the corridor, she shot him a look from beneath her lashes, her lips pursed. "Well, how was it?"

Harry glanced away, avoiding her gaze. "It was okay," he mumbled, shifting his book bag into a more comfortable position. They reached a narrow section of hallway and he urged Hermione ahead of him, glad she couldn't see the expression on his face.

"And Remus? He was there?" She asked, curiousity colouring her voice.

Harry's teeth clamped together, his knuckles whitening around the strap of his bag. The wolf growled at the mere mention of Remus's name, the sound thrumming within his throat. "Don't say that mangy bastard's name in my presence again," he hissed softly, his eyes flashing angrily.

"Harry," Hermione gasped, sounding startled and scandalized all at the same time. The witch peeked over her shoulder, stumbling slightly at the deadly gleam in the dark-haired wizard's eyes. She paled when the orbs flickered, the emerald turning a dark shade of jade.

Harry shook his head, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his bag. "Leave it alone, Hermione." He said in a terse whisper, pushing past the witch and climbing up the dungeon stairs. He wasn't ready to talk about Lupin's betrayal or abandonment, because she wouldn't understand. She'd make the appropriate excuses, try and pat him on the head and assure him that everything wasn't as it seemed. But it was, and he knew it. With a frustrated rumble, he lengthened his stride, leaving the witch calling his name in the middle of the main corridor.

XxXxX

The Hog's Head was exactly as Harry remembered it; heavily shadowed and encrusted with filth from the floor to the ceiling. Nose wrinkled in disgust, he scanned the tavern carefully, giving the single pair of patrons a suspicious glance before shifting his gaze to the shady barman leaning against the grime-covered bar. He flinched when the door thumped closed behind him, the thud breaking the heavy silence shrouding the pub. Squaring his shoulders, he prowled deeper into the room, skirting around several of the dirtier tables in favour of one near the back that appeared reasonably clean. He absently adjusted the hood of his cloak as he slid into one of two chairs pulled up to the table, barely avoiding the grimace that threatened to curl his lips when his hand slid through something sticky.

He'd left Hogwarts under his invisibility cloak, taking one of the secret passages into Hogsmeade and then making his way to the Hog's Head. The most difficult part of the entire venture had been slipping away from Hermione, who had been sticking close to his side since his blow up on the dungeon stairs. Knowing he looked it, he'd told her he was tired and going back to his room. The excuse had sounded weak even to his ears. With a sigh, he dropped his eyes to the table, realizing he'd owe the witch an apology tomorrow.

Soft whispers brushed his ears, hints of the resumed conversation occurring between the pair on the opposite side of the tavern. Studiously avoiding the barkeep's gaze, Harry fingered a shallow groove in the stained wood of the table, idly wondering if the dark smudge to the right of his pinkie was dried blood. The creak of the door's hinges and a rush of cold air heralded the arrival of another patron, once again bringing silence to the pub. Hands knotting into fists, the dark-haired wizard lifted his gaze and stared at the cloaked individual, his nose twitching as the swirling air brought him the smell of wolf. Swallowing, he straightened, his movement drawing the werewolf's attention in his direction.

Fear sent his heart lunging into a frantic gallop, caused his knuckles to whiten where they gripped the edge of the table. Drawing a deep breath, he pushed the fear down and lifted his chin, watching the tall male glide purposefully toward him. Against his will, a warning growl slipped from his mouth, the sound causing the other werewolf to slow his aggressive prowl forward. His nails bit into the table and he inhaled sharply, his nose filling with the smell of wolf and stale beer. By the time the cloaked male arrived at the table, Harry was nearly shaking with his nerves and almost gasping for breath.

"Get up," the tall werewolf ordered, staring down at the raven-haired wizard from the cowl of his cloak. He turned his head in the direction of the bar, casting an intense glare at the openly observing barman, the look alone enough to send the grungily dressed wizard stumbling to the opposite side of the room.

Harry stiffened, not at the order itself but rather the voice that issued it. Mouth falling open, he slowly lifted his chin, peering calculatingly up into the hood of the individual standing over him. His lips moved soundlessly, his eyes narrowing before he shot to his feet, reaching out to seize the other wizard by the front of his cloak. Unfortunately, his hands grasped empty air and he stumbled forward, the tall male easily sidestepping his lurching form.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" Hissed the tall werewolf, swinging around to keep the other male in front of him.

Whirling around, Harry snarled savagely, his hands fisting. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" He snapped back, slapping at the still swinging folds of his cloak to settle the dark fabric. His lips drew back from his teeth, flashing delicately pointed incisors.

Lifting a single brow, Draco planted a hand on his hip. "You asked for this meeting, didn't you?" He barked, his mouth twisting into a familiar sneer. The squeal of wood upon wood turned his attention to the duo seated across the tavern, his brows drawing down as he gave a sharp shake of his head.

"I did!" Harry hissed loudly, curling his hands into fists, "But I thought I was meeting Gr-." He clamped his teeth together at the blond's growl of warning, his blazing orbs swiveling to the seated pair silently watching the unfolding drama. Sucking in a calming breath, he shot the other wizard an angry look before stalking toward the door. The cold lash of winter air struck his face as he slammed out into the night, making it no further than six steps before a hand closed around his forearm. His fist was already swinging when he spun around, its trajectory on level with the blond's chin.

Malfoy was quicker, however, dodging the punch and ruthlessly shoving the dark-haired wizard to the hardened ground. "Do you honestly think he'd risk getting captured merely for your benefit, Potter? Consider yourself lucky he even agreed to such a dangerous meeting." Chest rapidly rising and falling, the blond stared down at the other male, his hands clenching and unclenching as a rumbling growl vibrated within his throat. "I was sent to lead you to him. Come with me or stay here, your choice." That said - or rather growled - Draco turned on his heel and slipped silently into the night, leaving Potter sputtering in the snow.

Sprawled on his backside, Harry glared up at the stars and silently wondered 'why him?'. With an unhappy grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and followed Malfoy's scent through the darkness, internally considering the chance that this was a trap and he was about to die a very bloody and painful death. Ripped apart by a pack of crazed werewolves, he thought, or worse, beaten bloody by Malfoy. Fighting down a shudder, he trailed the blond away from Hogsmeade, slowing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Stay close," Draco murmured, one shadow among many.

The warning came as a surprise to Harry, the whisper chasing away some of his lingering trepidation. Warily, he moved forward, his eyes darting from left to right, searching for danger among the thick trunks and snow laden branches. "Why you?" He asked finally, the question having been plaguing his thoughts. Overhead, the moon shone brightly, lighting a path only Malfoy seemed to be able to see. His brows drew down at the other wizards silence, his mouth opening to repeat the question just as the blond opened his to respond. He closed his in deference to Malfoy, waiting patiently for an answer.

After a moment of hesitation, Draco responded, his voice sounding oddly rough. "I'm expendable," he said quietly, a bitter laugh following the simple statement.

Harry's eyes widened at the somber declaration. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice emerging as a whisper. If there was one thing Harry had never been, it was expendable. He was always protected and babied, shielded from the worst of the world. Not once had he ever thought of Draco Malfoy as expendable, though. The other wizard was the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune, Harry figured that made him pretty much irreplaceable, but perhaps he'd been wrong. Frowning, he concentrated on placing his feet in the blond's boot prints.

Draco didn't bother acknowledging the apology. Without glancing back to make sure the raven-haired male was still following him, he glided deeper into the forest, winding his way between the trees and deeper banks of snow. They finally reached their destination, a completely insignificant section of forest unremarkable in any way. The only reason the blond was certain he was in the correct place was the scent of Greyback and other members of the pack that lingered in the air and clung to the surrounding pines. "We're here," he breathed.

Harry scanned the wooded area, his nose twitching at the strong smell of wolves. With a nervous look over his shoulder, he circled around Malfoy, heeding the wolf's whisper for caution. "There's no one here," he said in confusion, wondering if this was the part where Malfoy kicked his ass and buried his unconscious body in the nearest snowbank.

"Are you so sure of that?" Draco asked quietly, turning slowly to the left. A smile curved his lips as he bowed his head, locking his gaze on the ground several inches to the right of the pair of boots that had appeared there.

The smug purr in the blond's voice turned Harry's head, widening his eyes at the tall figure standing shrouded in the shadows. He took an involuntary step backwards and bumped into something, a startled gasp spilling from his mouth as he whirled around. The sight of a second imposing figure standing directly behind him caused a sharp yelp to spill from between his lips, the sound curling the tall male's mouth into an amused grin.

"Well done, Draco," the shadowy figure said in praise, sliding forth from the heavy darkness to stand in a ray of moonlight. In the faint glow, Fenrir Greyback smiled, revealing pointed yellow teeth. A delighted chuckle rolled from his mouth at the expression on Harry's face, and he exchanged feral grins with the other two werewolves who had slunk into the clearing on his heels.

Draco bowed his head, acknowledging the words even as he shifted away from Harry. "Thank you, Fenrir," he whispered, shooting a dirty look at the werewolf flanking the older male.

"They weren't followed," the tall blond standing to the right of Greyback reported, curling a lip at Draco in warning.

Harry stiffened at the exchange, his eyes narrowing on the new arrivals. A soft sniff told him that he had indeed met the pair before, on two separate occasions. The most recent of which was in the Hog's Head. It was the second - or more like the first - meeting that caused a growl to rise within his chest. He'd run into these two blonds in Hogsmeade before Christmas; they'd been escorting the hazel eyed brat who'd bitten him. His attention was forced from the taller male by Fenrir, the werewolf's voice interrupting his thoughts.

"Excellent news," Fenrir Greyback said in a jovial tone, ambling closer to Harry. His gaze swept the young werewolf from the top of his shaggy locks to the dark toes of his winter boots, an absent nod of approval sending matted hair spilling over his forehead. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to finally meet you, Harry Potter, and I can't even begin to express my happiness at your eagerness to meet me."

"I'm not-" Harry began, but he stopped when he realized he didn't know how to respond. He gave an abrupt shake of his head, glancing in Dracos direction as if seeking help unraveling the misunderstanding.

"Oh, I know," Greyback murmured, circling Harry in a predatory fashion. "They sent you running into my arms - Dumbledore and his precious Order. How extremely unfeeling of them, especially considering the fact Lupin's been a wolf longer than you've been alive. And it was his rejection that hurt the most, didn't it, Harry? His words that bit like a rabid dog? But how can you expect someone who doesn't even love themself to love you?"

Harry blinked at the logic, staring at Greyback with shimmering emerald orbs. His lips moved, but he uttered not a single sound. In his head, the wolf grumbled, but its words were buried beneath Fenrir's question, the whisper becoming a taunt that looped itself around his mind. How can you expect someone who doesn't even love themself to love you?

"But I digress," Fenrir said, giving a wave of his hand. "What can I do for you, Mister Harry Potter?"

Swallowing, the dark-haired wizard drew himself up, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin to an arrogant angle. He pushed the voice inside his head down, burying it far beneath the wolf, allowing the animal's intelligence and ruthlessness to consume him, because that was the only thing that would allow him to carry on this charade. "I want to know what's in it for me," he said, "Joining you, I mean."

Greyback halted in front of Harry, the smile he wore growing until it encompassed his entire face. "Smart boy," he said softly, his golden eyes shifting to the heavily cloaked werewolves waiting impatiently in the shadows. "That's a long discussion, though, one that should be had beyond the reach of any prying ears that might be about. Andrej, Steve, we're going home. Draco, bring Potter along with you." Giving the dark-haired wizard a last hard considering look, Fenrir stepped back and then vanished, his silent departure sending a wall of snow washing over Harry. The other two werewolves disappeared in much the same fashion.

Slowly, Harry turned to face Draco, staring across the short distance between them. He didn't think he was ready to go home with the crazy werewolf he'd just met. As far as he was concerned, he'd fulfilled his quota of stupid-stuff-to-do for the day several hours ago when he'd slipped out of Hogwarts without telling anyone where he was going.

"Where's your Gryffindor courage?" Draco asked softly, his silver eyes glowing eerily in the darkness.

Harry's gaze dropped from the blond's glowing orbs to the hand encased in black leather held tentatively out to him. This was the second time he'd been offered that particular hand; once it had been extended in friendship, and now it was offered again, though the reason behind its appearance was unclear. Drawing a deep breath, he walked forward and slid his fingers into the blond's. He caught only a glimpse of the other wizards' smile before the familiar tug of apparition jerked at his navel.

XxXxX

Harry landed on his arse in a pile of snow, his fingers slipping through Draco's. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the blond's amused chuckle as he knocked the clinging flakes from the back of his robes. When he was done, he glanced curiously around, his brow furrowing at finding himself standing in a small clearing in the middle of nowhere. "Where are we?" He asked, breathing deeply of the night air. The inhalation brought him the smell of smoke and wolves, the scent strong enough to stir his own wolf's interest.

"Half a mile to the north of the Glen," Draco stated, pointing in said direction. "We'd best hurry, they'll be waiting on us now." He set off on a well-worn path tamped in the snow, heading in the direction of the house shared by Greyback and his pack. Snow began to filter down through the bare branches stretching overhead, the first flakes settling silently upon the earth.

"Is he really crazy?" Harry asked, more to fill the silence than anything else. Though if anyone ever did ask him, he'd admit to being slightly worried that he'd agreed to meet a mad man about a potential job without first conversing with Hermione, his sometimes conscience.

Tipping his head back, the blond eyed the dark sky thoughtfully. "Moon Mad," he finally replied, brushing snow from the shoulders of his cloak. "The closer it gets to the full moon, the more intense and unpredictable he gets. You've met him on a good night, though, the night after the full moon. He's tired now, more tame than usual." His gaze dropped from the black expanse above to the surrounding forest, his attention returning to the path they followed. He slowed marginally, allowing the dark-haired wizard to draw even with him, eager to see his reaction when he laid his jade orbs on The Wolves Glen.

Harry eyed Malfoy curiously, growing nervous at the look of anticipation the blond wore. Lights appeared between the trees ahead, the soft glow emanating through the night. They rounded another bend in the path and he halted abruptly, his mouth falling open as his gaze landed on the structure that stood atop a small hill above a narrow expanse of meadow. He swallowed loudly, staring at the decrepit old farmhouse that could hardly be considered standing. There was a gaping hole in the sagging roof and not a single pane of glass in the windows remained unbroken. White paint was faded and chipped, exposing rotting wood that had seen better days. The chimney, or rather what remained of it, leaned away from the house on an angle very similar to that of the front door. What may have once been a cozy front porch now resembled a death trap, the fact it was still standing a miracle in itself.

A sudden thought struck Harry, perhaps this was a magical house, something like the tent they'd used during the Quidditch World Cup. Merlin's balls, the dilapidated shack made the Burrow look like an architectural masterpiece. Swallowing again, he hurried to catch up with Malfoy, preferring to follow the blond into the wreck than be forced to wander in alone and inadvertently injure himself while attempting to climb the crooked front steps. He placed one hand on the railing at the bottom of the stairs, releasing it almost immediately when it wobbled within his grasp.

"Hurry up, Potter," Malfoy said, though his voice was laced with laughter. Giving a shake of his head, he dragged the front door open and glided inside, leaving the portal wide open as if daring the dark-haired wizard to follow him.

Standing at the bottom of the steps and pondering his chances of survival, Harry listened to the conversation occurring somewhere within the old farmhouse.

"He's weak."

"He reeks of Wolfsbane."

"He's dumb."

"He's young."

"He's Harry Potter."

That last one was said with a large amount of disdain, enough to make Harry's lips pull back from his teeth angrily. They were judging him, again, without having met him first. A snarl rolled from his throat. They were just like all the rest, expecting things from him without even having met him.

Show them, the wolf rumbled, show them who we really are.

The smile that appeared upon his lips was decidedly malicious, the gleam in his eyes matching it perfectly. Bending his knees, he leapt up onto the porch and prowled into the darkened interior of the house, not knowing who or how many werewolves were inside, but perfectly prepared to show them exactly who they were dealing with.

XxXxX

A/n: I know its been a long wait, but I've been busy - the same excuse I use time and time agin. I wish I could take the time to acknowledge every one of you who takes the time to leave me a thoughtful review, but unfortunately that would take me a while. So, thanks for all the wonderful comments and critiques!