I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! I hope you all enjoy it!

Thanks again to Roheryn's Knight and everything she contributes!

Chapter Eleven: Rage

22 February 1997

Early next day, Harry was in his room when a knock sounded on the door. He was surrounded by at least ten textbooks, all as thick as the heavy wooden desk he was leaning on. Head supported by his hand, Harry had been dozing off, drooling on his copy of Wards and Warding when the knock startled the hand from under his head.

Groaning, he forced himself on his feet and padded to the door. Opening it, he found himself face to face with Lucius Malfoy.

"Hello," Harry greeted cautiously. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Six in the morning. What in Merlin's name was Lucius doing here so early?

The man looked ghastly. His skin was a gray pallor, his eyes bloodshot, and his hair in complete disarray. For once, the man lacked his usual pristine self and instead looked as if… well as if Voldemort had tortured him and then continued to torture his family in front of him.

"May I come in?" Lucius asked quietly.

Harry nodded and stepped aside, watching with wary eyes as the blond walked in without his typical confident swagger.

Closing the door, Harry gestured at the two armchairs in the middle of the room and hurried to the small kitchen to hide his mild discomfort.

"Would you like something to drink?" Harry asked. "Tea perhaps?"

"No thank you," Lucius said.

Harry nodded and poured himself a cup of Earl Grey.

"So what brings you here?" Harry asked as he settled in the arm chair next to Lucius's.

"You," Lucius said honestly. "Narcissa wanted to come herself but I told her it was best if it was just me. She is still… recovering from the day before."

Harry didn't remember Narcissa being tortured but Voldemort must have done so after Harry left with Draco. He remained silent and stared impassively at the blond. Subtly, he twitched his fingers so he could see the magic in the room.

The webs around Lucius were dull and torn in small places; it was obvious that Lucius was still in some sort of pain. Reaching up, Harry touched his nail to an edge of the torn magic and quietly fed pure magic into the rip, watching in satisfaction as it mended flawlessly.

Lucius's previously slumped figure straightened up and his eyes lightened. "What did you do?" he asked breathlessly.

Harry shrugged. "You were saying?" he asked as if the man hadn't spoken.

The blond stared at the crafter intensely, as if he was trying to decipher a hidden code inside of Ragna's Riveting Riddles. "An enigma," he breathed.

Harry frowned in confusion. "What?" he asked.

"An enigma," Lucius repeated. "You were raised by Evan Rosier. Merlin knows you should be as insane and, shall I say, psychopathic as he is. The only worse person you could be raised by is Bellatrix and gods help us all if she has a child. Instead, you bargain your life for three strangers and use that extraordinary magic of yours to heal. One may think you have some sort of… Hero's complex."

A hero's complex. Harry mulled over those two words in his mind. It couldn't be possible that he did; he saved the Malfoys out of respect, not necessity. Evan would have a heart attack if he even heard those words associated with him.

"Not a hero's complex," Harry replied with a wry grin. "I can assure you that. And the term 'like father like son' doesn't really apply to Evan and me. We're very different people."

"Yes, different indeed," Lucius murmured with a gleam in his eye. "I can see that. It is not just because you are a crafter, Mr. Potter. No, you have something that he lacks. A conscience. Maybe something more."

Harry refused to think about the possible insinuation in the spoken words. "Let's cut to the chase, Lucius," he said a bit tiredly. Dealing with Purebloods always exhausted him. "Why are you really here? I doubt you came to compliment me about my conscious."

Lucius shifted slightly in his seat and an uncomfortable look returned to his face. "We owe you a life debt," he said quietly. "All three of us. You have been more than generous in convincing the Dark Lord to spare our lives. We have not yet had the chance to… thank you. Whatever you need we will give."

An uncomfortable feeling settled around Harry. Knowing Evan, Harry had no doubt that his grounder would take the chance without a thought. But it made Harry uneasy knowing he had not one, but three lives in his hands.

"I…" Harry paused before shaking himself back into coherence. "Of course," Harry said lamely.

Lucius relaxed, knowing that his message was delivered. He ran his eyes up and down Harry's figure and felt his heart speed as he once again immersed himself in the pure, potent magic that surrounded the crafter's body. Magic so powerful and raw… all in one boy. Lucius could see why the boy had even ensnared the Dark Lord in his trap.

He glanced around and noticed the stack of textbooks on Harry's desk.

"You are studying wards?" he asked curiously.

Harry felt his awkwardness be chased away by the question. "I am," he sighed resignedly. "Dumbledore is not an easy man to track down outside of Hogwarts. The wards, obviously, are my largest obstacle. Hogwarts is ancient; her wards will keep anyone with ill intent out. You know as well as I do how many Death Eaters have failed the task of infiltrating the castle."

Lucius gave a shark-like grin. "And how many Death Eats have failed killing the thirty people you have assassinated? I will not be surprised when you find a way into Hogwarts and finally kill the doddering old man."

Irritation seeped into Harry for the briefest second. Dumbledore hid his power so well that he even had Lucius fooled.

"Dumbledore is not to be underestimated," Harry warned. "Even in old age. Do not be so foolish to misjudge."

The blond merely gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Then I will leave you to your studying," he said as he stood up. With startling speed, Lucius's arm struck forward and he grabbed onto Harry's wrist. Forcing the crafter's palm up, the blond moved so that two of his fingers were pressing roughly against Harry's pulse point.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Lucius whispered so quietly that Harry had to strain to catch the two words. There was no doubt the words of gratitude had been incredibly difficult to say. Lucius was a proud man and to bend his neck was more than a step of respect.

Harry curled his fingers around Lucius's wrist in response and dug his sharp nails around the blond's pulse point as well. He felt the sharp tips break through the skin and a warm trickle of blood drip down his finger. Bringing his magic to the surface, Harry watched through lidded eyes as the magic slid across his skin and onto Lucius's.

The blond's eyes closed involuntarily and Harry could see the swell of the man's magic. He gave a toothy smile as the surge of magic disappeared, leaving Lucius bending slightly over his wrist.

"I want to meet with the Dark Lord," Harry whispered as the Malfoy patriarch struggled to compose himself. "Tell him so."

Lucius nodded, his mind still dazed. Releasing the crafter's arm, he turned and walked back toward the door, using all of his strength not to look back.

Harry relaxed back into his armchair with a small frown. He had no love for manipulating people despite what Evan may think but he could honestly see no other way.

He needed to see Evan.

Three hours later, Harry found himself standing in front the Dark Lord's private office, fidgeting nervously next to a stoic Lucius Malfoy.

"He's not in the best of moods today," Lucius warned. "He agreed to talk to you, however. I will caution you from… angering him."

Harry nodded, trying not to convey the nervousness he felt and reached his hand up, which, to his relief, was not trembling, and knocked.

"Come in."

The voice commanded complete obedience and Harry felt himself swallow. Straightening, he forced his leaden legs to move and walked into the room.

The magic inside of the room was heavy and suffocating. Twisting in thick coils, Harry could see the faint outline of the man's magic without even bothering to give a second glance. The magic sparked uncontrollably and it tasted like fire on his tongue.

"My lord," he greeted quietly, falling to one knee gracefully in a respectful bow.

"Hello Harry," Voldemort greeted silkily.

Harry looked up from behind his fringe. The Dark Lord was sitting behind an enormous mahogany desk. There were several neat stacks of paper and a small shelf filled with quills, ink, and other necessary stationary. The man himself was sitting up against a rich leather chair, one eyebrow poised in question while the quill in his hand continued to move and scribble across a sheet of parchment.

"I suppose there is something you want and that you did not visit just to bother me," Voldemort said irritably. He looked up with a condescending glare. "If I wanted someone to stare at me while I work I would have ordered you to do so long ago."

Harry reddened and shook himself out of his stupor. "No, my lord," he said quietly. "I wanted to ask a favor of you."

Once the words slipped out of his mouth, Harry immediately wanted to slap himself. Who was he, a lowly servant, to ask Lord Voldemort for a favor?

Luckily, rather than a straight on killing curse, Voldemort stared down at Harry's kneeled figure and threw his head back to give a barking laugh.

"A favor? Why, no one has asked me for a favor since my school days at Hogwarts. And yet here you are with a second favor in question." He set his quill down and leaned forward, folding his hands together and staring down at Harry. "Tell me, my little crafter. What favor do you need so desperately to come to me for it?'

Harry felt his nervousness intensify. His mouth dried. "I…" He faltered. "I need to speak with Evan."

Something dark flittered across Voldemort's expression and he leaned back with a contemplative look. "I have told you before that I do not give favors. Why should I grant you this?"

"He is my grounder," Harry admitted quietly but firmly. "He does know not of my task and I will need to… meet him to discuss the specifics. I cannot succeed without his help."

Voldemort's magic turned darker and Harry felt his eyelids flutter as it wrapped around him, caressing his own magic.

"Evan is undercover in France," Voldemort said blandly. "He cannot have any contact lest he reveal himself."

Harry felt something to panic stir in his stomach. "I need to see him," Harry repeated.

Voldemort leaned forward with piercing eyes. "Tell me what you desire to speak to Evan about." There was no room for argument in his voice.

Harry tightened his mouth until it was a thin white line. "I… I would rather not, my lord," he admitted cautiously. Discussing the magic of a crafter was something intimate, exclusive only between the wielder and grounder. It didn't help that confessing would make himself weak in front of Voldemort's eyes.

To his surprise, the Dark Lord did not snap. No, he leaned back with an arrogant smirk and reached down to caress the bone white handle of his wand.

"Hogwarts' wards," he said rather smugly.

"What?" Harry gasped. How in Merlin did the man just know?

"I am not stupid, little crafter," Voldemort rebuked in a bored tone. He turned his head to look out of the small window on the wall. "The wards of Hogwarts are ancient and by far one of the most powerful in the world. They are the reason the castle has stood as a sanctuary for centuries. It has been created from magic so similar and pure to yours that there is the off chance that it may recognize you as a ward stone."

Harry had his suspicions of what would happen if he came in contact with the wards but he definitely had not heard that before. "A ward stone?" he asked.

"A ward stone is not necessarily a stone. It is an object which anchors the wards in the area. It is where the wards are powered and secured; Hogwarts' wards would essentially tie you to the castle. You, as you probably have guessed, would become something akin to a ward stone."

That sounded a lot worse than what Harry imagined. He said nothing and waited for the Dark Lord to continue.

"However, there is a reason I am telling you this," Voldemort said. "Becoming connected to Hogwarts' wards is not such a liability. You essentially become part of the ward structure. With your abilities as a crafter and the right amount of delicacy, you should be able to manipulate the wards much like how you manipulate magic and control them to your will."

"You planned to send me to Hogwarts from the beginning," Harry said slowly as all the pieces began to click in his mind. "Draco's failure only acted as a catalyst."

Voldemort gave a slow tilt of his head. "It was an unexpected surprise that you would vow to kill Albus Dumbledore for the lives of the Malfoys. I find myself perplexed that a student of Evan would act so rashly."

Harry frowned but did not rise to the bait. "So you want me to trap myself within the walls of Hogwarts?" he asked incredulously. The dangerous glint in Voldemort's eyes reminded Harry who exactly he was talking to and he quickly amended, "my lord."

Voldemort allowed the disrespect to pass. "I intend for you to infiltrate Hogwarts," he hissed lowly. "Infiltrate Hogwarts, kill Albus Dumbledore, and bring the wards down." Pulling open a drawer in his desk, the Dark Lord lifted out a large silver locket colored dark amber and decorated with small green gems that formed the image of a serpent.

Harry stared up at the locket with wide eyes. He could feel—taste—the magic that emanated from the piece of jewelry. The magic was undoubtedly dark, tainted with echoes of a woman's scream, and the sickly black webs that surrounded it rattled and hissed. It felt oily and heavy to the touch and Harry felt himself unconsciously recoiling from the locket.

"What is that?" he breathed in repulsion.

"Crucio," Voldemort intoned lazily. He held the crafter under the curse for a mere ten seconds, although it felt like hours, before lifting it in a moment of—dare he say—mercy. "You do not question me," he snapped intently. "I am your master. You serve me, little crafter, or are you in need of another reminder?"

"N-no, my lord," Harry gasped out. He trembled from his kneeled place on the ground, placing a hand on the cold marble floor to keep him upright. Despite the short time under the curse, Harry was still vulnerable to the sheer intensity of the pain.

Voldemort turned back to the locket with an almost fond look on his face. "This is Salaazar Slytherin's locket," he said with an air of reverence. "It is an heirloom of mine that I've… enchanted. Inside is a portrait of a man named Tom Riddle. He will be our form of communication whilst you are in Hogwarts. Owls are much too unreliable to send messages as delicate as ours."

His poppy red eyes narrowed and he stared down at Harry with dark eyes. His magic rose with him like a tidal wave, roaring and ready to crash down on its target.

"You will speak of no one about this locket," he ordered. "You will not let anyone touch the locket, nor will you give the locket to another soul. I have put on a charm that will make it impossible to remove by anyone but you and me." Reaching out to caress the locket, Voldemort reached out with his other hand and beckoned Harry forward with two fingers.

Rising cautiously, Harry took two trembling steps forward until he was two feet away from the Dark Lord's desk.

"Closer, Harry," Voldemort scolded in annoyance. "Don't make me ask again."

Swallowing, Harry took another few steps forward until his hip bones were barely brushing the edge of the desk.

Voldemort smiled darkly and stood. He easily towered over Harry by nearly a foot and it was obvious the man enjoyed his advantageous height.

"Bow your head," the Dark Lord instructed.

Carefully, Harry tilted his head down until the nape of his neck was exposed vulnerably to the cold air. Wincing, he forced his body to lie still and clenched his hands in tight fists, relishing in the familiar feeling of warm blood trickling down his palm.

Good. That meant he was still alive.

Voldemort stared down at the little crafter that remained bowed in front of him, taking selfish pleasure the sight of pure submission. It would take less than a pinch of his fingers to snap that pretty little neck and it was oh, oh so tempting.

Lifting the necklace high in the air, Voldemort stared at the glimmering serpent and gave a snake-like grin.

Little Thomas Riddle would be no safer than with a crafter sworn to the Dark Lord.

He slowly looped the silver chains over the crafter's head and released it gently so that the cold metal touched the boy's neck. Breathing out, he turned his hand over to graze the chain with the tips of his fingers possessively.

Harry shivered as his body bent under both the weight of the necklace and the dark magic. His magic recoiled when the locket swung to rest against his chest and Harry viciously pushed down the urge to rip it off and toss it into the nearest body of water.

Reaching down, he cupped the octagon-shaped locket and peered down at the sparkling eyes of the serpent. To his astonishment, the webs of magic surrounding the locket pulsed outwards, reaching out with tendrils of dark magic that wriggled in the air and latched onto individual strings of the webs.

Harry felt his body turn cold as the locket turned its attention on him. Swallowing, he peered down and nearly sighed in relief when he found the dark magic repelled from his own web of magic almost as if there was an invisible barrier.

"Thank you, my lord," he said quietly.

Voldemort stared down impassively at the crafter.

"You will only be able to contact through Parseltongue. Remember that no one is to know of this locket, even Evan. Protect it with your life, little crafter, or it will be yours that needs protecting."

Harry's curiosity was only rising by the second. If it was so important, why was it given to him of all people?

"Yes my lord," he said obediently. He reached down and tucked the locket inside of his shirt and touched the side of the chain delicately. "I will keep it safe."

Satisfied, Voldemort sat back down in his chair and picked up the first sheet of paper from the pile on the desk. Bringing it up to eye level, he studied it for a couple of seconds before diverting his eyes to send an annoyed glance at Harry.

"We're done here," he ordered. "I will summon you tomorrow to discuss the next details of Hogwarts. For now, keep quiet of the locket."

"Yes, my lord," Harry said before turning back towards the door.

"Oh, and Harry?"

"Yes my lord?"

"Do pay a visit to those wolves of yours. They're getting much too rambunctious on the grounds. Tonight is the full moon, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord."

"They are under no circumstances to leave the grounds. Make sure of that, will you Harry?"

"I will, my lord."

Harry turned and left through the door, the locket pressing heavily against his chest.

Shit. It's the full moon.

Bringing up his right hand, Harry unclenched his fist to see the familiar imprint of a crescent moon.

Ever since he connected with the Moon, he had developed some werewolf-like tendencies during the full moon. His eyes would glow an unearthly green and his speed and strength would increase substantially. Evan called him a wild dog, which he in some cases was, howling wildly into thin air and acting aggressively to anyone outside of his pack.

Every full moon, Evan would kick him out, ward the door behind him, and open it the next day to let Harry back in. There, in the middle of the wilderness, Harry didn't have to worry about attacking innocent bystanders or embarrassing himself.

The past few months he was constantly on the move, stalking out prey after prey per Voldemort's request. He spent his full moon on the field, moving with only the quietness gifted to him by the Moon, often making his kills on those days.

This time, it was different. He was exposed, trapped within the marble walls of the posh manor.

He needed to talk to Greyback.

But first, there was the mystery of the locket.

Striding down the hallway, Harry turned around the winding passageways until he reached the doors into his room. Opening the portrait door, he walked in and settled into the arm chair Lucius sat in only hours ago.

Reaching into his shirt, he lightly grasped the chain and pulled the locket out into open air. He peered closely at the rotating locket and slowly wrapped his fingers around it.

Open, he hissed in Parseltongue.

There was a rush of black magic and the clasp flung open. Harry cringed away, leaning deeper in the chair and holding the locket as far away from him as possible. Was it going to explode? Was this a poor yet effective assassination attempt by Voldemort?

He held his breath and clenched his eyes together as the magic in the room rose and rose until the webs were singing a high-pitched song of immortality and death and murder and sin and—

Hello?

Harry froze when he heard the voice.

Yes you, you dunderhead. Why are you holding me like that? Stop acting like a two-year old and look at me.

Eyebrows rising, Harry turned slowly and brought the locket closer to him

In the small square was a portrait of a young man. He was tall and lean , with dark brown hair that fell loosely around his ears and a pair of sapphire eyes that gleamed intelligently. He wore a set of elegant black robes and was glaring rather fiercely up at Harry.

Just my luck, the man huffed. I've been burdened with a mute.

I'm not a mute! Harry squawked.

And it speaks, the portrait said dryly.

Well aren't you pleasant, Harry shot back, bringing the locket up for a closer look.

The two let out a collective gasp.

You- the portrait exclaimed. You're a crafter!

You kind of look like Lord Voldemort, Harry wondered out loud in surprise.

Panic flashed briefly over the man's face before he turned impassive. That's ridiculous, he snorted. You know my name.

Tom Riddle, Harry said thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes to scrutinize the small figure. Are you sure you and the Dark Lord are not related?

Yes, I'm sure you imbecile. Now you answer a question for me. Are you a true crafter?

I am, Harry confessed. You can see my markings, they speak for themselves.

How… interesting, Tom murmured. The portrait leaned back against a crimson armchair painted inside and sent Harry a calculating look.

Harry leaned back into the chair. He twitched his fingers slightly and subtly glanced at the webs of magic.

The webs looked… , they still pulsated with oily, black magic but the tendrils had disappeared. He still felt a strong urge to toss the locket as far away as possible but knowing that the Dark Lord would probably skin him and throw his bones in the same direction, he'd rather not.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Harry relaxed back into his chair. So tell me about yourself, he said conversely. How did you get in this locket anyways?

A look of irritation passed Tom's face. That's none of your business.

It was obvious that Harry wouldn't be getting any answers from the locket. Frowning, he said, if you're not being cooperative, I've better things to do. I'll come and talk to you when the Dark Lord and I finish our plans.

Ignoring the sudden sound of protest, Harry shut the locket with a snap. He felt a surge of magic push up against the clasp as if it was trying to force the locket back open but Harry held strong.

The magic felt sentient. It was as if Tom Riddle was truly alive and trapped within a metal container. Could that be something Lord Voldemort did?

Ignoring the bubbling curiosity, Harry slipped the locket back over his head, wincing as the cold metal bit at his warm skin.

He turned to look back up at the clock. The time was nearing ten in the morning and Harry could feel a familiar itching feeling in his right palm.

Harry had done his research prior to the day. The full moon was due to rise in about twenty-five minutes. It would be the first full moon he spent around "civilization" and he did not know how his lunar self would act around the Death Eaters.

Shrugging on a heavy winter coat, Harry quickly exited the room. Luckily, it didn't take him long to determine how to find his way through the long hallways of Malfoy Manor and onto the grounds.

The sky was cloudy but Harry could feel the presence of the Moon rising slowly up the sky. Shivering in anticipation, he picked up his pace.

Eyes scanning the grounds, Harry noticed with faint humor that the lawn was cleaned of any trace of peacock blood. Lucius must have been furious to lose his precious birds.

"Harry!" a voice called out happily.

Harry turned in time to catch Blackclaw mid-jump. The larger man leaned down to rub his cheek against Harry's, a customary pack greeting, and patted the crafter roughly on the shoulder. "I was wondering if you were going to make it. Alpha's been restless. Says the Moon will be very strong today."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Harry asked confusedly. "Shouldn't he be glad?"

Blackclaw's joy at seeing his pack mate dampened. "We have thirty wolves enclosed on the grounds of a house. It's been decades since Greyback was last trapped during a full moon."

Harry frowned. "Do you know why the Dark Lord forbade us from leaving?"

"I've only theories, but I—" the Beta stopped abruptly. He sniffed the air deeply and his eyes grew wide. "What are you wearing?"

"What?" Harry asked in shock, taking a defensive step backwards.

"I can smell something dark on you," Blackclaw rumbled dangerously. "It's poison. I can smell its toxic touch, little crafter. Whatever it is, take it off."

"I can't do that," Harry said flatly. "It's not dangerous, Blackclaw, at least not to me. Trust me on this."

Blackclaw looked less than inclined to trust such a dark presence but relented. "We will discuss this after the full moon," he warned. "People of your kind… You shouldn't even be near dark magic like that."

Before Harry could attempt to formulate a response, the Alpha rudely barged into their conversation. His enormous figure was tense, shaking with what looked like the aftereffects of the cruciatus. A low, furious growl was ripping out of his chest and his yellowed eyes already darkening to the wolf's amber.

"Gather the others," Greyback snarled at Blackclaw.

Blackclaw didn't move. "What?" he asked in shock.

Roaring, Greyback brought his arm back and punched Blackclaw in the face, sending the Beta a good five feet back and onto the ground. Storming forward, he violently kicked the smaller man in the stomach and bared his teeth viciously.

"Do not question me," he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. He leaned down and yanked Blackclaw up with the man's shirt, bringing the Beta so close that the tip of Greyback's nose nearly touched Blackclaw's. The Alpha's eyes burned furiously and in triumph as the other werewolf averted his eyes in submission.

"I am your Alpha," Greyback hissed menacingly. "You obey me. Gather the others. Now."

Blackclaw was flung to the side like a ragdoll. Spitting blood onto the ground, Blackclaw gave an uncustomary whine and darted off, not sparing another glance at his furious Alpha.

Harry watched in shock as Greyback began to pace back and forth. "What in Merlin's name was that?" he shouted, pointing in the direction that Blackclaw had retreated. "What are you doing?"

Greyback's head whipped around. His gray hair was plastered to his forehead by sweat and his eyes were that of a feral animal.

"Don't push me, crafter," Greyback whispered, strain evident in his voice. "Or else I will not be responsible for my actions."

Harry visibly paled but did not back down. "Why are you gathering the pack?"

Greyback let loose a loud sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "We're leaving," he said gruffly.

"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "You can't leave; the Dark Lord said so."

In a blur, a hand shot out and grabbed the front of Harry's robe. Greyback brought the tiny wizard forward with the same roughness he had treated his Beta with and shook the crafter.

"We are not the Dark Lord's bitches, ready to be fucked. He expects us to spread our legs and bow our heads—no, he pushed me too far. This alliance is over."

"You can't do that!" Harry shouted furiously. "You said it yourself you were sworn to me. Whatever the Dark Lord did, let me talk to him. We can fix this, Greyback, don't destroy what we have now."

"What we have?" Greyback let out a bitter laugh. "We are nothing but groveling servants here. This is not the alliance we asked for. We called for freedom and you gave us chains. No more, crafter."

"You promised—"

"Don't be naïve, crafter. You should have lost that long ago. Perhaps our alliance can be rekindled but as long as you fight for the Dark Lord, we will not fight beside you. You should have already realized that you are on the wrong side, crafter."

"It is my duty to stand beside the Dark Lord," Harry said quietly. "I have sworn to swerve him."

"Then we part ways here, little one," Greyback said, releasing is tight grip on Harry's robes. He saw with minor satisfaction that the expensive silk was damaged beyond repair. "I will not fight you, crafter, as misguided as you are."

"The Dark Lord forbade you from leaving," Harry said mechanically as his mind whirled for any solution

"Are you going to try and stop me?" Greyback asked with genuine curiosity. He leaned back on his heels and cocked his head. "I don't doubt you can, but the question is if you'd turn back on your own pack. You forget you are one of us, little crafter."

Harry felt guilt wash down is throat and he swallowed with difficulty.

"I've gathered them all, m'Alpha," Blackclaw called out carefully from the edge of the grounds. Behind him stood the remaining thirty werewolves, all with confused and cautious looks on their face.

"Good," Greyback grunted. "We are leaving. I don't want to hear a word out of any of you or I'll fucking kill you and string you up with your own entrails like a fucking Christmas tree."

There was no response

Turning around, Greyback started forward but found the crafter standing in front of him. Harry's small stature looked ridiculous in front of Greyback's bulky, six-foot five body but the Alpha couldn't help but feel a trickle of admiration for the crafter's courage.

"I-I can't let you leave," Harry said resolutely, drawing his magic around him. He flinched at the look of betrayal in Blackclaw's eyes but steeled himself. "Please understand the position I'm in," Harry pleaded. "Let me talk to the Dark Lord."

"You think you can convince a man—no, a monster—like him?" Greyback asked incredulously. "Speak quickly, crafter. The full moon rises in minutes." He took a step forward.

"No—" Harry protested, reaching forward with his hand until it brushed Greyback's arm.

The werewolf grabbed Harry's hand before it could make contact, and held it in a crushing grip.

Harry refused to whimper.

"You must find your path," Greyback whispered. "Where you walk now, we will not follow." His body began to twitch and he grunted as the moon began to rise into position. "Now leave."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. He twisted his hands so that they were gripping Greyback's wrist, his long nails piercing the man's skin. Calling on his magic, he forced Greyback to stay standing.

"I said, get off!" Greyback roared. His hands tightened and Harry felt the bones in his wrist begin to crack. Greyback managed to get one hand free and violently backhanded Harry. "Your magic will not work on me so close to the full moon. We share the magic of the Moon, crafter."

Pulling on his magic, Harry gritted his teeth as he jerked sideways from the force of the blow. From the corner of his eye, he saw Voldemort emerging from the manor, his bone white wand held high in the air and his red eyes glittering with unrestrained fury. Behind him was an army of death eaters, their wands drawn and pointed straight at the pack of werewolves.

The werewolves began to growl and snap at the incoming threat. Greyback turned to face Voldemort with a dark look, crouching down to assume an offensive stance.

Harry felt like his mind was about to explode. "Stop!" he shouted, running between the approaching group. "For Merlin's sake, fine, you can leave Greyback!"

"Too late, little crafter," Greyback said with a rumble. "Stand back and watch the consequences of your choices."

Screaming in sheer frustration and uselessness, Harry clapped his hand together and quickly wove an enormous web in the matter of seconds. Flicking his fingers, he sent the blue and red web of magic over the group of werewolves and just as the full moon rose to position, pulled –

They apparted into a deserted street just as their bodies began to change. Screams of pain echoed up and down the cobbled alley as thirty bodies fell onto the ground, writhing and jerking around violently. Shrieks began to turn into howls and the once two-legged figures rose with four.

Greyback tilted his head back and gave a hair-raising howl that was echoed by the rest of his pack.

Fueled by the touch of the Moon, Harry flung his head back and howled his distress and anger to the skies. His eyes glowed a bright green and the magic around him began to rise, the webs tangling and folding together until a shadow of a wolf, made completely of Harry's innate magic, was panting at the crafter's heels.

There was a crack at the end of the alley and two dozen Aurors dressed in crimson cloaks appeared, wands outstretched and silver spells on the tips of their tongues.

Shit. The guards around the street must have alerted the authorities.

Underneath the struggling madness, Harry felt panic overtake him. His lunar self, on the other hand, only shivered with excitement.

Greyback gave another howl and the wolves sprang into action.

The Aurors and werewolves met head on, the street soon becoming a war-zone of screams, shouts, blood, and death.

Harry threw himself into the chaos, reaching out with his hand, grabbing a hand full of magic, and pulling down harshly. The Aurors found their mouths stitched together, unable to verbally cast their spells and the werewolves took the opportunity to throw themselves on the enemies, sinking long fangs into the necks of their victims.

Harry set his own shadow wolf on a nearby Auror and let out a howling laugh as he ducked behind a rather lethal spell. Spinning around, he began to duel, spitting out curses and spells with the speed of a striking adder.

When Harry finished a duel with one more formidable Auror, he turned around and caught a glimpse of another hundred red cloaked figures rushing onto the scene. A shock of sanity trembled through his body and Harry forced himself past the moon madness.

Spelling a glamour to hide his crafter features, he began to weave a complex web. Sweat poured down his face as he drew on all of his magic reserves, weaving and twisting and tying strings of magic until he created a temporary, impenetrable ward.

"You all need to get out of here!" Harry shrieked. But his voice was lost in the fray and he felt desperation creep around him as he felt the ward began to bend under the pressure of the spells on the other side.

Gritting his teeth, Harry dissolved his shadow wolf and used the remaining magic to weave into thirty balls of black light. He sent each of them to the remaining werewolves, who had nearly killed every auror on the street.

Get out! Harry's voice snarled in fear. You must get out now!

The message must have penetrated through the blood lust. Greyback leaned up from where he was devouring the organs of a fallen wizard and let out an ear piercing howl.

Just as the howl rang out, Harry's ward broke under the pressure and Harry turned to face the onset of Aurors. Pulling on his magic, Harry conjured a thick fog.

"Run!" he screamed.

Sufficiently hidden, Harry began sprinting in the other direction. The Aurors had ceased their spells in fear of hitting a comrade but many had begun spelling away the fog. Their cover would not last but Harry's crafter magic would hold the fog in place until every last wolf managed to get away.

Twitching his fingers, Harry began to follow the familiar webs of magic, following the pack's path. He managed to catch a glimpse of Greyback's wolf form when he heard a scrape in the opposite direction.

An Auror was leaning heavily against a wall. His eyes were narrowed in pained fury and he raised his arm, almost as if in slow motion, and spat out a curse.

Harry saw Greyback's great head turn, but not fast enough. He saw the anger and the sudden onset of fear flood the Alpha's amber eyes and Harry felt the Moon's power rise in him.

With the combined power of his own pure magic and the Moon, Harry shot forward, pushing Greyback back with a strong gust of wind, and landed right in front of the oncoming curse.

Harry felt himself slam into something and magic wrapped around his body. He opened his eyes from where he was lying on the ground and saw the upside down picture of the Hogwarts castle and gave a humorless laugh.

With a violent surge of magic, the wards tensed and pounced, wrapping around his body and squeezing until all Harry could see were the colors of the webs and the shadowy image of the Angel crone who stood hunched with a devilish grin. The wards pulled and pulled until his magic and his core were torn clean out of his body.

Harry screamed.

How's that drama for a change? As I've been saying before, Harry's now at Hogwarts! This is the last finished chapter I have so far so hopefully I can get my stuff together and write faster.

On another note, I seemed to have lost a lot of my regular reviewers last chapter. Was there something unsatisfactory about it? ):

But besides that thank you all for taking the time to read/review/favorite/follow the story! It means a lot!

Menaphite: You're right in that the entire DMLE was right in the Ministry but who said the department was competent under Fudge? Especially when teenagers and DE's snuck in. Thanks for the insight and review!

autumngold: Draco's always been a snob in canon. As much as I love him, I have a need to portray him as a pointy-faced coward. Thanks for your continued support and reviews! (:

So Game of Thrones started last week and I'm really excited. As a book-reader, I can already anticipate what's coming, particularly the wedding...

Cheers and thanks again!