Chapter 10: Prophecy and Pack

Granger Household

The Granger household was quiet, basking in the afternoon sun filtering through the windows. Harry and Hermione were seated in the living room, the air calm and still. Their earlier decision to decline Ron's invitation to the Quidditch World Cup was fresh on their minds, and though it felt strange to refuse such an invitation, both had come to a silent understanding that their place was together right now—away from the world of magic, for just a little while longer.

"Do you think Ron will be upset with us?" Hermione asked, placing down the book she had been skimming through but not reading.

Harry shrugged. "Probably," he admitted, though his tone was more reflective than concerned. "But I'm not ready to face the Burrow just yet. I need some time."

Hermione smiled softly, reaching out to take his hand. "Me too. It feels good to have peace for once."

Just as the serenity began to settle in, there was a firm knock on the front door, breaking the stillness.

Harry frowned. "Were we expecting anyone?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Mum and Dad aren't due back from work for a few more hours." She stood up, already moving toward the door, with Harry following closely behind.

They exchanged a cautious glance before Harry opened the door.

"Sirius! Remus!" Harry greeted with a surprised smile. Standing on the doorstep were his godfather, Sirius Black, and his former professor, Remus Lupin.

Sirius grinned, though there was a certain tension behind his usually carefree expression. "Harry, Hermione! Good to see you two."

"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked, stepping aside to let them in.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look before entering the house. Once inside, they took a seat in the living room, the atmosphere growing heavier by the second. The look on Sirius's face confirmed it—this wasn't just a casual visit.

Sirius leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and he rubbed his hands together as if trying to find the right words. "Harry, there's something we need to talk about. Something important."

Harry, now sitting across from his godfather, felt a knot form in his stomach. He wasn't sure what to expect, but judging by Sirius's tone, it wasn't going to be easy.

"I've been meaning to tell you for a while now, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up. With everything that's happened, and the way things are going…" Sirius paused, taking a breath before continuing, "You're my heir, Harry. You're the heir to the Black family."

Harry blinked, processing the weight of those words. "The heir to the Black family?"

Sirius nodded, his face a mix of pride and worry. "Yeah. That means a lot of things. It's not just about the wealth, though there's plenty of that. It's about the responsibilities—what being the heir to an old, pure-blood family like the Blacks entails. You're tied to the legacy now."

Harry's mind swirled. "Responsibilities? Like what?"

"Well, for starters, you'd have access to the Black family vaults and properties," Sirius explained. "But it's more than just managing estates. You'd be taking on the title and status of the family head once I'm gone. That means dealing with old alliances, family politics... and making sure our family name isn't tarnished any further than it already has been."

Harry's stomach twisted. "Sirius, I don't care about the family name," he said, his voice low. "I don't want any part of it."

Sirius chuckled softly, though there was little humor in it. "I didn't expect you to, and honestly, I felt the same way. But this isn't something we can just walk away from. The Black name has power, Harry, and if you don't claim it, there are others who will. And trust me, you don't want that."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "Others? Like who?"

Sirius exchanged another glance with Remus before answering. "There are still members of the family—pure-bloods—who would gladly take the Black name and everything that comes with it. Narcissa and Bellatrix, for instance. They'd love nothing more than to control the family fortunes and use them to fuel their... well, their ideals. You're the only one who can keep the Black family from falling into the wrong hands."

Harry exhaled, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "And what does that mean for me?"

Sirius leaned back, crossing his arms. "It means you'll have to start thinking about the future, Harry. About who you want to be, and how you'll carry the name. And it also means you need to be protected." His voice grew more serious. "I'm offering you a place at Grimmauld Place—my home. I can keep you safe there."

Harry immediately shook his head, his resolve unyielding. "I'm not leaving Hermione," he said, his voice firm. "I'm not abandoning her or her family. If I go, they come with me."

Sirius blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the strength of Harry's conviction. "Harry, Grimmauld Place is warded to the teeth. It's not exactly... hospitable to Muggles."

"Then I'm not going," Harry replied, his voice unwavering. "I'm not leaving them behind."

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, Remus, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up.

"Harry," Remus said, his voice gentle but probing, "I need to ask you something... something personal."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He already had an inkling of what Remus was going to ask, and his stomach churned in anticipation.

Remus's gaze softened, filled with both concern and sorrow. "Are you... a wolf?"

Harry's throat tightened, but he nodded slowly. "Yes."

Sirius's face shifted, a look of concern flashing across his features. But it was Remus's reaction that hit Harry the hardest. His former professor's face paled, his eyes wide with shock and guilt.

"Who... who bit you?" Remus asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he already knew the answer but dreaded hearing it.

"You did," Harry said quietly, watching as the horror registered on Remus's face. "It was the night in the Shrieking Shack. You didn't know—you weren't in control."

Remus looked stricken, as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders. "Harry... I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling with guilt. "I never wanted this for you."

Harry shook his head, his voice firm despite the emotions swirling inside him. "It wasn't your fault, Professor. You couldn't control it. I don't blame you."

Remus's shoulders sagged, but his eyes remained filled with sorrow. "It doesn't change what happened, Harry. I... I've cursed you to a life I wouldn't wish on anyone."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Harry's revelation settling in like a storm cloud. Sirius sat back, his usual mischievous demeanor nowhere to be seen.

But before anyone could say more, there was a sharp, authoritative knock on the front door.

The sharp knock reverberated through the quiet Granger household, and Harry's stomach dropped. He exchanged a tense glance with Sirius, who was already standing, his wand hand twitching instinctively. Remus, his expression still clouded with guilt, remained seated but alert. Hermione, who had been standing by Harry's side the entire time, looked equally apprehensive. She could feel something ominous was about to unfold.

"Expecting anyone else?" Sirius asked, his voice low but edged with concern.

Harry shook his head. "No one."

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

"I'll get it," Harry said, moving toward the door. As he opened it, his heart sank at the sight of the familiar figure standing on the doorstep.

Albus Dumbledore.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore greeted, his voice calm but carrying a weight that Harry hadn't heard before. His normally twinkling blue eyes were cold, calculating as they swept past Harry to land on the others in the living room—particularly Sirius and Remus. His presence seemed to command the room, the atmosphere growing instantly tense.

Harry stepped aside reluctantly, and Dumbledore entered the house with purpose, moving as if he owned the space. He paused just inside, his gaze briefly flickering over Hermione before returning to Harry. "I must speak with you," he said, his tone firm.

"Is something wrong, Professor?" Hermione asked, her voice cautious as she moved closer to Harry.

Dumbledore didn't respond to her directly. Instead, he focused his full attention on Harry. "I'm here to bring you back to Privet Drive, Harry. You must return to the Dursleys."

Harry's heart plummeted. He had been dreading this moment, but he had hoped—prayed—that Dumbledore would leave him alone this summer, just this once. "No," Harry said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not going back there."

Sirius bristled beside Harry, stepping forward. "He's not going anywhere, Albus," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Harry's staying here. With people who actually care about him."

Dumbledore's eyes shifted to Sirius, but the headmaster ignored him, addressing Harry directly. "You don't understand the importance of returning to the Dursleys, Harry. The blood wards around their home—your home—are the only thing keeping you safe."

Harry felt a surge of anger rise within him, his fists clenching at his sides. "They don't keep me safe!" he snapped. "You think I'm safe there? With them?"

Dumbledore's expression remained calm, but there was a coldness in his tone that Harry had never heard before. "You may not like it, Harry, but the wards are ancient magic, bound by your mother's sacrifice. As long as you stay with your aunt, Voldemort cannot touch you."

Harry could feel his frustration building, a knot of resentment tightening in his chest. "And what about what happens inside that house?" he demanded, his voice rising. "They hate me, Professor! They treat me like I'm some... some... freak!"

Hermione, sensing the mounting tension in Harry, stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Harry's not going back there," she said firmly, her voice unwavering. "He's staying here, with us."

Dumbledore's eyes flickered toward Hermione, softening slightly, as if trying to reason with her. "Miss Granger, I understand your concern, but—"

"No, you don't understand," Hermione interrupted, her voice rising with emotion. "You've never lived the way Harry has. You don't know what he's been through with those people. Sending him back to them isn't protection—it's cruelty."

For the first time, Harry noticed a flicker of emotion in Dumbledore's eyes. It was brief, but unmistakable—regret, perhaps? But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the same calm, impassive expression.

Sirius, who had been watching the exchange with mounting fury, suddenly stepped forward, his voice laced with anger. "You can't force Harry to go back to those Muggles, Albus. He's been through enough. You can't keep him locked away like a prisoner."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, and for a moment, his mask of calm slipped. His eyes flashed with something Harry hadn't seen before—anger. But just as quickly, Dumbledore schooled his features, his expression returning to its usual calm, controlled demeanor.

"I am not your enemy, Sirius," Dumbledore said, his voice measured but with an unmistakable edge. "I am trying to protect Harry."

"Protect him?" Sirius spat, his temper flaring. "By keeping him in the dark? By sending him back to a house where he's treated like dirt? That's not protection, Albus—that's cruelty. You're no better than the Dursleys if you think sending him back there is what's best for him."

Harry could feel his heart racing, the tension in the room thickening like a heavy fog. He had never seen Sirius this angry before—not even when he was furious at Snape. Dumbledore, for his part, seemed to be struggling to maintain his calm, his frustration visibly simmering beneath the surface.

"I am doing what I must," Dumbledore said, his voice icy now. "For Harry's safety. For his future. There are things at play here that you do not understand."

Sirius stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "Oh, I understand plenty, Albus. You've been controlling Harry's life from the shadows, pulling strings and making decisions for him without even telling him the truth. And now you expect him to blindly follow your orders? No. Not anymore."

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he looked between the two men. Dumbledore's calm façade was beginning to crack, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

"This is not up for debate," Dumbledore said, his voice sharp and final. "Harry must return to the Dursleys. It is in his best interest."

At that, Hermione, who had been standing quietly beside Harry, suddenly stepped forward, her face pale with fury. "His best interest?" she repeated, her voice trembling with anger. "You think you know what's best for him? You don't even care about him!"

Dumbledore turned to Hermione, his expression softening slightly. "Miss Granger—"

"No!" Hermione shouted, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. "You don't get to decide what's best for Harry! You don't get to take him away from the people who actually love him!"

Harry reached out and gently placed a hand on Hermione's arm, trying to calm her, but his own frustration was boiling over.

Sirius, too, wasn't finished. "You've done enough, Dumbledore," he growled. "Harry isn't going back to the Dursleys. He's staying here—with people who actually give a damn about him."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed with barely contained anger. For a brief moment, Harry saw the frustration bubbling beneath the surface—the struggle to maintain control. Then, with a deep breath, the headmaster composed himself, his features smoothing into a mask of calm.

"I have always acted in Harry's best interest," Dumbledore said quietly, though the tension in his voice was unmistakable. "Everything I have done has been to protect him."

Sirius wasn't having it. "Protect him? By keeping him locked away like a prisoner? By lying to him? You've been manipulating him, Dumbledore, and now you want to drag him back to that hellhole of a house just because it fits into your grand plan."

The words hung heavy in the air, the tension palpable. Harry could feel his heart racing, his mind reeling from the argument unfolding before him. He had never seen Dumbledore like this—so rigid, so... angry.

But Harry knew one thing for sure: he wasn't going back to Privet Drive. He wasn't going to let Dumbledore—or anyone—control his life anymore.

"Enough!" Harry's voice cut through the room like a blade, silencing the argument.

Sirius and Dumbledore both turned to look at him, the tension still crackling between them.

"I'm not going back to the Dursleys," Harry said firmly, his voice calm but unyielding. "That's my decision. My home is here, with the Grangers."

Dumbledore's shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of Harry's decision sinking in. He looked at Harry for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Very well," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "But understand, Harry, that there will be consequences."

Harry met his gaze, his green eyes burning with determination. "I'll face whatever comes. But I'm not going back."

There was a long, heavy silence before Dumbledore finally nodded, his face lined with fatigue. "Take care of yourself, Harry," he said quietly. "I only hope you are prepared for what lies ahead."

With that, Dumbledore turned and made his way to the door. He hesitated for a moment, casting one last glance at Harry before leaving the Granger household without another word.

As the door closed softly behind him, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, leaving only the echo of Dumbledore's parting words behind.

Sirius let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. "Well," he muttered, "that went better than expected."

But Harry wasn't so sure. Dumbledore's warning still echoed in his mind, and he couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

"Whatever happens next," Harry said quietly, "I'm not letting him control my life anymore."

Hermione reached out, taking Harry's hand in hers. "We'll face it together," she promised, her voice steady and full of resolve.

And in that moment, Harry knew that no matter what lay ahead, he wasn't alone. He had his friends—his family—and together, they would face whatever challenges came their way.

As soon as the door closed behind Dumbledore, the room seemed to exhale all at once, the heavy tension of the previous confrontation dissipating slowly into the air. Sirius sat back on the couch, rubbing his temple, while Hermione's hand remained gently clasped around Harry's, grounding him in the midst of the emotional storm. Remus, who had remained quiet during the entire argument, finally cleared his throat.

"Harry," Remus began, his tone careful yet curious. He shifted his chair closer to Harry, eyes soft but filled with concern. "We need to talk about... the wolf problem."

Harry tensed at the mention of it. He knew this conversation was coming, but it still sent a small shiver down his spine. He glanced briefly at Hermione, who gave him a reassuring squeeze before letting go of his hand. Harry took a deep breath and nodded.

Remus leaned forward slightly, studying Harry's face. "Sirius and I, we were worried. We didn't know... if you were alright after your transformation."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, but decided to get it all out. "It was... it was strange," he admitted. "I didn't take Wolfsbane. I didn't want to... I don't know. I just didn't feel right taking it."

Remus looked shocked, his eyebrows raising in disbelief. "You didn't take Wolfsbane? Harry, that's incredibly dangerous. How did you—did you—" He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Did you hurt anyone?"

Harry quickly shook his head. "No, I didn't. Hermione stayed with me the whole night. And her father too."

For a moment, Remus just stared at him, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Hermione and her father?" His voice was low, almost incredulous. "And you... didn't bite her? Either of them?"

Harry's face flushed slightly, feeling a little awkward under the intensity of Remus's gaze. He glanced at Hermione, who looked equally curious but confident in Harry's abilities. "No," Harry repeated firmly. "I didn't hurt either of them."

Remus seemed utterly flabbergasted. "That's... that's astounding," he murmured, running a hand through his hair. "You and Hermione... your scents are practically woven together. It's remarkable that you didn't... well..."

Harry stiffened, unsure of how to respond. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

Remus shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking between Harry and Hermione. "It's not uncommon, especially for newly-turned wolves, to become... possessive. Instincts take over. Wolves, particularly Alphas, feel a powerful need to claim and protect. Your scent and Hermione's... they're all over each other. It's shocking that you didn't bite her."

Harry's face heated further, and he felt Hermione tense slightly beside him. He could feel her eyes on him, but he was too embarrassed to look at her. "I... I wouldn't do that," Harry stammered, his voice thick with defensiveness. "I... I care about her too much."

Hermione's cheeks flushed a little, and she took Harry's hand again, squeezing it gently in reassurance. "And I trust him," she said softly, looking directly at Remus. "I wasn't afraid."

Remus's gaze softened as he nodded slowly. "Still, Harry," he continued, his tone more serious now. "It's incredibly dangerous to transform without Wolfsbane. Why didn't you take it? You could have seriously hurt someone, even if you didn't mean to."

Harry glanced down at his hands, feeling the weight of his decision press against him. "I didn't want to lose control... of myself," he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. "I didn't want the wolf inside me to go crazy. Hermione told me what Wolfsbane can do—how it corrupts the mind of the wolf. I couldn't take that risk. I'd rather rely on my instincts."

Remus stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded in understanding. "You're right. Wolfsbane... it does something to us. Even though it can give us control, it twists the wolf into something more... feral. That's why it's such a dangerous solution."

There was a brief silence as Remus processed everything Harry had just revealed. Then, his tone softened again. "I know this is new to you, Harry, and it's not easy. But you're going to need help. You shouldn't face the full moon alone. Not like this."

Harry nodded, grateful for Remus's understanding. "I know. I was scared," he admitted. "But Hermione was there. I wasn't alone."

Remus sighed, glancing at Hermione. "You're lucky to have her. But you shouldn't take that risk again." He paused, and then his voice turned more serious. "I want you to run with me. On the next full moon."

Harry looked up, surprised. "What? Run with you? In wolf form?"

Remus nodded. "Yes. It's safer that way. You'll have someone to guide you through the transformation, someone who understands what you're going through. We'll be in the Forbidden Forest around Hogwarts. We can keep each other under control."

Harry's heart raced at the thought. Running with Remus during the full moon... it was terrifying, but also exciting in a strange way. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he trusted Remus.

"I'll do it," Harry said, his voice firm. "But what about Hermione?"

Remus's expression darkened slightly, and he shook his head. "It's too dangerous, Harry. She can't be with us. Not during the transformation."

Harry's heart sank at that. He hated the idea of leaving Hermione behind, especially during something as intense as the full moon. But he knew Remus was right.

Hermione squeezed his hand again, her voice soft but firm. "It's alright, Harry. I'll be waiting for you. Just... come back to me."

He nodded, giving her a small smile. "I will."

Remus gave Harry an approving nod. "Good. We'll figure it out, Harry. But you're not alone in this."

There was a moment of silence, the weight of the situation still heavy in the air. And then Sirius, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, cleared his throat.

"Harry," Sirius said, his voice more cautious than before. "I... I need to ask you something as well."

Harry looked over at his godfather, who shifted awkwardly in his seat.

Sirius's usual cocky demeanor had softened, replaced with something far more vulnerable. "I want you to reconsider coming with me. To Grimmauld Place."

Harry stiffened at the mention of it. "Sirius..."

"Look, I know it's not ideal," Sirius continued, his voice more insistent now. "But it's the safest place for you. There are protections there, things I can use to keep you safe. You'd have the Black family resources at your disposal, and... I could look after you."

Harry's heart clenched at the sincerity in Sirius's voice. He knew his godfather only wanted the best for him. But the thought of leaving Hermione, of leaving the Grangers... it didn't sit right with him.

"I can't, Sirius," Harry said softly. "I'm staying here. With Hermione. I can't leave her behind."

Sirius's face fell slightly, but he nodded in understanding. "Alright," he said quietly. "But if you ever change your mind, the offer's always there. You're family, Harry."

Harry's chest tightened at those words. Family. The word felt foreign, yet comforting at the same time.

"I know, Sirius," Harry replied, his voice soft. "Thank you."

With that, the conversation came to a natural end, the weight of the decisions Harry had made settling over him. But as he sat there, with Hermione's hand still gently holding his, he felt... okay. He had made his choice, and for now, that was enough.

The moon may rise again, but Harry knew he wasn't going to face it alone.

The Rookery

Luna Lovegood sat quietly in her room, her fingers idly tracing the delicate designs on her bedspread. Her gaze was unfocused, drifting somewhere between reality and the ethereal realm of her thoughts. The evening light streamed softly through her window, casting long shadows that danced gently along the walls.

Then, without warning, an overwhelming feeling washed over her, like a dark wave dragging her into an unfathomable depth. Her breath caught in her throat as her vision darkened, and an icy chill seemed to settle over the room. She clutched her chest, a sob escaping her as she was seized by a vision—vivid, sharp, and unrelenting.

"No... no..." she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. The images were fractured, fragmented pieces of a future she wished desperately to change. Wolves, running through the forest, the full moon casting its haunting glow over them. And then... shadows. Tragedy.

"No, please... I don't want this," she murmured, clutching her arms around herself, her entire body shaking. "I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry…"

The door creaked open, and her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, stepped inside, concern etched deeply into his kind face. Seeing her distraught, he knelt down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Luna, my dear," he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet strength. "What's happened? What did you see?"

Luna looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with grief. Her lips trembled, and for a moment, it seemed like she might manage to speak. But then the wave of sorrow took hold of her again, and she shook her head, barely able to keep herself together.

"I… I can't change it, Daddy," she whispered brokenly. "No matter what I do… I can't change it."

Xenophilius tightened his hold on her shoulders, his own face shadowed with worry. "Sometimes, the paths we see are the ones we're meant to follow," he murmured, though his words felt hollow in the face of her pain. "Tell me, love. What can't you change?"

But Luna couldn't answer. The vision was too much, too intense, and every attempt to grasp the meaning behind it seemed to slip through her fingers like smoke. The weight of it all pressed down on her until finally, her mind seemed to give way, releasing her into a trance-like state.

Her gaze unfocused, her eyes distant, and then, in a voice that wasn't entirely her own, she began to speak, her words heavy and resonant, like echoes from some ancient place.

"When the next wolf moon rises, the pack will grow. A union of hearts and of kindred souls will bond beneath the moon's watchful gaze. But beware the shadows, for while the pack runs free, tragedy shall strike... and what is lost will be mourned."

Her words hung heavy in the room, each syllable imbued with a sense of finality. Xenophilius watched her, his face pale, his hands shaking slightly as he held her shoulders. He had heard enough prophecies in his life to recognize one when it happened, and his heart ached to see his daughter in the throes of something so deeply powerful.

As Luna came back to herself, her body trembled, and her breath hitched in her throat. She looked up at her father, her gaze dazed and filled with an eerie sorrow.

"Daddy…" she whispered, her voice small and broken. "I'm so sorry."

Xenophilius pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, his own heart heavy with the weight of her prophecy. "Hush, my little moon," he whispered, stroking her hair. "We'll face whatever comes. You're not alone."

But as he held her, a chill settled over him, and deep in his heart, he feared what the next full moon would bring.