Authors note:

Hey guys, it's certainly been a while, but I'm back for this chapter at least, and I hope you guys enjoy it -like I always enjoy writing for you guys-.

I've wanted to post another chapter for so long, but I've been hit with the most damned, Unforgivable curse there is! WRITERS BLOCK! Yeah! Cringe away my friends, because it's highly contagious and dangerous, and it's coming for you! BUT thankfully I was able to scavenge every little nook and cranny in my mind and put together this little thing, which is not at all what I was hoping for, so now we have extra saucy drama and a little bit of understanding of how the mating will work. Four phases people, four phases! Any takers of what they are? I'll give you guys some hints!

1. Co _ _ e _ _ _ on

2. E _ o _ _ _ n

3. T _ l _ p _ _ _ y

4. S _ _ l

Go for it!

Little side note before I go, I'm really not happy with this chapter, it's odd and not at all what I was hoping for, but it's also very informative on why the werewolves changed. By the by, Umbridge is a bitch and this chapter is extremely small! (Tell me what you think ;) )

Okay, peace out my friends!

-Slytherette.

-oOoOoOoOo-

Smoke billowed up in thick towers from the cinders of what used to be the Ministry's ceiling, almost masking the sharp cloying scent of death in the room, but not quite. A lone figure was lying in a puddle of inky robes in the middle of the rubble, almost a perfect circle of scorched marble beneath it. The terrible facial features of a serpent man stared blankly up at the broken roof, blood as dark as the robes it wore and as thick as mud was splattered across the translucent skin as if stroked by an artists fingers, and if one looked close enough at the figure, sharp and obviously broken bones were pointing up and out of the robes, presenting the image that the serpent man had been impaled on a bed of stakes.

But Harry knew better.

"Master!" A shrill voice screamed into the deafening silence of the hall. Harry watched on dully as a figure in long black Death Eater robes streaked into his vision and threw themself at the remains of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, the heated wand in his hand tingling in anticipation. "My Lord! No, let it not be true! You must be alive, you must be!"

"Oh he's alive, he's getting ready to go dancing and bowling with all his other friends," Harry deadpanned, taking aim at the enemy.

The Death Eater froze where he knelt, his hands still grasping at the soaked fabric as if willing something to happen, anything. "You . . . You killed him," the man choked, not turning his bowed head to face him, but to stare down at the bloody mess known as his Master. "You killed the only one capable of setting our world to rights. You killed my Master!"

"I saved us all," Harry stated thinly, his voice flat and raising the hair on the nape of the mans neck.

"YOU RUINED US ALL!"

Harry ducked instinctively as a bright red curse zipped passed where his head used to be, and quickly rolled to the right where no large chunks of rubble blocked him from moving. "Expelliarmus!" He spat, flicking his wand expertly at the man as he righted himself.

The Death Eater seethed as his short bendy wand spun out of his hand, and pounced on top of a battle weary Harry with surprising speed, his dirtied and blood soaked hands immediately latching around Harry's throat and squeezing until the knuckles were white. "You killed my Master!" The man repeated shrilly, yellow rotting teeth exposed in a primal snarl as Harry struggled, kicked, and bucked his knees up into the man's narrow thighs. "And now I'm going to kill you!" He roared, his spittle flying onto Harry's grimacing face.

Anger flooded Harry's drained body, tensing him up and stopping him from flopping about limply as the Death Eater tried his damnedest to strangle the life out of him. Harry hissed out a breath, and hurriedly removed his right hand from the man's wrist where he'd been fighting to push it away, and instead swung it as hard and fast as he could at the Death Eater's exposed face. The man's cheekbone crumpled under his fist with a horrifying series of cracks, and it was enough to free him from the life ending grip.

But he didn't stop swinging, even when the shrieking man was curled up on the floor in a pile of broken bones and blood, his face awash with the bright ruby liquid. The anger was just so strong, so all encompassing that he continued to stomp on the broken man long after he'd stopped drawing breath, his feet only crushing the bones into smaller piles instead of snapping them like they had at the beginning.

It was only when he slipped and fell onto his arse did he notice that he was crying, and that he was completely covered in blood both his own, Voldemort's, and Voldemort's followers. He'd hit the man so much and so strongly that he was sitting in a pool of blood that looked as if someone had been gutted and left to bleed out all over the floor. Harry felt gutted himself.

"I'm a monster," he whispered, staring down at all the blood covering his shaking body. His wand lay forgotten beside him, swimming in the life essence of the man he had beaten to death.

"Of course you're a monster," someone sneered.

Harry tilted tear filled eyes up at the person, only to find his parents standing before him, both looking as they did in their final moments on Earth; messy, covered in blood from their fall and the crushing weight of the debris that had fallen onto them from the backlash of the curse Voldemort had thrown at him. The tears threatened to claw themselves out of his eyes, but he bit them back as much as he could.

"You're a monster, Harry, exactly the thing we died trying to prevent you from becoming," sneered James, a cruel smile curling his blood spattered and dusty lips. "It's your fault that we died you know, we could have lived, we could have had other children and stayed a family, we could have saved the world from scum like you. If you hadn't been born and that damned prophesy created."

Lily hummed in agreement, a contemptuous smirk on her heart shaped face as she glared at her weeping son. "He knows exactly why we died, James, he just doesn't care. Poor little Harry, having no parents and abusive relatives must be so hard to live with," she mocked disdainfully, a hate unlike any other settling deep into her identical green eyes. Harry cringed at seeing the look Voldemort had worn, on her beautiful face, a face he had longed to see in person for so long. "That must be why no one loves him. After all, no one loves a broken toy, and I'm afraid to say, Harry, but you're nothing but a toy that was snapped from the very beginning."

Tears leapt from Harry's eyes unchecked as his parents mocked and sneered at him, their words tearing lashes upon lashes of skin that not even Voldemort or Vernon could remove from his back. He was being shredded, he knew that, but he couldn't find it in him to fight back.He couldn't find anything wrong with what they were saying; it was the truth.

"Aww, look, James, you made him cry!" Lily crowed, smirking malevolently as Harry began to wear down even more. "You think he even deserves to live?" She asked her husband, a dark curiosity in her emerald eyes.

"Course not, Lil's," answered James arrogantly, flapping a hand in Harry's direction. "No one as evil as him can possibly deserve to live. Not when so many good people were sacrificed for its miserable little life."

Harry held in a wracking sob, his heart aching strongly in his chest as a powerful echo of something completely dark enveloped and iced his insides. They cramped up, as did his throat and lungs, and he found it difficult to breathe through the dense fog of sorrow, remorse, and guilt that was swallowing him whole.

The werewolves that he'd killed, both at the Ministry and Hogwarts alike; the Death Eaters he'd destroyed at the two battles in the Ministry, all to sever off power and support from Voldemort; the friends and family that had lost their lives all because of him, Cedric, his parents . . . .

"He knows it's his fault now," murmured Lily bitingly, obviously unimpressed with his sudden show of remorse. "What about when he tortured those werewolves in those cells? Did he even feel one shred of sadness over ending their lives? Not even a hint of remorse?"

"Obviously not," remarked James, whom was staring at Harry with something akin to disgust. "If he's feeling bad about it now then he's certainly becoming more aware of his monstrous nature. Thank God we died when we did, I don't think I could have resisted finishing off Voldemort's job myself," he admitted darkly.

"I couldn't not kill them," Harry choked, pushing himself past the drowning sadness in his chest. "They would have killed everyone I love -!"

"AND IT WOULD'VE BEEN YOUR FAULT IF THEY DID SO!" Roared James, his broad frame hulking forward as if to attack Harry as the rage and hate finally boiled over within. "IT'S ALWAYS YOUR FAULT, HARRY, YOU'RE A FREAK!"

Freak.

I'm a freak.

Lily smirked nastily at Harry as James continued laying into him, his words obviously tearing the boy apart chunk by chunk. "You're a freak, Harry," she said softly, menacingly. A malevolent gleam sparked in her eyes. "And now it's time you come to terms with that . . ."

A large shadow suddenly fell over Harry, but it was not his father continuing the attack. It was Vernon Dursley, and he was in a frightful rage, a sickening black gleam in his eye that spoke of many years of anger and rage. "Boy!" He snarled, the vein in his forehead bulging dangerously under the rage flushed skin. A look Harry was far too used to seeing when he'd been younger and much more weaker. "Look at what you've done, you've destroyed everything! Exactly like your pathetic loser of a father and bitch of a mother. You're a freak! A good for nothing . . ."

I'm a freak.

-oOoOoOoOo-

"I don't understand, why would they allow Greyback of all people to conduct tests on himself to cure Lycanthropy?" Asked Ron cautiously, if a bit incredulously as more than one person paced stressfully in the common room. "Surely the Ministry can't be that thick to let him just waltz in and do as he pleases. The git wants to turn everyone into werewolves for God's sake!"

"The Ministry is full of, for lack of appropriate words suitable for your age, dunderheads," sneered Severus Snape, his fathomless sharp eyes remaining watchful on the one closed door in the new common room, also known and recently dubbed as the Creatures Nest, as he spoke. "They so naively believed that Greyback would abandon his idea that werewolves are far superior to wizard-kind, most likely thinking that the Dark Lord had forced him to act like a rabid animal and that it was not his true thinking. They were wrong, as they so often are."

"Yeah, but aren't they afraid of Greyback?" Ron questioned dubiously. "What kind of idiot let's a mass murderer go waltzing into the Ministry to tinker about with his bloody experiments?"

"Fudge, apparently," Hermione muttered bitterly, a heavy scowl upon her stressed and pinched face. She also kept glancing at Harry's door, as if expecting Harry himself to come barging out to put in his own two sickles. With a glance at the others, she could tell that they thought the same as well. It was odd not hearing his thoughts on something so serious as war.

Dumbledore was frowning pensively into the flickering flames in the hearth, as he'd been doing ever since Harry had informed them -rather unemotionally- of the recent side effect of the moon on the werewolves, the lines of worry etched deeply into his weathered face deepening every so often even after the werewolves had been 'removed'. He stroked his beard absentmindedly, unaware, as he usually was when thinking so deeply, of the conversations going on around him. "Madam Umbridge dislikes those of creature blood and Being descendant," he murmured to the flames, rolling the words around in his mind thoughtfully. "What would she gain to assist werewolves in furthering their evolution and disease further when she herself wants them gone?"

The chatter fell into heavy silence at the pondered words. No one knew what to say or what to add to Dumbledore's musing, and almost unanimously they all remained quiet to see where the old, wise wizard went with his thoughts. If not for the near silent mumbling of a Potions professor, it most likely would have been as silent as the grave.

"Another war?" Dumbledore pondered, testing the idea in his mind. Before deciding it wasn't right. Or at least, not in part. Umbridge may have hated the creatures in the Wizarding world, but she wouldn't want another war between wizards to achieve it. Far too distasteful for a Pureblood lady such as she to spill more blood and call for a witch-hunt. But. . . "Perhaps a war between the creatures," he said, pursing his lips pensively and seriously as he considered the idea.

"Another war?"

Dumbledore blinked furiously out of his pensive state at the harshly demanded question, and turned calm glowing blue eyes on a pale faced Molly Weasley. He relaxed into the settee soundlessly, and bowed his head, his hand still twirling the long white hairs of his beard. "Yes, dear Molly. It is as I expected from a witch of her standards; she dislikes creatures so much that she would create a war between them, gifting one side with the means to destroy the other, and yet allowing just enough leverage for the opposing side to hold," he said, frowning.

"And what opposition other than vampires are there for the werewolves?" Asked Snape cautiously, tone waspish. "Surely Umbridge does not expect the small pockets of remaining vampires to fight back against the werewolves, especially as they have been proven to transform without the moon at its fullest. It would be suicide."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes looking far off into the distance in nowhere in particular. "That it would be," he agreed passingly. "But perhaps vampires are not their sole opposition. Figuratively speaking, werewolves have a tendency to 'bite the hand that feeds them', as some people I know used to say. Other than Wizard-kind, whom occupies most of the world?"

A horrified silence ensued as dawning realization happened upon the others. Hermione screwed her eyes shut in consternation as it occurred to her what the troubling answer was. "Muggles," she muttered into the deafening silence. "They're starting a war with the Muggles."

"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured mournfully, an invisible weight seeming to sink his frail body down in his seat. "And none but those strong enough to withstand and deal out death will be able to stop it. We alone are but a single drop in the ocean; slight, and desperately outnumbered. Should a war such as this occur, we will be almost powerless to stop it, especially if Voldemort's remaining hidden members decide to side with Greyback."

"Bollocks," Ron cursed into the heavy silence, but for once, Molly nodded her head in agreement with her son.

This was very bad indeed.

-oOoOoOoOo-

"Another war?" Draco hissed angrily, face pinched and pale as he looked between the faces of his solemn parents. It hadn't been long since he'd taken Harry to bed and waited for his mother and father to arrive, but what his parents had to say was something he really hadn't been expecting. This was far worse than what he could have ever expected. "What the bloody hell are they thinking, starting a new war so soon after just ending one? They better not ask Harry to save their arses again, he's done enough saving for more than enough lifetimes," he growled.

"I do not believe that that will be their aim, Draco. However, it is what will happen should Greyback engage the Muggles in war," said Lucius, frowning deeply at the entire situation. He cast a wary glance at the small lump still sleeping away in the large bed, before looking back at his son with a troubled expression. "He will not stand idly by whilst his friends go off to fight a war that shouldn't have begun. He will protect them," he told Draco quietly, concerned at his son's thoughts.

"If he goes, I go," Draco said firmly, inwardly daring his father to say otherwise. Lucius wouldn't be able to get a word in edgewise to convince him to let Harry go alone, especially where his life was concerned.

"And where you go, we shall follow," Narcissa said, pressing a small tender hand to her son's anger flushed cheek. "We of course extend the same to young Harry, for he is a part of our family now, and we always protect our family."

Draco sighed, and allowed his mother to cradle his cheek with her gentle hand and allowed himself to soak in her presence, but it wasn't long before he was shrugging her off and striding back to Harry's side, where he stood watch over the tense and frowning brunette with careful eyes. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that whatever Harry was dreaming about was entirely unpleasant, the brunette hadn't stopped crying until he fell into a deep sleep, and even then he'd continued to frown and cringe, the occasional tear crawling down his temples from the corners of his eyes.

There wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell that he'd let anything hurt Harry, his mate. The bond between them may be new and fragile, but it was far stronger than the normal Soulbond - far surpassing even his own parents' bond, and theirs was the strongest of a long line of Soulbonds. They would be advancing from the beginning phase into the next; emotions. It was one of the most infamous of the four stages, as it was the most treacherous.

Though, Draco was curious about Harry's emotions, as he always had been. Harry was known to wear his heart on his sleeve, and was perhaps the most emotional person Draco had ever known. He could be happy one moment -though it was considered a rare moment when Harry was really happy-, sad the next, and then angry, and then back to happy. It was like searching for a highly elusive snitch in a haystack, there one moment and gone the next; a fleeting glance.

And yet Draco couldn't wait to discover the extent of Harry's emotions, even if they may tear him apart.

"Fighting isn't in his nature," Lucius observed quietly as he moved to stand beside his silent son, a frown on his face as an almost silent whimper escaped from the trembling brunette's ruby red lips. "At least, not now that the Dark Lord is destroyed."

"He fights when he needs to," Draco muttered, watching his nervously fretting mother as she edged around the other side of the bed and perched on the edge as lightly as she could, and hesitantly placing a worried hand on Harry's curled one. It looked like Harry neither felt it or was disturbed by it, and Draco let it go. He refused to be one of those mates that attacked anyone for doing anything to his mate, like touch a hand accidentally. He had control.

"He is a fighter," Lucius remarked absently, looking deeply at his son-in-law's effeminate face and bringing Draco out of his thoughts. "But only because he was forced to be, without the Dark Lord and the death of his parents, and given the choice, I doubt he would have killed anyone at all."

"He's seen enough devastation for one so young," Narcissa whispered, gently caressing the loosely curled fist under her hand into a more relaxed position over the covers. Harry twitched in his sleep at the touch, whimpered, but didn't wake up. Draco tried for more patience, and bit down on his lower lip to keep from snapping at his mother. He had more patience than this.

"He's the victim of war," Lucius told her dryly. "What else did you expect?"

Narcissa neither replied, nor deigned to look like she'd heard him.

Draco on the other hand, sighed in resignation. "Do you really expect there to be another war?" He asked them wearily, chewing on his lower lip as he watched Harry continue to twitch and tremble in his troubled sleep. Harry didn't need to be caught up in another war, and Draco just knew that that was going to happen.

Lucius bowed his head, a curtain of silky blonde locks falling down his shoulder. "I believe so," he admitted. "But from what I hear from some of my associates in Muggle London, they have developed weapons that can and will destroy us and any threat they deem dangerous enough. Should the werewolves go to war, I suppose the Muggles will flatten them."

"But not without Harry defending them and breaking the Statute of Secrecy," Draco murmured.

Lucius nodded once, a stiff jerk of the head. "And then we will be revealed," he said briskly.

"Why are the werewolves going to war with the Muggles, why even bother when the Dark Lord didn't try to?" Draco asked, extremely bemused. "Why try to start something that could potentially end us all?"

"Greyback isn't one for logic," Lucius told him darkly. "If he believes that something is achievable, such as bringing Muggle London, and potentially the world, to its knees, he will do everything he is capable of to attain it. He doesn't care for politics, to him, the end justifies the means."

A frown marred Draco's face, and he licked his dry lips thoughtfully as he rolled over that information in his mind. "That doesn't explain why he wants to though," he said, continuing to frown. "That only tells me what lengths he'd go to."

A sigh escaped Lucius at that, and Narcissa looked up at her husband in concern when his feelings of hesitancy and fear filtered through to her. She straightened her spine and looked to her son with a surety and seriousness that shook Draco to the core. "As you know, Muggles control the majority of the world, but if Greyback were to infect all wizards and witches with Lycanthropy and induct them into his army, he would be able to launch a magical attack that could bring any community or country to its knees - first England, then Scotland, Ireland, France, Spain, Germany - it would spread like falling dominoes across the entire world. And werewolves unaffected by the sway of the moon would reign supreme."

Draco had paled at the beginning of Narcissa's speech, but by the end, he was a ghostly white. "But father just said . . . the Muggles have weapons," he whispered tensely.

Lucius glanced at him sorrowfully. "They would be no match for magic, Draco," he admitted in a murmur. "There is nothing stronger, or more effective than the spells we use. They would die before they got into killing distance of us."

Draco looked down at Harry instantly, fear and worry so thick choking him with immovable vices. He cleared his throat desperately to be rid of the embarrassing tears, and moved away from his father, mother, and mate to stand in front of the fire. "Is there no hope?" He asked in a small voice.

His parents' silence answered his question, and he finally allowed the tears to fall, ignoring his mother as she trailed a loving hand across his shoulders as they took their leave. They knew that they weren't welcome to witness his tears, only Harry was. And as the door shut behind them, he finally allowed himself to crumble and cross the room back to Harry's bed, where he stripped himself of his robes, shirt and trousers, and shuffled under the warm covers to embrace his quivering mate.

The only thing that kept registering with his mind was; I only just got Harry, how could fate be so cruel as to make me lose him so soon?