Author's Note: I'm sorry this is so short, but I needed to separate it from Chapter Six. Enjoy. :P

A note on the wolves: According to Robert Jordan, wolves have no concept of time or direction as humans do. It simply isn't necessary. To that end, I've attempted to mirror their dialogue to reflect that. I hope it went fairly well. I must say, it was interesting to work with dialogue that is transferred exclusively telepathically, for lack of a better term. XD

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CHAPTER FIVE

RESTLESS

Somewhere south of Whitebridge

Rain lashed against the dingy kitchen window and thudded down upon the slated rooftop. It was nearing nightfall, as far as Harry could tell; the weather had not let up in a fortnight and the sky was as bleak as ever. Thunder pealed in the not-far-off distance, and a streak of lightning briefly illuminated the drab room. The wooden floor was pristine and well-kept, with the exception of a set of muddy dog prints that ran from the door to the table where Harry sat. A large stone fireplace sat against the far wall, but it was not lit. The only source of light, instead, came from the lone candle that stood dripping wax upon a small platter on the tabletop in front of Harry.

A single wooden chest rested against the opposite wall. The doors were ajar and Harry could see the china within gleaming at him. There was little else of note in the room, with the possible exception of an assortment of hoes, axes, and spears propped up against the wall next to the door.

Harry watched the candle flicker at him for a long moment. He wasn't really registering anything at all. His eyes had a faint glaze to them behind his glasses, and his head was supported in one hand, his elbow propped on the tabletop.

A steady dribble of wax dripped from the candle and hissed into the copious puddle beneath. Harry blinked. It took him a moment to get his bearings before he realized that the rain had ceased its relentless assault.

He pushed his chair back from the table, scolding himself for forgetting that he wasn't supposed to make noise as the chair legs scraped against the wood floor. Teeth clenched tightly, he made his way over to the window and pushed his nose up against it, the bridge of his glasses crammed uncomfortably against his skin.

A high wooden fence enclosed a small pasture not far from the doorstep. The sheep were nowhere in sight. Presumably, the owners of the house had locked the herd up in the barn to keep them out of the storm.

Harry pressed his nose even tighter against the glass and searched frantically, dreading what he would find yet knowing it was inevitable. Sure enough, a brief flash of lightning illuminated the far tree line. Even at this distance, Harry could clearly make out the cloaked figure that sat astride a dark horse. Yet for all the wind's fury, the rider's black cloak did not shift a fold.

Darkness returned outside and Harry unstuck his face from the freezing window. Voldemort. It had to be the Dark Lord. What other force could cause such a tremor to run down his spine and his blood to go colder than death?

The last he had heard, the Dark Lord was in hiding, severely weakened by his attempt to kill Harry. And then Peter Pettigrew had revealed himself, and it all had gone wrong. Harry guessed that Pettigrew was able to restore the Dark Lord to his body. Somehow. It didn't matter.

Harry shook his head furtively and sat back down at the table, resuming his placid watching of the candlelight. For two weeks he had been stuck here, unable to move in this weather. Once he had been forced to take refuge in the barn because the farmer's daughter was having a restless night and kept moving about the house.

Yes, for a fortnight he had sat here, biding his time. He didn't know where he was, or for that matter, where his friends had gone. The weather certainly reminded him of England, but that was about the only resemblance.

And now, for the third time, Voldemort, or what he thought must be Voldemort, was sitting outside. Hounding him. Taunting him. Why? The Dark Lord could easily rush in and kill him, but he did nothing. Why?

A thought occurred to him then. Maybe he doesn't want to kill me. Maybe he's after something else. Harry remembered the boy Riddle who had come out of the diary and shivered.

The night grew steadily darker and the candle was dying, the wick being consumed by the pile of wax. Harry withdrew his wand from his robes. "Lumos," he said quietly. His wand tip ignited and illuminated his surroundings far better than the candle did.

The source of the paw prints on the floor was sitting next to him. Sirius had not uttered a sound tonight. Evidently, his godfather knew something was wrong by Harry's worried expression. He sat quietly, back hunched and front paws planted in front of him in such a way that said he was relaxed, yet alert and wary.

Harry patted the dog absently on the back of the head, scratching behind his ears. Sirius looked at him out of the corner of his eye and gave him what his godfather clearly intended to be an appreciative grin, but came off rather menacingly, as he was displaying a yellowed array of pointed fangs.

Harry sat back and sighed. He spoke in an undertone. "Well, the rain's finally let up. I suppose we can make our own way in the morning. Best to leave these people to their own lives, I reckon."

Indeed, they had agreed, or rather, Harry had sat and recanted his thoughts aloud while Sirius sat and listened, to make no more human contact than was absolutely necessary. They were in unknown territory, and didn't know who they could trust. Anyone could be in league with Voldemort. They simply didn't know.

What was more, Sirius appeared to be trapped within his Animagus form. Harry was completely baffled by this. He knew of no spell that would counteract such magic. Sirius didn't seem to mind terribly, but Harry thought that his godfather would like to have done without the fleas.

Sirius whined quietly and Harry looked down at him. The dog's look said everything. He had seen Harry's furrowed brow and worried expression.

"Look, I know you'll probably think I'm crazy or whatever," Harry was still whispering, "but I've seen something for three nights now. I think…I think it might be Voldemort."

The dog merely looked at him with its yellow eyes. Had he been able, Harry was certain that Sirius would have offered words of comfort, perhaps even burst outside to challenge the Dark Lord to a fight to the death purely for Harry's amusement, but the dog just sat there. Finally, it bowed its head and gave a very real imitation of a human sigh.

"At least I'm not the only one who's frustrated," Harry said. "I'm getting tired of this one-sided conversation. We need to figure out what happened to you. I wish Hermione was here. She's got the brains for this."

Sirius raised his head and gave him a look that said quite plainly that brains would not solve his current dilemma.

Not what you think

Harry blinked and looked sharply at the dog. Harry could have sworn for a fleeting instant that he had heard his godfather's voice inside his head, as clear as day. A vision flashed inside his mind: the figure of the man on horseback huddled against the forest.

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again. Surely, he must be mad. He smiled slightly and shook his head. He needed to sleep. But there was the off-chance…He opened his mouth again, but before the question could be asked, something heavy thudded against the door and it rocked in its frame.

Someone was outside.

*****

Dapple saw it as she topped the next rise. Swiftly, the wolf turned her head to one side, locking eyes with the one immediately behind her. "Wait here," she spoke the thought in her mind, and knew that Burn understood. The other wolf turned back, leading the three following him back down the hill and out of sight.

The land was mostly flat here, with intermittant rolling hills that could hardly be called such; they provided little protection against watchful eyes. Dapple kept her head down low as she loped across the expanse of dead grass towards what had caught her eye. The midday sun lengthened her shadow beside her as she skulked.

Peering through a small clump of thorny weeds, she halted at the border of a grove of trees. Or what had been trees. The winter had been harsh and was still raging on; now they were but twigs waging a desperate battle against the wind.

Directly in front of her, near a small pine bush, sat the remains of a fox. The body had been ripped to shreds. The fur was matted in blood and both eyes had been torn from their sockets. Dapple raised her head a little to sniff the corpse, and nearly retched from the stink. The body had been here a day, if not longer.

She reached out with her mind to her brothers and found them waiting, tense, at the valley between the two hills where she had left them. "Ravens," she said. "They were here. They may still be on the hunt. I come. Wait."

It had been like this for a long time. She had lost count how many times the sun had moved across the sky. She was growing weary of this spying, and hiding. But Long Tooth knew what he was doing. So she hoped.

They had little time, but she was wary of the ravens now. This time, instead of mounting the hill directly, she skirted around it into the shallow basin. Burn was waiting for her as she entered the valley. A deep growl rose in her throat, and her eyes flashed menacingly. "I told you to wait for me," she said. "Perhaps the vile birds will hunt you next."

He didn't cower under her gaze, or her threats. Most out of character, she thought mildly. He flicked his tongue over the scar on his shoulder absently before responding. "The others are growing restless." Every time he spoke, the image of a serpent writhed into her head. To say it unsettled her was an understatement. "They won't admit it. They're afraid of you, and of Long Tooth. But I know. I watch. I can feel them."

Dapple hesitated a moment. She had felt it too. She didn't like being away from the rest of the pack for this long. But Long Tooth said it was important. "You can go your own way if you want, Burn. These are my wolves."

She brushed past him, knocking him aside rather forcefully to emphasize her dominance. She kept her head high and trotted over to where the others waited. But Burn's face flitted in her mind, hiding behind a wall of flames. "Not for long."

She ignored this as best she could and made her way over to the others. Hopper came to greet her cheerfully. She was quite certain that he, at least, would never betray her. The other two she could not be so sure of. Wind was placid enough, but he was quiet and removed. Sting just sat there on his haunches and seethed, glaring at her. He was almost as bad as Burn. It didn't help matters that his left eye had long ago been separated from his skull.

Burn sulked up behind her, head down low, and laid down on a shoot of grass off to the side of them, his back to her. She paid him no mind.

Hopper was the first to speak. "We should be away from here. Now. Heartfang will see us."

She regarded him calmly for a moment, head tilted to one side. "The trail went cold long ago. There may still be ravens in the area, but it doesn't seem likely. Not in this direction from the sun, at least."

"I still don't like it. Ever since we caught scent of that Neverborn…"

She cut him off with a startling image of a bloodied pile of black robes. "The dead Neverborn, Hopper? Shouldn't that be proof enough that we need to stay here? Long Tooth wouldn't have asked us to do this if it wasn't important."

Wind broke in. His voice in her mind was slow and methodical. It brought to mind a tranquil river. "I agree with Dapple," he began. She started to heave a sigh of relief, but he caught the gesture and plowed on. "However, I believe we should inform Long Tooth of what we have found, so that we might better understand his intentions."

Dapple started to shake her head resolutely, but gave it up as a bad job. "I can see I'm going to be overruled in this matter," she said. She spared a glance for Sting. He still sat there like a statue. He had not offered his opinion on any of this. Burn was still lying on the ground, determinedly not looking at her. The other two were watching her expectantly.

"Alright," she sighed. "But we'll have to get a lot closer before we can contact him. We must make h—"

A piercing scream had just rent the air. Dapple ceased her train of thought and cut her connection with the other wolves momentarily, concentrating hard. She sniffed the air, and felt hot anger boil from deep within herself.

She dropped her head and looked to the other wolves. They were as tense as she felt. Sting was on all fours now and even Burn had risen to look in the direction of the disturbance. "You all smelled it, too?" she asked.

They nodded. "Right, then. Time to go. There are Twisted Ones need killing."

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Author's Note: Thanks for everyone who has commented and reviewed this so far. It means a lot, and provides me with the inspiration to continue this thrilling tale. I love you guys!