Save a dance for me.
Chapter 5
Voldemort was furious. Not only had the boy, Harry Potter, survived him once again, but he had unknowingly dealt a significant blow to Voldemort's cause. Greyback was dead, and with him went Voldemort's hopes of rallying the werewolves to his side. Without their Alpha, the pack would never follow anyone else, especially not the Dark Lord.
Fenrir Greyback had been more than just a powerful weapon—he had been an anomaly, a werewolf who wielded control over his transformations in a way no other could. His inhuman strength, speed, reflexes, and heightened senses remained even when he was in human form, and his ability to partially transform at will was unmatched. Greyback had been a terrifying creature, one that Voldemort had intended to use and then dispose of once he had outlived his usefulness.
But the plan to dissect and study Greyback had died when the werewolf's skull had been obliterated by a blasting curse in the graveyard. The boy, Potter, had not only escaped with his life but had also robbed Voldemort of a potential army and a unique weapon. Now Greyback's rare strain of lycanthropy was lost forever, leaving only ordinary werewolves, none of whom could replicate his abilities. Without Fenrir, there would be no pack, no formidable beasts to join his forces.
Voldemort's anger boiled over, and the pain-filled whimpers of the Death Eaters at his feet were not enough to quell his fury. They had failed him—allowed Harry Potter to escape, to survive yet again—and now they would suffer for it.
…
As the sun began to rise, Hermione Granger watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as her best friend began to transform before her eyes. The bones in his body snapped and shifted with grotesque, audible cracks, resetting themselves into place as his human form emerged from the monstrous beast he had become. His face contorted in pain, and his body shook as it reformed, the transformation taking an agonizing toll.
Hermione's heart raced as she watched the werewolf—now looking less like the terrifying lycanthrope that had filled the cage and more like the boy she knew. The thick, sinewy muscles receded, and the fur shrank back into his skin. His claws and fangs disappeared, leaving only the familiar features of Harry Potter. His face, pale and strained, glistened with sweat, his breaths shallow and labored as he collapsed onto the cold floor of the cage.
Hermione blushed deeply, suddenly realizing Harry was completely naked. She turned away, her face burning with embarrassment, even though she knew that within the cage, he couldn't see, hear, or sense anything beyond the enchanted bars. Still, the sight of him, vulnerable and exposed, unsettled her. She fumbled for something to do, her mind spinning, and her eyes landed on Fawkes, the phoenix perched on the counter beside her, seemingly asleep.
"Uh, Fawkes?" Hermione called out hesitantly, feeling rather silly for addressing a sleeping bird. But as soon as she spoke, the majestic creature opened its eyes and looked at her with an intelligence that far surpassed most wizards she knew. Fawkes turned his gaze toward Harry, who was still panting on the floor, then with a flash of fire, the phoenix disappeared.
Moments later, Fawkes and Dumbledore appeared in the kitchen, his face calm but his eyes full of understanding as he took in the scene before him. "Good morning, Ms. Granger," he greeted her warmly. "I trust you had an enlightening night. If you'd like to step outside for a moment, I believe we can make young Harry a bit more... presenatble for the conversation that is surely to come."
Hermione nodded mutely, not trusting herself to speak. She quickly stepped out into the hallway, her mind still racing from what she had witnessed. She barely had time to catch her breath before she heard two loud cracking sounds from further down the hallway. Her heart leaped into her throat as she instinctively reached for her wand, hiding in the shadows at the foot of the stairs.
The footsteps grew louder as two figures hurried toward her, their wands already drawn. Without thinking, Hermione cast a spell. "Stupefy!" she shouted, the spell narrowly missing its mark as it struck the wall behind the first figure.
"Expelliarmus!" the voice yelled back, and Hermione felt her wand fly out of her hand, leaving her defenseless. Panic surged through her until the figures stepped into the light.
"Well done, Ms. Granger," Remus Lupin said, offering her a kind smile as he approached. "Not giving away your position until the last moment was very smart. Though, I'd recommend taking more careful aim next time." He placed a hand on her shoulder in a reassuring manner.
"I'm sorry, Professor Lupin," Hermione replied, her voice small. "I didn't know it was you." "Not your professor anymore, Hermione. Call me Remus," he said with a gentle smile.
"I'm sorry for trying to hex you too, Sirius," Hermione said, turning toward the second man who had disarmed her—Sirius Black, standing at the bottom of the stairs with a mischievous grin on his face.
Sirius laughed his bark-like laugh and tossed her wand back to her. "Don't apologize, Hermione. It's good to see you looking out for my godson. But I agree with Remus—you should work on your non-verbal casting. If I hadn't heard you yell that incantation, I might be sporting a nasty bruise right now."
Hermione's blush deepened, feeling both embarrassed and proud of Sirius' compliment. "We don't start nonverbal spells until our fifth year," she said with a shy smile.
"Well," Sirius said, clapping her on the back, "no harm in starting early. How about Remus and I give you and Harry some lessons over the summer? What do you think?"
Even in the dim light, Hermione's face lit up with excitement at the offer. "That would be wonderful!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her enthusiasm for learning.
Sirius chuckled at her excitement, but his tone grew serious again as he glanced toward the door. "But first, we need to deal with Harry."
"Professor Dumbledore is helping him get dressed now," Hermione said, her voice softening with worry.
Just as the words left her mouth, the door to the kitchen opened, and Dumbledore appeared, his expression calm but his eyes twinkling as usual. "Ah, I see we're all here. You may come in now—Harry is decent."
Hermione blushed again at Dumbledore's teasing tone, while Remus and Sirius exchanged confused glances. Together, they stepped into the room, eager to see Harry.
…
Harry knelt on the cold stone floor, panting heavily as his body slowly began to recover from the grueling transformation. His entire form ached down to his bones, and though he was no longer the towering beast he had been just moments ago, the lingering pain of the shift back to human form still tore at his muscles. He could feel the sweat trickling down his bare skin, and his heart hammered in his chest as he gasped for breath.
Transforming into a werewolf had been excruciating. It was an experience unlike any other pain he had endured—not even the Cruciatus Curse or the basilisk bite had compared. Dumbledore had warned him about the first transformation, but the pain and intensity were beyond anything Harry could have imagined. Even the transformation back to human, while less severe, was a torment of its own.
Now, at last, the ordeal was over—at least for a month. Dumbledore had promised he wouldn't have to go through this alone, that he wouldn't be aware of anyone's presence due to the protective enchantments around his cage. But even through the haze of his altered senses during the transformation, Harry had felt something.
There had been a comforting warmth, something soothing that he couldn't quite explain but which made the transformation feel slightly less lonely.
He knelt there, chest heaving, his bare body vulnerable in the silence. The weight of everything he had been through since the Third Task fell heavily on his shoulders. His thoughts drifted to his friends, to Hermione, and, most of all, to Cho. Dumbledore had told him that both Hermione and Cho had been devastated by his return to Hogwarts in such a dire state. He had seen their worry etched on their faces, but now that he had become something more monstrous, a werewolf, his anxiety about their reactions consumed him.
Would they be able to accept him after learning what he had become? Would they be able to look past the monstrous curse that now lived within him? He had always known Hermione would stand by him no matter what. She had proven her loyalty time and time again, and their bond was unshakable. But Ron... Ron had not taken the news about Remus being a werewolf well, and their friendship had been strained lately. Harry wasn't sure if Ron would be able to handle this.
The Weasleys, though, he felt more certain of. Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Molly, and Arthur—they would stand by him. Neville too. Despite the shy, quiet nature of his friend, Harry had no doubt about Neville's loyalty. Even Fleur, who had grown closer to Harry since the tournament, might be more understanding, given her own Veela heritage.
But Cho... Cho was who he was most afraid of losing. Would she be able to accept him, knowing what he had become? Harry feared her reaction more than anyone else's. He had to tell her the truth before she heard it from someone else. If they were ever going to have a real chance at a relationship, he needed to be honest. But the thought of her turning away from him, disgusted or fearful, made his stomach twist with dread.
Suddenly, his senses sharpened, the overwhelming sensations of sound and smell crashing over him in a dizzying wave. The screech of metal scraping against stone filled his ears, so loud it made his head throb. A sharp, lemony scent hit his nose, followed by something that smelled like steel. His pulse quickened as the rhythm of approaching footsteps echoed in the distance, accompanied by a strange, almost hypnotic thumping sound that he couldn't place.
Instinctively, Harry looked up, though time itself seemed to move sluggishly around him. His vision was startlingly clear—he could see the dust hanging in the air, each tiny speck moving slowly through the beam of light that cut across the room. Everything in his surroundings felt sharp and hyper-real, as if he were seeing the world through new eyes. And then, in the slow-motion crawl of his awareness, the figure came into focus.
It was Dumbledore.
Relief surged through Harry, and time seemed to snap back into its normal rhythm. The overwhelming flood of sensations dimmed, and Harry's heart began to calm as he focused on the familiar, calm presence of his headmaster.
"I hope you're feeling a little better, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, drawing his wand. With a quick, fluid motion, he cast a spell, and Harry felt a sudden warmth wash over him, as if he had been instantly dried and cleaned.
"Uh, what was that?" Harry asked, still panting slightly as he looked down to find his body no longer covered in sweat and grime.
"I thought it best to clean you up a bit before you dressed," Dumbledore replied with a knowing smile. "We wouldn't want Miss Granger to see you in such a state, now would we?"
Harry's face burned red with embarrassment as Dumbledore handed him a bundle of clothes—his own. "Hermione's here?" he asked, his voice shaky with anxiety. "Does she know about me?"
"Yes and yes," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling as always. "She has been here since last night and witnessed your transformation firsthand."
Harry's stomach dropped, and fear crept into his voice. "Was she... afraid?" he asked, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice.
"Yes," Dumbledore answered, causing Harry's heart to sink, "but she was afraid for you, not of you."
Harry's head snapped up, hope shining in his emerald eyes. "She wasn't afraid of me?"
Dumbledore's smile widened. "No, Harry. Hermione is very worried about you, but she is not afraid. In fact, I dare say she has been more concerned about your well-being than anything else. Why don't you ask her yourself?"
"Right," Harry muttered, relief flooding him as he hurriedly threw on his clothes, still feeling the sting of embarrassment over the state he'd been in. Once he was dressed, Dumbledore gestured for him to follow. Together, they stepped out of the enchanted cage and into the room beyond.
As he followed Dumbledore toward the door, Harry felt a flicker of hope. Whatever had changed in him, whatever fears he had about the future, he knew one thing: he wasn't alone. His friends, and perhaps even Cho, would stand by him. He just had to believe it.
...
Remus Lupin stood quietly at the side, watching the interaction between Harry and Hermione with a soft smile. He was deeply reminded of his own time at Hogwarts. He knew more than anyone what it meant to have
friends during the darkest of times, especially when facing something as isolating and terrifying as lycanthropy. The bond between friends could be the lifeline that stopped you from losing yourself in the darkness, and Remus could see how fiercely Hermione cared for Harry—how she was ready to stand by him, no matter what.
For Remus, it hadn't always been so easy.
As a young boy, before Hogwarts, he had lived in constant fear of what he had become—a creature that people feared, a monster, something dangerous. Even after coming to Hogwarts and meeting James, Sirius, and Peter, those fears had stayed with him. They lingered at the back of his mind, gnawing away at him in the quiet moments.
What if his friends found out about his condition? What if they abandoned him? What if they didn't leave, and he hurt one of them instead? The thoughts had haunted him for years, a constant cloud of "what if" that never seemed to lift.
But in the end, all his worries had been for nothing. His friends had found out, and instead of leaving him, they had embraced him, never treating him any differently. They had even gone so far as to become Animagi just to be with him during the full moon, so he wouldn't have to suffer alone. They had taken the one thing that terrified him the most—his condition—and turned it into something that strengthened their bond.
As he watched Hermione and Harry now, Remus could see the same determination in Hermione's eyes that he had once seen in James,' and still saw in Sirius'. She wasn't going to abandon Harry. In fact, she looked ready to fight anyone or anything that dared to try and hurt him. There was also something else in her eyes, something softer, a tenderness that reminded Remus of the way Nymphadora Tonks sometimes looked at him. It was more than just friendship—there was a depth to it that perhaps even Hermione herself hadn't fully acknowledged.
Harry, still looking exhausted from his transformation, caught Remus' eye. The young man had been through so much, but now, with this new burden on his shoulders, Remus could see the weight of uncertainty hanging over him. It was the same uncertainty that Remus had carried at Harry's age—the same fear of what he had become, of what it would mean for his future.
Remus cleared his throat gently, stepping closer to Harry and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Harry," he began softly, "I know this... this transformation, it's terrifying. I know what it feels like, the fear of what's to come, the fear of losing control."
Harry looked up at Remus, his eyes shadowed with doubt. "How did you do it, Professor? How did you... manage?"
Remus smiled, a touch of sadness in his expression. "I didn't manage, at least not at first. When I was your age, I was full of fear. Fear of the full moon, fear of hurting someone, and most of all... fear of being abandoned by the people I cared about." He glanced at Sirius, who nodded solemnly, their shared history clear between them.
"I was lucky," Remus continued, his voice growing softer. "I had friends who didn't give up on me—James,
Sirius, Peter. They accepted me for who I was, even when I couldn't accept myself. But it wasn't easy to trust them with the truth at first. I kept my secret hidden for as long as I could, but eventually, they found out." Harry listened intently, hanging on to every word.
Remus sighed. "What I'm trying to say, Harry, is that you can't do this alone. I made the mistake of thinking I could—of thinking I had to. But the truth is, the people who care about you, who truly care about you, won't abandon you because of this. You must be honest with them, even when it's hard. Trust them."
He glanced at Hermione, who was watching the exchange with wide, tear-filled eyes. "You've already got friends who are willing to stand by you, no matter what," Remus said, his voice gentle but firm. "Hermione,
Ron, as well as Sirius and I—we'll be here for you. But you have to let us in. You have to let us help."
Harry nodded slowly, the weight of Remus' words sinking in. "But what if... what if I hurt someone? What if I
lose control?"
Remus squeezed his shoulder gently. "That's a fear I've lived with every day of my life. But you don't have to face it alone. There are precautions, ways to control it, to manage it. It won't be easy, but you're strong, Harry—stronger than you know. And you've got people who care about you to help you along the way."
Harry's eyes flickered toward Hermione, who gave him a reassuring smile through her tears. "We'll figure it out together," she said softly.
Sirius, who had been listening quietly, stepped forward and clapped Harry on the back. "She's right, kid.
We've all got your back."
Remus smiled again, this time with more warmth. "If I could go back and tell my younger self anything, it would be this: Trust your friends. You don't have to carry the burden on your own. Let them help you shoulder it."
Harry looked between Remus, Sirius, and Hermione, a spark of hope finally flickering in his eyes. "I'll try," he said, his voice low but determined. "I'll try."
"That's all any of us can do," Remus said, giving Harry a final, comforting squeeze on the shoulder. "One step at a time."
As they stood together, Harry surrounded by the people who cared about him most, Remus felt a sense of peace settle over him. Harry wasn't alone, and that made all the difference. He only hoped Harry would come to realize that sooner rather than later.
...
The Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts was bathed in the soft, golden light of late afternoon, but Harry Potter felt none of its warmth. He stood with Hermione, his hands trembling slightly as they waited for his closest friends to arrive. Hermione was at his side, calm and reassuring, but Harry could sense the tension in her too. They had planned this meeting while still at Grimmauld Place, after his first painful full moon transformation, but now that the moment had come, all of his anxieties rushed to the surface.
Harry's condition—his new reality as a werewolf—was about to be revealed to the people who mattered most to him. And despite Hermione's constant assurances that nothing would change, Harry knew better. Human nature was fickle, and fear was a powerful thing. He had seen how people reacted to Remus when they learned he was a werewolf. Even now, with Remus standing as proof that someone could live a normal life with the condition, Harry worried that his friends wouldn't be able to accept him the way Hermione had.
"I know they'll understand," Hermione said softly, sensing his unease. But Harry wasn't so sure. He could hear the faint, irregular rhythm of Hermione's heartbeat. Whether it was from doubt or simply anxiety, the sound unsettled him more than her words could reassure.
Finally, the sound of footsteps echoed across the pitch, and Harry's stomach clenched. Ron, Ginny, Neville, Fred, and George were approaching, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. Ron, in particular, looked both apprehensive and distant. The tension between them since the Triwizard Tournament lingered heavily in the air.
"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Ron called out as they drew closer. "The Daily Prophet made it sound like you were on your deathbed." But before Harry could respond, Ginny was in front of him, pulling him into a fierce hug.
"Thank God you're okay," she whispered, her voice shaky. "I was so scared, Harry."
Harry stood stiff in her embrace, her scent overwhelming his heightened senses. He pulled back gently, unwilling to return the hug, though his heart ached at the worry in her voice. He knew he needed to tell them everything, and the weight of that knowledge made it impossible for him to offer even the smallest comfort.
"Are you okay?" Ginny asked, her brow furrowing in concern as she looked up at him.
"There's something I need to tell all of you," Harry said, his voice strained. "But before I do, Dumbledore wanted me to make sure you all understand—what I'm about to say stays between us. You can't tell anyone." He waited until they all nodded in agreement before continuing.
He took a deep breath and launched into the story of what had happened during the final task of the Triwizard
Tournament—the graveyard, Voldemort's return, and the battle with the Death Eaters. The tale took ten minutes, but it felt like a lifetime as Harry relived the horror in his mind.
"When I woke up the next day, I wasn't at Hogwarts anymore," Harry explained, pulling at the collar of his shirt to expose the scar on his left shoulder. It was a deep, jagged mark that looked years old despite having only been inflicted days ago. "Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore told me the wound couldn't be healed. It was
a bite."
Neville's face paled, and Ginny let out a sharp breath.
"I'm a werewolf," Harry said bluntly, his gaze locked on Ron's. "Dumbledore believes I was bitten by Fenrir Greyback."
For a moment, the group stood in stunned silence, the weight of Harry's confession hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
"But—how?" Neville asked, his voice shaking. "There was no full moon the night before last…"
"Greyback," Harry explained. "He could transform at will, or at least that's what Dumbledore thinks. I was just… unlucky."
Fred was the first to break the tension, his voice light in an attempt to ease the gravity of the moment. "Well, that's a bit unfortunate."
"Yeah," George added with a grin, "and here we were thinking something terrible had happened."
Neville, still pale but determined, nodded. "Harry, this doesn't change anything. You're still you. It's not like you're the first werewolf at Hogwarts. Remember Professor Lupin? He was the best Defense teacher we ever had."
Ginny smiled softly, wiping away the tears that had formed in her eyes. "It doesn't matter, Harry. We're here for you."
Hermione, unable to hold back her emotions any longer, let out a choked sob, overwhelmed by the support and acceptance from their friends. But even amidst the heartening words, Harry couldn't help but notice the look on Ron's face. His best friend hadn't spoken a word.
"What about you, Ron?" Harry asked, turning to face him fully. The question hung heavy between them, the tension palpable.
Ron's gaze didn't waver, but he remained silent for a long, agonizing moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost flat. "I don't know. I won't say anything, but… I'll need time. This is just… a lot." "Don't be a prat—" Ginny started, her anger flaring, but Harry held up a hand to stop her.
"That's fine, Ron," Harry said, keeping his voice steady even as disappointment crept into his chest. "Take all the time you need."
The rest of the group stood in awkward silence as Ron's words lingered, and Harry quickly excused himself. "I have someone else I need to talk to," he said, forcing a smile. "I'd rather do it alone if you don't mind."
They nodded, though Ginny gave him one last worried look before they started to walk away. As they left,
Harry overheard Ginny whisper to Hermione, her voice breaking, "Why does it always happen to Harry?" The raw emotion in her voice made Harry's chest tighten, but he shook his head, pushing the thought away as he turned toward the path leading back to the castle. He had another conversation to prepare for—one that could make or break everything. He needed to find Cho.
But as he walked, the weight of Ron's words—and his silence—hung over him like a dark cloud. Would things ever go back to the way they were?
…
Peck, peck, peck…
Cho awoke with a start to the soft but insistent tapping at her window. Her mind was still foggy with sleep, but as soon as she pulled back the curtains, she saw a snowy white owl perched on the windowsill. It was Harry's owl—Hedwig. In an instant, the last remnants of sleep evaporated, and her heart began to race.
Cho quickly opened the window, allowing the owl to swoop in and land gracefully on the foot of her bed. She knew this was something important—Harry hadn't sent her a letter since before the Third Task. Trembling slightly, she reached for the letter attached to Hedwig's leg, fumbling with the string in her haste. Her fingers shook, more from nerves than the cold, as her mind raced with possibilities.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally freed the letter and unrolled it carefully, her eyes scanning the words as her heart pounded in her chest.
Cho,
Please meet me on the Quidditch pitch as soon as you get this. I have something important to tell you. Harry.
Her breath caught. Something important. Cho didn't waste another second. She dressed hurriedly, her mind buzzing with anticipation and dread, and practically ran out of the Ravenclaw Tower, barely feeling the chill of the early morning air as she raced toward the Quidditch pitch.
As she neared the grounds, she spotted a group of people heading back toward the castle. The Weasley siblings, Neville, and Hermione—all looking somber, their faces shadowed with something dark and unresolved. Only Neville and Hermione glanced in her direction, giving her a brief but sad acknowledgment before continuing on their way. Cho's heart sank. What had happened?
Her steps faltered slightly as her anxiety grew. Was this about Harry's health? Was something terribly wrong? But just as the questions threatened to overwhelm her, she saw him.
Harry.
He stood alone on the Quidditch pitch, his figure unmistakable even from a distance. Without thinking, Cho quickened her pace, her worry, and confusion momentarily forgotten. Before she knew it, she was running toward him, her feet carrying her forward without hesitation, and then she was in his arms, clinging to him as though she never wanted to let go.
"Harry, I'm so glad you're okay," Cho whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away, burying her face in his shoulder. "I was so worried."
Harry held her close, savoring the warmth of her embrace, but the weight of what he had to say pressed heavily on him. His chest tightened as he braced himself for the confession that could shatter everything between them.
He had already told his closest friends, and it hadn't gone the way he'd hoped. How could this be any different?
"Cho, there's something I need to tell you," Harry began, his voice laced with anxiety. His arms stiffened around her, as if trying to hold on to this moment for just a little longer.
But Cho surprised him. She pressed a finger gently to his lips, silencing him.
"Wait, Harry, there's something I want to say first," she said softly. Her eyes were shimmering, filled with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. "I wrote to my parents after I got out of the hospital wing. I told them… I told them that I didn't care what they did. That if you would have me back, I would stay with you— no matter what. Even if they pulled me out of Hogwarts. I won't lose you again."
Before Harry could process her words, she kissed him—softly, tenderly, but with a depth of feeling that left him breathless. For a brief moment, all his worries, all his fears melted away in the warmth of her lips. He kissed her back, deepening the connection as if this might be the last time.
When they finally pulled apart, both were slightly out of breath. Cho smiled up at him, her eyes searching his.
"Does that mean you want me back?" she asked, her voice soft but full of hope.
Harry's heart clenched. He wanted nothing more than to say yes, to hold her close and forget everything else. But the truth loomed over him like a shadow, and he knew he couldn't avoid it any longer.
"I never wanted to let you go," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But before you decide… before you say that, there's something you need to know."
His heart was pounding in his chest, each beat filled with dread and uncertainty. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself, and then finally spoke the words that could change everything.
"Cho… I'm a werewolf."
The silence that followed was deafening. Time seemed to stretch, and Harry's heart raced faster with every passing second. He kept his gaze fixed on Cho, searching her face for a sign—anything that would tell him what she was feeling. Would she be afraid? Disgusted? Would she walk away?
Every muscle in Harry's body was tense, bracing for the worst. He had already seen the reactions of others— how Ron had pulled away, how people looked at him differently. He couldn't bear to lose Cho, not after everything, but he knew this was the moment that would determine whether there was any future left for them.
He waited, breath held, as Cho's expression slowly shifted…