Save a dance for me.
Chapter 7
The past two weeks at the Dursleys' had been remarkably different from any of Harry's previous summers. With his heightened senses, enhanced strength, and speed now mostly under control, Dudley and his gang no longer posed even the slightest threat. In fact, it had become boring to taunt them. When Dudley had tried to corner Harry with his usual gang a few days after Harry returned, Harry had simply dodged their attacks as though they were moving in slow motion. He never raised a hand to fight back. Instead, he let them tire themselves out as they tried to land a punch, with Harry deftly sidestepping every blow. The more they missed, the more frustrated they became, eventually turning on each other by mistake.
After that embarrassing incident, Dudley and his gang stuck to childish name-calling or avoided Harry altogether. Dudley even seemed to hold a grudging respect for his cousin—though he would never admit it. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Harry's summer at the Dursleys' was, if not pleasant, at least peaceful.
But peace, Harry had learned, never lasted.
As the full moon approached, everything changed. The closer it came, the more difficult it became for Harry to keep his temper in check. His enhanced senses grew sharper, almost painfully so, and his strength increased to the point where he had to be extra careful not to accidentally break things—or worse, hurt someone. The letters from his friends, especially Hermione and Cho, were the only things helping him stay grounded. Hermione's letters were full of updates about her summer, and reminders to keep his temper under control. Cho's letters offered reassurance, telling him how much she missed him and how eager she was to see him again. The warmth and concern in their words helped him stay balanced, even when he felt his control slipping.
But on the day of the full moon, everything went south.
Harry had informed the Dursleys that he would be leaving that afternoon and wouldn't return until next summer. Uncle Vernon had been more than happy to see him go.
"Good riddance," Vernon had snarled. "Didn't want you or that ruddy owl lounging around all summer anyway." When Harry didn't respond, Vernon pressed on. "Where are you going to be, then? Some no-good layabout friend of your parents, I bet?"
"I'll be staying with one of my father's best friends," Harry said, his voice even. The last thing he needed was to lose his temper.
Vernon's face twisted in contempt. "A no-good drunk, I suppose. Birds of a feather and all that. I hope he doesn't expect us to pay for your little vacation, or will he be trying to freeload, just like your useless father?"
A glass on the counter shattered.
Vernon turned, outrage on his face, but the look died the moment he saw Harry. Harry's face had changed. His jaw had elongated, his teeth had grown into sharp, menacing fangs, and his eyes had darkened to a shadowy, stormy blue. His skin seemed to ripple with tension as veins bulged, and his cheekbones became sharper, almost feral. His lips curled into a snarl, and Harry's breath came in heavy, guttural bursts. His voice, when he spoke, was low, guttural, and distinctly inhuman.
"You will never speak that way about my father, my mother, or me ever again," Harry growled, his voice no longer fully human. Vernon tried to back away, but Harry had him by the throat in an instant, lifting him with ease. "Or I will rip your throat out," Harry snarled, the wolf inside him raging, demanding that he tear the man apart. Every instinct screamed for blood—Vernon's blood. He could hear it pulsing beneath the man's skin, smell the fear rolling off him in waves.
But then, somewhere in the chaos of his mind, another voice whispered softly—calming, soothing, like Hermione's voice in his ear. The voice reminded him that Vernon wasn't worth it, that this was not who he wanted to be.
"Stupefy!"
The spell hit Harry square in the chest, knocking him back as he dropped Vernon to the ground. Vernon scrambled backward, slipping in a puddle of his own urine as he tried to crawl away. His savior stood in the doorway, wand still raised.
…
Vernon Dursley sat in his recliner in front of the television, a confused frown creasing his face.
He couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten there. The last thing he recalled was Harry telling him he'd be leaving for the rest of the summer.
"PETUNIA!" Vernon bellowed. His wife appeared from the kitchen, a pair of yellow rubber gloves on her hands, looking scandalized.
"What is it, Vernon?" she asked.
"Did the boy already leave?" he demanded.
"Yes, he's been gone for nearly an hour," she said, walking closer before stopping abruptly, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Vernon… why do you smell like you've pissed yourself?"
…
"Remus, calm down and tell me what happened," Albus Dumbledore said in his usual soothing tone.
"It's like I said, Albus—he was partially transformed." Remus Lupin was nearly beside himself with worry. "I had just arrived at the Dursleys' when I heard Harry shout. I opened the door, and there was Harry, holding his uncle by the throat, threatening to rip it out if Vernon ever spoke ill of him or his parents again."
Dumbledore's eyes clouded over in contemplation. "Then what happened?" he prompted gently.
"Then I stunned him. He dropped his uncle and collapsed. I stunned Vernon, too, and obliviated him before I even turned Harry over." Remus ran a shaky hand through his graying hair. "Albus, he was partially transformed—without the full moon. Only Fenrir Greyback has ever been known to accomplish something like that." His eyes widened in panic, reflecting the gravity of what he'd witnessed.
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, his expression far away. After a few moments of silent deliberation, he finally spoke. "It's rage, Remus. I don't believe Harry had any control over it. Like Greyback, his transformations are driven by intense emotions. Harry may share more traits with Greyback than either of us anticipated."
Remus blinked, stunned by the implication. "But how is that even possible? Wasn't he infected the same way I was?"
"Perhaps not," Dumbledore replied, his voice measured. "Something in Harry—his magical core, his lineage, or even the circumstances of the bite—might have altered the infection. It could be that Harry's lycanthropy functions differently than yours or any other werewolf's." He paused, considering the variables. "There are many possibilities, and each is just as plausible as the next."
Remus stared at him, the weight of Dumbledore's words settling heavily on his shoulders. "What do we do then, Albus? If anger can trigger his transformation even without the full moon, how can he safely return to Hogwarts? He's already got enough to worry about with Voldemort targeting him. Now this?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a rare optimism. "The first issue can be easily managed—a strong calming draught should help prevent him from losing control during particularly stressful moments." His voice was calm, reassuring. "As for the transformations themselves, I trust you and a certain 'Black' dog could provide some assistance."
Remus furrowed his brow. "But I can only help him during weekends at Hogsmeade or when I'm at Hogwarts. And Sirius can't exactly wander the grounds without arousing suspicion."
Dumbledore's smile turned slightly mischievous. "Ah, but Hagrid has been somewhat preoccupied with his duties as Care of Magical Creatures professor, leaving his role as groundskeeper a bit… unattended. I think it might be time for a new one, don't you, Remus?"
Dumbledore's voice was rich with meaning. "There are no rules preventing a staff member from having a pet. Fawkes serves as my familiar, and Hagrid has Fang. I foresee no objections to Sirius Black's 'pet' roaming the grounds."
Remus gaped at him, completely taken aback. He could barely process what Dumbledore was suggesting. "You… you want Sirius to be a staff member? Groundskeeper?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with satisfaction. "I shall take your stunned silence as a yes." He gave Remus a gentle pat on the shoulder before rising.
...
Harry opened his eyes slowly, feeling groggy and sore. "What happened?" he muttered.
"We were hoping you could tell us," came a familiar voice from beside him. He turned and saw Dumbledore's serene face gazing at him.
"Professor? How did I get here?" Harry asked, confusion clouding his thoughts.
"Ah, that would have been my doing, Harry," Remus Lupin responded from the other side of Dumbledore, his tone calm but tinged with concern.
Still processing everything, Harry simply nodded. "Okay... but where exactly is here?" he asked, scanning his unfamiliar surroundings. Though it was clear that a Gryffindor once occupied the room, Harry couldn't place it.
It was the next voice that caught him completely off guard.
"This was my parents' house," Sirius said bitterly as he stepped forward. "But I'm the last Black left, so now it's mine."
Harry was stunned to see his godfather once again. "You look much better than the last time I saw you, Sirius," he said, smiling weakly.
"I wish I could say the same for you," Sirius replied with a smirk. "Now, mind telling us what happened that made Moony resort to stunning you?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his bed, recalling the events. "I... I got angry. My uncle said something about my parents, and I—well, I lost control." His voice wavered. "I didn't mean to, but I... I partially transformed."
Remus, visibly alarmed, interrupted, "You actually resisted the wolf?" His eyes widened in disbelief. "Even if you were only partially transformed, that should've been impossible. Once the transformation starts, the wolf usually takes over."
Harry hesitated before responding. "There was... more than one voice. One was the wolf, but there was another, something gentler. I still felt like myself."
Remus exchanged a glance with Dumbledore, both visibly troubled. "That's not something we've seen before," Remus murmured.
"Indeed, it is an anomaly worth further exploration," Dumbledore interjected, though his voice remained calm. "But for now, let us focus on the matter at hand—the full moon is upon us. We need to ensure your transformation goes smoothly tonight."
"Where will I be transforming, Professor?" Harry asked, anxiety creeping into his voice.
"In the same place as last time, my boy," Dumbledore assured him. "Though you may not have seen much of it before. Sirius, if you wouldn't mind giving him a tour?"
"Of course." Sirius gestured toward the door with a sweeping motion. "Come on, Harry. The room you were just in used to be mine when I lived here. Across the hall is my brother Regulus' room—before he threw his lot in with the Death Eaters. Let's head down to the basement; that's where you'll be transforming."
As they crept down the stairs, Sirius whispered details about his childhood home. Harry found it unsettling, especially when Sirius pointed out the row of mounted house-elf heads that lined one wall. The house reeked of dark magic and bad memories, and Harry pushed those thoughts aside, knowing they would need to be addressed another time.
Finally, they reached the kitchen—a place Harry immediately recognized from his previous transformation. "So this is where I'll be spending my full moons from now on?" he asked, trying to mask his unease.
"Yes," Remus confirmed with a determined expression. "I'll be here to help you along the way.
But you're... unique, Harry. I may not be able to offer as much guidance as I'd hoped, but I'll do my best."
"And don't forget about me," Sirius chimed in cheerfully. "I helped Moony during his transformations back at school, and it won't hurt to have someone with a clear head around."
Harry's face paled. "No, Sirius, you can't. It's too dangerous. It took both you and my father to control Remus. With two werewolves, it's too big a risk—I won't be responsible for hurting you!"
"Ah, but you're wrong, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "There will indeed be two werewolves, but Remus will be in full control of his mind thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion. We've already prepared it for both of you. It may not work on you the same way it does for Remus, but it is worth a try. And with both Remus and Sirius by your side, I believe tonight will go smoothly."
Dumbledore pulled a tiny cage from within his robes, setting it in a clear space in the corner of the basement. With a few flicks of his wand and a silent incantation, the cage grew until it took up half the room.
"Remember, once that cage is sealed, it cannot be opened until the sun rises tomorrow morning. Remus, the Wolfsbane Potion is in the kitchen. I'll leave you to it, as I must attend to a meeting with Cornelius Fudge." And with a soft pop, Dumbledore disapparated.
Remus disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two goblets of Wolfsbane Potion, handing one to Harry. "Here's to another moon," he said before downing his own in one gulp. Harry tried to do the same, but barely managed a mouthful before gagging. "That is... foul."
Remus chuckled. "I told you it was awful stuff."
…
"Educational Decree Number Twenty-two?" a rather annoyed Amelia Bones asked irritably. "What rubbish is this, Cornelius?"
"It is not rubbish at all, Madam Bones. It is for the betterment of the education of our young minds," came the sickly sweet voice of Dolores Umbridge, her lips curling in a tight smile.
"I believe I was addressing the Minister," Amelia snapped, silencing the toad-like woman, who scowled deeply.
"I am the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister!" Umbridge bellowed, her voice dripping with indignation.
"Yes, but you are not the Minister," Amelia said coolly, her words biting with backhanded precision. She turned her attention back to Fudge. "Now, Minister Fudge, what is this rubbish about the Ministry interfering at Hogwarts?"
"Now see here, Madam—" Umbridge began, anger flashing in her eyes, but Fudge wisely chose to intervene, raising his hand to quiet her.
"That is quite enough, Dolores," Fudge said firmly, his attempt to maintain control apparent. "This, Amelia, is simply a way for us to ensure that the best available, Ministry-approved instructor will be placed in the school should Dumbledore be unable to find one in time."
"And who might this 'Ministry-approved' instructor be, Cornelius?" a calm, measured voice asked, causing both Fudge and Umbridge to flinch at the sudden arrival of Albus Dumbledore.
Fudge began spluttering, twisting his bowler hat nervously in his hands. "D-Dumbledore! Why are you here?"
"I believe I was invited, Minister," Dumbledore said, bowing gracefully toward Amelia, who smiled warmly in return. "And as it pertains to Hogwarts, I would have expected the invitation to come from you. But it is understandable that such a simple matter would slip your mind."
"Y-yes, indeed. Slipped my mind," Fudge stammered, visibly flustered. "W-where was I again?"
"The instructor, Cornelius. The Ministry-approved one," Amelia reminded him coldly, her patience wearing thin.
"Oh, y-yes, of course," Fudge said, attempting to gather his composure. "The Ministry has decided to appoint, in the event that you are unable to find a suitable instructor, Dolores Umbridge as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Really? And what qualifications does she possess that someone from my own department does not have in spades?" Amelia asked, her tone icy. "Surely an Auror would be a much better choice than her."
The room fell silent, tension thick as Umbridge seethed, and Fudge seemed to feel his plans unraveling before him.
"Well said, Madam Bones," Dumbledore interjected, his blue eyes twinkling. "I would be honored to have a fully trained Auror teach at Hogwarts. Surely, the Ministry would have no complaints about someone handpicked by such a revered department head. Not to mention, the current head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Who better to choose a candidate to teach our children how to defend themselves from dark forces than the very person in charge of protecting us from said forces?"
"I fully agree, Dumbledore," Amelia said, her voice firm. "I can have a list of candidates ready by Monday. That should be well within the time limit, wouldn't you agree, Minister?"
Fudge was visibly sweating now, his plans collapsing around him. He could force the issue and risk confrontation, but he knew that to go against Amelia Bones would be political suicide. She was widely respected within the Wizengamot, and any attempt to discredit her would be futile. The Aurors were fiercely loyal to her, and any maneuver against her would spell disaster for his career.
Reluctantly, Fudge nodded. "I completely agree, Amelia. Someone from your office would indeed be more suitable."
"Cornelius, surely you must be j—" Umbridge began, her voice rising in anger.
"Very well, then. It's settled," Amelia interrupted sharply, cutting Umbridge off mid-sentence. She stood from her seat and moved briskly toward the door, which Dumbledore held open for her. "Albus, I will owl you with the list on Monday. Though, I daresay the best choice would be Kingsley Shacklebolt."
"I couldn't agree more, Amelia," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Minister, Madam Undersecretary, good evening to you both." With a final nod, both Dumbledore and Madam Bones left the room, leaving a flabbergasted Fudge and an enraged Umbridge behind.
The moment the door clicked shut, Umbridge let out a frustrated screech. "How dare she! How dare they!"
Fudge, his face ashen and his voice weak, could only mutter, "We'll have to rethink our strategy, Dolores. This… is not over."
…
Remus Lupin watched in awe and fear as the creature before him stood on its hind legs. Harry's werewolf form was unlike anything he had ever seen, not even in the darkest corners of his nightmares. This was no ordinary werewolf. Harry had transformed into something far more terrifying, a hulking, monstrous figure that towered over him like a beast from an ancient legend. His body rippled with thick, powerful muscles, and his fur was a dark, almost black mass that made his size and strength even more imposing.
Remus felt the wolf inside him, the part that always raged during the full moon, cower in fear. It was as though Harry's presence commanded submission, like an alpha more powerful than any werewolf Remus had ever encountered. Instinctively, he crouched low, head bowed in submission, unable to bring himself to rise in defiance against the towering figure.
Harry's head was brutish, his wide, ferocious snout lined with razor-sharp teeth, too large for even his massive face to contain. His breath came out in low, dangerous growls, the sound reverberating around the room like the promise of destruction. His emerald-green eyes were the only hint of the boy that Remus had known, glowing brightly in contrast to the terrifying black fur and monstrous features that now dominated his form.
The sheer size of him—he stood close to eight feet tall, arms as thick as tree trunks and ending in jagged claws—was enough to freeze anyone in their tracks. Those claws, sharp as daggers, glinted ominously, capable of tearing through flesh, stone, or even metal with ease. Every breath Harry took seemed to shake the very air around him, exuding raw, predatory power.
Remus whimpered, his head low, unable to fight the instinct that told him to submit to this creature. Despite all his years as a werewolf, despite all his knowledge of the curse, he had never seen or felt anything like this. The aura that surrounded Harry's transformed body was overwhelming, as if he were standing before the true leader of their kind—an alpha whose power demanded obedience. It was terrifying, and Remus could do nothing but bow his head lower, humbled by the sight.
…
Sirius Black, even in his Animagus form, was built larger than most werewolves, but this—this was something far beyond anything he had ever encountered. As Padfoot, Sirius had always felt confident that he could hold his own against the average werewolf, but now, looking at Harry, he realized this was no ordinary werewolf. This was a beast that belonged in nightmares.
Harry's hulking form was a towering mass of muscle, claws, and fangs. He stood with the grace of a predator but carried the brute strength of a monster. His head was like that of a massive wolf, but more grotesque, with a snout wide enough to rip a man's head from his shoulders. The sheer size of Harry's claws, the dark fur, and the glowing green eyes sent a chill through Sirius's bones.
Even as Padfoot, Sirius couldn't help but whine in fear. The air was thick with the scent of dominance and power, and he was overwhelmed by the primal instinct to flee. His paws trembled beneath him as Harry's piercing green eyes turned toward him. For a moment, Sirius thought he might be torn apart. But then, in those monstrous eyes, he saw something that made him stop—a flicker of humanity. Despite the terror of Harry's monstrous appearance, there was something familiar in those eyes. He recognized it instantly.
It was Harry.
…
Harry's senses were sharper than ever, his mind alert but anchored to the overpowering physical sensations. The first transformation had been excruciating and disorienting, but this time—this time, Harry was aware. He could feel the power coursing through his body, the strength in his limbs, the sheer force of what he had become. His massive form moved with predatory grace, yet he was in control—or at least, some part of him was.
As he looked down at Remus, who was crouching before him in submission, the scent of fear hit him like a punch to the gut. It was overwhelming, a stench that filled the air. Instinctively, Harry bent down and sniffed the older werewolf, his snout twitching as the familiar scent of Remus drifted through. But beneath that scent, there was something else—fear. He could smell it coming off of Remus in waves. It made Harry sick to his stomach. He didn't want this. He didn't want his friends to fear him.
Harry moved away from Remus, his large claws scraping against the stone floor. He turned his head and saw Sirius, who had transformed into his Animagus form. But even as Padfoot, Sirius was trembling, ready to flee. Harry felt another wave of nausea as he realized they were both afraid—afraid of him.
He didn't want this.
With a deep breath, Harry crouched low and gently nudged Remus with his massive snout, trying to communicate. Remus whimpered again, making Harry's heart ache. He tried again, nudging more gently this time. After a moment, Remus lifted his head and looked into Harry's eyes, his own wide with uncertainty. Slowly, Remus tilted his head, a silent question in his eyes— 'Harry?'
Harry nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. It was enough. Remus's posture softened as he realized that, despite the monstrous appearance, it was still Harry inside.
Then, without warning, Sirius bounded toward them, yipping happily as Padfoot, his tail wagging in relief. It was as if the tension in the room melted away in that moment. Despite the fear, despite the terror of what Harry had become, his godfather and his mentor had recognized the boy they loved within the beast.
Tonight might not be so bad after all.
...
Cho sat in her room, gazing sadly up at the full moon through her window. Harry had yet to respond to her letter, though she hadn't expected him to so soon. Still, that didn't stop her from wishing he had. She missed him more than she could explain, more than she could justify to herself. Why did she feel this way? Maybe it had something to do with the uncertainty—whether or not she would see him before the start of term.
She was also anxious about the impending meeting between Harry and her father. Cho was prepared to defy her family if it meant being with Harry, but having her father's blessing would make things so much easier. Sighing, she moved away from the window and lay down on her bed. From under her pillow, she pulled out Harry's letter, scanning its familiar lines for the ones that always brought her comfort.
"I miss you."
Those three simple words made her heart flutter and her eyes tear up.
He was thinking about her. He wanted to be with her again, even after everything she had put him through. That realization stirred guilt inside her. She still felt sick about how easily she'd given up on him. She had walked away without a fight, nearly handing him to another woman— without so much as a word of protest.
And yet, Harry had forgiven her, welcomed her back without hesitation. He hadn't run off with Fleur or Hermione, even though both of them could have easily taken her place if he'd only asked. Cho knew how much Hermione cared about him—she could see it in the younger girl's eyes, hear it in her voice. And Fleur? She had made no secret of her interest in Harry, especially after the bond they'd formed during the tournament.
Deep down, Cho understood that Hermione would always be a part of Harry's life. She had been his greatest and most loyal friend since their first year. It was hard to imagine a world where there was a Harry without Hermione. Strangely, that thought didn't bother her as much as she thought it might.
She had been there, after all, when Hermione refused to believe that Harry wouldn't make it after the Third Task. She had seen the fierce love in her eyes, heard the determination in her voice. Somehow, Cho knew that Hermione would do anything to make Harry happy—even if that meant letting someone else have him.
Cho understood now that a relationship with Harry Potter was not going to be easy. In fact, it might be the hardest thing she ever faced. With Voldemort's return and the looming danger, she knew she could very well become a target. And yet, she didn't regret her decision. She loved him.
The realization hit her as she held the letter a little tighter: Cho Chang was in love.
…
"Sweetheart, what's wrong? You've barely said anything all night, and you haven't touched your dinner," Mrs. Granger asked, worry evident in her tone.
Hermione was silent for a moment, debating whether or not to tell her parents what was really troubling her. "Mum, you remember my friend Harry?"
Mrs. Granger gave her daughter a knowing smile and nodded. "How could I forget? You hardly talk about anyone else."
Hermione blushed but pressed on, ignoring her mother's teasing. "Well, something happened to him before the summer holidays," she began, tears starting to form in her eyes.
Mrs. Granger gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, while Mr. Granger watched his daughter carefully, seeing something more in her eyes than just tears. He had seen that look many times before—in his wife's eyes.
"Mum, Dad," Hermione continued, her voice trembling, "there are such things as werewolves. We even had one as a professor in my third year. He was very kind, the best Defense teacher I've had."
Her parents' expressions darkened as they began to piece things together. Her mother looked horrified, and her father clenched his jaw tightly.
"During the tournament last year..." Hermione explained what had happened in the graveyard, detailing Harry's encounter with Voldemort and how he had been bitten. "Tonight is his second full moon," she said, her voice breaking. "And there's nothing I can do to help him." She broke into sobs.
A little while later, after calming Hermione down, Mr. and Mrs. Granger sat in their living room, their expressions heavy with distress.
"So, not only is our little girl's best friend a werewolf," Mr. Granger muttered, "but he's also being hunted by a dangerous maniac. And on top of that, she's in love with him." He shook his head in frustration.
Mrs. Granger gently stroked her husband's hair, soothing him. "That's about the size of it," she said softly. "But from what she tells us, Harry is powerful and more than willing to protect her."
"We should pull her out of that school right now," Mr. Granger said suddenly, sitting up straight. "She won't need protection if she's not there."
"You'd break her heart," Mrs. Granger replied quietly. "Are you really prepared to do that?"
Mr. Granger hesitated, the shame clear on his face. "No, of course not," he sighed. "But... it sounds like the boy already has a girlfriend."
"Yes, Cho," Mrs. Granger acknowledged. "But they're still young. Anything could happen." "That's what I'm worried about," Mr. Granger said with a sigh, leaning back into his wife's comforting arms.
...
The sun rose slowly over the horizon, painting the sky with the warm hues of dawn. The light poured through the window into the cage currently holding Harry Potter, and he took a deep, calming breath, his muscles slowly beginning to relax. The night had been exhausting, more so emotionally than physically. As he rested his head against the enchanted bars, he couldn't help but think about how different things had become.
Remus Lupin, experienced and accustomed to the aftermath of a transformation, was already on his feet, though still tired. He quietly pulled his clothes back on, his movements slow but practiced. Sirius Black, on the other hand, stretched lazily in his dog form before effortlessly shifting back to his human self. He was grinning, seemingly unbothered by the events of the night.
"Well, gents, that was one hell of a night," Sirius said, his voice bright with an almost casual tone.
"Only you would consider last night a good time, Padfoot," Lupin replied, offering a small grin as he finished buttoning his shirt.
"You can't honestly tell me you didn't enjoy yourself a little, Moony," Sirius teased. "It's been ages since you've had company during a full moon."
"I suppose it was a change," Lupin conceded with a slight shrug, though his tone was far from jovial. "But I still wouldn't call it a good time."
"Good enough," Sirius quipped before turning his attention to Harry, who was slowly rising to his feet, feeling the residual soreness from the transformation. "What about you, Harry? How are you feeling?"
Harry rubbed his neck, feeling the dull ache in his muscles. He forced a grin, but his mind was elsewhere. "I could really use a shower. And Sirius—you could definitely use one too. You smell like dog urine."
Lupin's lips twitched as he glanced at Sirius. "Yeah, you do, Padfoot. Had a little accident, did we?"
Sirius flushed, clearly embarrassed. "Well, can you blame me? I thought the potion wasn't working and that Harry was going to rip us apart."
At Sirius' words, Harry felt a cold knot form in his stomach. He had been so caught up in the rush of power and the relief of surviving the night that he hadn't truly considered what could have gone wrong. His thoughts quickly spiraled as memories of his near-attack on Uncle Vernon resurfaced.
"I've never seen a werewolf like you before, Harry," Sirius continued, his tone turning more serious. "You were huge. Honestly terrifying."
Lupin nodded in agreement. "Your transformation was... different. There's something unique about what you went through. We've heard rumors, but nothing solid. Even Greyback's transformations were never quite like yours."
Harry's heart raced as their words sank in. His mind whirled with thoughts of his friends— Hermione, Cho, Ron, Neville. What if he lost control around them? What if next time, there wasn't anyone around to stop him? His thoughts shifted to the people he cared most about: Hermione, with her constant support, and Cho, who was so willing to stand by him despite everything. Could he risk their lives by staying close to them?
"Do you think I'm dangerous?" Harry asked quietly, his voice filled with fear. "I mean, more dangerous than... than usual? You saw what happened at my uncle's house... I nearly... I could've killed him." His eyes flickered with panic as he imagined worse scenarios. "What if I lose control at school? Around Hermione, or Cho?"
The thought of hurting them was unbearable, and Harry's chest tightened with anxiety. He clenched his fists, struggling to keep his fear in check. "I don't think I can face them if there's even a chance I might hurt them."
Remus, seeing the growing distress in Harry, knelt down beside him, his voice calm and steady.
"Harry, what happened at your uncle's house wasn't because of the full moon—it was triggered by anger. That's something you can learn to control. You're not alone in this."
Sirius nodded, leaning against the bars of the now-dormant cage. "Remus is right. You won't be on your own. There's always a risk, yeah, but we've got ways to manage it. You've already proven how strong you are—stronger than any of us imagined."
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. "But what if... what if I do lose control? What if the potions aren't enough? I don't want Hermione or Cho getting caught in it if something goes wrong."
Lupin exchanged a look with Sirius, his brow furrowed in thought. "There's always the possibility, Harry," he admitted. "But we can take steps to make sure they're protected, even if something goes wrong."
Sirius' eyes brightened as an idea formed. "We could visit the goblins at Gringotts. Have them create enchanted necklaces—pure silver with protective wards. It would give them an extra layer of defense if the worst happens."
"Protective charms against werewolves?" Harry asked, a hint of hope entering his voice.
"Yes," Lupin confirmed. "Silver has protective properties against dark creatures like werewolves. Combined with the right spells, we could ensure that anyone wearing them would be safe—at least for long enough to get away."
Sirius grinned. "We'll make sure Hermione and Cho are covered, mate. No way you're losing control without them having a safety net."
Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him. The idea of having a safeguard for his friends made the weight on his chest lighten. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was something.
"Thanks," Harry said quietly, looking between his godfather and Lupin. "I don't know what I'd do without you two. Sirius when we get out of here can you give me some ink and parchment, I have a few letters to write."
...
It was in the middle of the day when Mrs. Granger heard a pecking at the kitchen window. "Hermione, I believe you have a letter." She called out to the house, a few moments later she heard her daughter running down the stairs and rushing into the kitchen.
Her face lit up when she saw Hedwig, "It's from Harry." She took the letter gently from the owl and read through it quickly. Her face went from happy, to confusion, to complete delight. "Mum he's coming here tomorrow! He says he has a gift for us but he needs you're permission first."
"A gift? What kind of gift dear?" Mrs. Granger asked hesitantly. The question only caused her daughters smile to widen further.
"It's the kind that only someone like Harry would give." Hermione said close to tears now, "He wants to give you both his protection."
Her statement only confused her mother further, but in the end she nodded her head in agreement to meet with Harry. "I'll let your father know so he can be here." This earned her a bone crushing hug from Hermione.
"Thank you Mum, you don't know how much this will help me." Hermione said.
...
At exactly eleven o'clock the next day, the doorbell rang at the Granger residence.
Hermione rushed to open it but was beaten to it by her father.
"Uh… er… Good morning, Mr. Granger," Harry said nervously, looking up at the stern man. "Umm… I don't suppose Hermione told you that I would be coming by?"
Mr. Granger glared down at the young man before him. He certainly had grown from the timid, skinny boy he'd met nearly three years ago. "She did," he said briskly.
"Ah… well... D-do you mind if I come in?" Harry asked, shuffling his feet uncomfortably.
"Of course, you can come in, Harry dear." Mrs. Granger stepped around her husband, her warm smile instantly setting Harry more at ease. Taking his shoulder gently, she led him inside.
Before Harry made it into the living room, his vision was completely obscured by a cascade of bushy brown hair.
Hermione practically launched herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. Mr. Granger's eyes narrowed at the sight of his only daughter nearly tackling the boy in a greeting that, in his opinion, was far too intimate. He nearly popped a blood vessel when he saw the boy's hands— those greasy, undeserving hands—wrap around his princess, pulling her even closer.
Definitely trying to cop a feel, Mr. Granger thought with a scowl.
Just as he opened his mouth to interrupt, his darling wife stamped down on his foot. He turned to glare at her, only to pale at the look in her eyes—a look that promised many lonely nights spent on the sofa.
"Harry, please have a seat," Mrs. Granger said, gesturing toward the love seat near the bookcase.
"Thank you." Harry felt far more comfortable talking to Hermione's mother, though the tension in the room still prickled his nerves. He sat down, and Hermione quickly slid in beside him— much to her father's displeasure.
"So, Harry," Mrs. Granger said, settling into her own seat and offering him an encouraging smile, "you mentioned wanting to give us your protection. What exactly did you mean by that?"
"Well, you see… uhh… H-has Hermione told you anything about me?" Harry asked, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
"She's talked of nothing else since she got home," Mr. Granger said, his tone reluctant.
"Oh," Harry said, shifting in his seat. "Has she told you about Voldemort?"
"She's told us about your involvement with that Dark Wizard." Mr. Granger's voice grew sharp. "And I must say, I don't exactly approve of the danger you're putting my little girl in."
Harry's eyes darkened for a moment, and he looked down at his hands. "Neither do I, sir," he said quietly. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, before lifting his gaze back to Mr. Granger. "But Hermione took that choice from me a long time ago. She's never abandoned me, and I'll never abandon her. As long as she wants to remain my friend, I'll stand by her. And if she's ever in danger, I'll be there to protect her."
Mr. Granger opened his mouth to argue, but Harry's voice, still calm, grew harder as he continued.
"I never had a choice either, sir. Voldemort murdered my parents—he's been trying to kill me since I was a baby, for no reason other than the fact that I exist." His fists clenched as he spoke, a brief flash of anger darkening his green eyes. "I didn't ask for any of it, and neither did they. But he won't stop until either he's dead, or I am."
The fierce determination behind Harry's words left Mr. Granger speechless. Mrs. Granger beamed at the young man, while Hermione blinked back tears, touched by the quiet strength of his declaration.
"That actually brings me to why I came here." Harry hesitated, glancing briefly at Hermione for reassurance before continuing. "I have a gift for your family—if you'll allow it, that is."
The room fell silent again. Mrs. Granger looked at him curiously, while Mr. Granger crossed his arms, his frown still firmly in place. Harry cleared his throat and pressed on.
"I'd like to have your house fully warded against any magical threats," Harry explained. "And
I'd also like you both to have these." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two small boxes, handing one to each of Hermione's parents.
They opened the boxes to reveal identical lockets, the silver gleaming faintly in the light. The metal seemed to pulse with a soft glow, as though alive with magic.
Mrs. Granger gasped softly, her eyes widening. "Harry, this is…"
Mr. Granger held his locket up, inspecting it with suspicion. "What exactly is this supposed to do, Potter?"
"These are no ordinary lockets," Harry said, noticing the confusion on the Grangers' faces.
"They're very special portkeys."
Hermione's eyes immediately lit up with understanding, while her parents looked at each other, still puzzled.
"A portkey is an object that will transport you from one place to another almost instantly," Hermione explained quickly, sensing their confusion.
That much, the Grangers understood. "And what's so special about these?" Mr. Granger asked, his skepticism apparent but his curiosity piqued.
Harry brightened, encouraged that they hadn't dismissed the idea. "These are barrier charmed. If any spell is cast at you within ten feet, the locket will automatically activate and transport you to a safe house. It will also activate if anyone bearing the Dark Mark comes within range."
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione whimpered, her voice thick with emotion. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome," Harry said, his voice bashful as he returned the hug, feeling both the relief and gratitude in her embrace.
Mrs. Granger smiled gently at the scene, but there was still a look of concern in her eyes. "These sound reasonable enough, Harry. But you mentioned something about warding our home earlier?"
Before Harry could respond, Hermione took over, her voice steady as she began to explain. "Wards are a type of magical barrier, Mum. They protect an area from being found or entered by unwanted visitors—especially Dark wizards like Voldemort and his followers. Harry's offering to have the house warded so it would be incredibly difficult for anyone dangerous to even find it. And even if they did manage that, there would be defensive spells in place to keep us safe."
"Right," Harry chimed in, nodding to support Hermione's explanation. "I don't want Hermione worrying about her parents while she's at Hogwarts. If your home is fully protected, it'll give her peace of mind. She'll know you're safe, and that'll make it easier for her to focus on school."
Mrs. Granger looked thoughtful, clearly processing the weight of what Harry was offering, while Mr. Granger's face shifted from skeptical to impressed, though he tried to hide it.
Mr. Granger was hard-pressed to keep his mouth from falling open. This boy, barely older than his daughter, was doing all of this just to protect them. The lockets alone would have been more than enough, but Harry had gone above and beyond to make sure Hermione could focus on her studies without worrying about her parents' safety. He could see why his daughter admired him so much. Still, it wasn't easy for him to let go of his concerns.
"And how much is this going to cost exactly?" Mr. Granger asked, his tone still cautious.
"It won't cost you anything," Harry said quickly, as if the idea of charging them for protection was ridiculous. "This is a gift—for Hermione and for you."
"Surely there must be something in it for you," Mr. Granger said, testing the young man with a bit of provocation.
Harry frowned slightly, not out of irritation but to ensure his message was clear. "I assure you, sir, the only thing I gain from this is Hermione's happiness and safety. And there's nothing I wouldn't do for that."
Mr. Granger raised an eyebrow, taking in the seriousness of the boy's words. He could see that
Harry wasn't just saying what he thought they wanted to hear—he meant every word. That honesty stirred something in him, though he was reluctant to admit it. "Good," he said finally, his expression softening. "In that case, we accept. When would you like to have all this done?"
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. "Uh, er… whenever is convenient for you, but preferably before we head back to Hogwarts."
Mr. Granger nodded thoughtfully. "I can free up some time this weekend. How about Saturday?"
Harry's face brightened with relief. "That would be perfect. Thank you, Mr. Granger." He glanced at Hermione, who was positively beaming at him, her eyes full of pride and gratitude. Her hand found his, and she squeezed it, silently expressing everything she couldn't put into words.
Mrs. Granger smiled warmly at the young man, seeing the clear bond between him and her daughter. "How about we all go out for lunch?" she suggested, her voice lightening the mood.
"That sounds great, Mum." Hermione smiled, her hand still intertwined with Harry's. "Will you come too, Harry?"
"Yeah, that sounds wonderful," Harry replied, looking around the room. "Thank you, Mrs.
Granger."
"No need for thanks, Harry," she said, stepping closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Anyone who would do so much for our little girl will always be welcomed in our home." She stood beside her husband, who gave Harry a small approving nod.
"Now," Mrs. Granger added with a smile, "let's go before we hit the midday rush."
...
August had arrived far more quickly than Cho expected, and with it, a flurry of anticipation. She and Harry had been writing to each other almost every day, but tonight was special—tonight he was coming to have dinner with her parents. It wasn't the dinner itself she was looking forward to, but the chance to finally see him again after weeks apart. The thought of looking into his eyes, feeling his hand in hers, sent her heart racing. A blush crept up her cheeks when she thought about kissing him again.
"Cho, your guest has arrived," her father's voice came from the other side of her door, pulling her out of her daydreams.
"I'll be right down!" Cho squealed, excitement bubbling up inside her.
Before her father had even turned to go back downstairs, Cho was already halfway down the staircase. When she reached the bottom, she couldn't help herself—she flew into Harry's arms, her heart skipping a beat as their bodies collided.
Harry caught her easily, his hands settling gently on her waist as he steadied her. For a moment, nothing else mattered. She threw her arms around his neck, her lips so close to his that she could feel his breath against her skin. Just as she was about to close the gap between them, her father's voice cut through the moment.
"Cho Chang, have you forgotten your manners?"
Heat flushed through her cheeks, and she quickly disentangled herself from Harry's embrace. Turning to her father, she bowed her head slightly, trying to contain her embarrassment. "Forgive me, Father," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is my boyfriend, Harry Potter."
She turned back to Harry, gesturing toward her father. "Harry, this is my father."
Harry, ever respectful, bowed his head slightly. "It's an honor to meet you, sir. Cho has told me a lot about you."
Mr. Chang's gaze lingered on Harry for a moment before softening as he glanced at his daughter. "And I've heard a great deal about you as well." He paused, his eyes twinkling slightly. "Dinner will be ready in an hour. Please don't be late. I doubt I'll be able to save either of you from your mother's wrath if you are."
Cho smiled and hugged her father briefly. "Thank you, Father." Then, without giving Harry a chance to respond, she grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out the door.
They didn't stop until they reached the end of the block, where Cho suddenly turned to face him, fire burning in her eyes. She didn't need to say a word; Harry knew what was coming. Without hesitation, they leaned into each other, and their lips met in a fierce, longing kiss. The weeks of separation, the unsaid words, the pent-up emotions—it all poured out in that one kiss.
When they finally pulled away, breathless, Harry pressed his forehead against hers. "I missed you, Cho."
"I missed you too," she whispered, resting her head against his cheek for a moment. "How's your summer been?"
"Not nearly as good as it is now," he replied with a broad smile. "How about yours?"
"It would've been better if you were here," Cho admitted shyly. "I've really missed you, Harry."
Hearing the sincerity in her voice, Harry couldn't resist kissing her again, and she responded eagerly. Their lips met in another flurry of passion, but this time they pulled apart sooner, both of them laughing breathlessly.
"C'mon," Harry said, grinning as he caught his breath. "Let's take that walk before we get into more trouble."
Cho smiled and nodded, her hand slipping comfortably into his. Together, they strolled around her neighborhood, hand in hand, catching up and stealing glances that sent sparks flying between them. The moments passed all too quickly, and before they knew it, it was time to head back. They walked as slowly as they dared, savoring the last few minutes of peace before dinner.
As they reached the front door, Harry's nerves returned. Dinner with Cho's parents had been looming in the back of his mind all day, and now it was here—the moment he'd been dreading the most.
Cho must have sensed his tension, because she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be fine," she said softly. "My parents already like you."
Harry wasn't so sure about that, but the warmth in her voice made him feel braver. Together, they walked back into the house, ready to face whatever the evening would bring.
...
"So, Mr. Potter, how did you manage to enter the Triwizard Tournament?" Mrs. Chang asked, her tone polite but unashamedly direct.
"Mum!" Cho protested, giving her mother a mortified look, but Harry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze under the table.
"I didn't enter myself, Mrs. Chang," Harry answered, his voice calm and respectful. "But if you'd like to know how and why, I'd be happy to explain."
Seeing that he had her full attention, Harry recounted the story of how Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, had manipulated the tournament to ensure Harry's participation. He described the trials, the danger at the end, and the horrors of the graveyard where Voldemort had returned. His voice grew somber as he spoke of the duel and how he had barely escaped with his life.
"I was lucky to get out of that graveyard alive," Harry finished, his tone quiet as his hand unconsciously rubbed the spot on his shoulder where he had been bitten. "But I wasn't unscathed."
Mrs. Chang's eyes softened with understanding. "My eldest brother was bitten by Fenrir Greyback when he was eight years old," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "He attacked after my mother refused his advances."
Harry's gaze met hers, a silent connection forming. "Greyback is the one who bit me too," Harry said quietly. "I'm sorry to hear about your brother. Where is he now, if you don't mind me asking?"
Mrs. Chang's face fell. "He died a year before You-Know-Who's downfall," she said softly, her voice heavy with grief and anger. "He was killed by Death Eaters for trying to convince more werewolves to fight for Dumbledore."
Harry's expression tightened with sorrow. "I'm truly sorry. If it's any comfort, I believe your brother died a hero."
Mrs. Chang smiled sadly, nodding at Harry's words, while Mr. Chang, who had remained silent, leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable.
"If what you say is true, and You-Know-Who has returned… where does that leave you?" Mr. Chang asked, his voice steady but filled with concern.
Harry's demeanor shifted. His eyes grew hard, his tone grim with certainty. Cho could feel the power rolling off of him, the intensity that always seemed to follow him into dark conversations like this.
"There is no 'if,' sir. He has returned," Harry said, his voice filled with grim finality. "And as for me, there's only one path left. It's not my choice—Voldemort has ensured that. He won't allow me to walk away. Sooner or later, our paths will cross again, and when they do, either I'll die by his wand, or he'll die by mine."
The words hung in the air, heavy and cold. The room fell silent as the weight of Harry's fate settled over everyone. Cho, her eyes misting with tears, finally broke the stillness, her voice trembling.
"And where does that leave me, Harry?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Where does that leave us?"
Harry's composure wavered. He couldn't meet her gaze. He knew what his answer would do to her, but he couldn't lie.
"Harry," Cho pressed, her voice breaking. "What happens to us when you start down this path?"
When he didn't answer, her frustration flared. Standing abruptly, she glared at him, tears streaming down her face. "Don't you dare shut me out!" she cried, her emotions boiling over. Before anyone could react, she slapped him, the sharp sound reverberating in the silence.
"Cho Chang!" her parents shouted in unison, startled and shocked. But Cho had already fled upstairs, her sobs echoing faintly in her wake.
The dining room fell into a stunned quiet. Slowly, Harry stood, guilt written across his face. Bowing slightly to Cho's parents, he murmured, "I'm sorry. I think it's best if I leave now."
He turned and made his way toward the front door, but before he could open it, Mrs. Chang's hand touched his shoulder. "Don't leave things like this," she said softly. "Go talk to her. She needs to hear what's in your heart."
Mr. Chang, standing beside his wife, nodded gravely. "Just be sure to honor my house," he said firmly.
Harry nodded in understanding. Mr. Chang unlocked Cho's bedroom door with a flick of his wand and stepped aside, allowing Harry to enter.
Cho was curled up on her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her back was to him, but when she felt the bed shift under his weight, she looked up, her red, tear-streaked face filled with pain and confusion.
"Go away, Harry. I don't want to see you right now," she mumbled into her pillow.
"I'm not leaving until you hear me out," Harry said, his voice soft but determined. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I don't know what's going to happen to us, Cho. I wish I had answers, but I don't."
Cho glared at him, her heart aching. "Then why even come here? Why even pretend we have a future?" she asked, her voice raw with emotion.
"I know what I want," Harry said quickly. "I want to be with you. For as long as I can. But I can't promise I'll survive this war. I can't promise I'll be here at the end."
Cho's tears fell freely. "Don't say that," she pleaded. "I don't want to think about a world without you."
"I have to say it," Harry said, his voice breaking. "Voldemort's not going to stop. He wants me dead, and it's not something I can avoid. But what I can do is fight to protect the people I love— especially you. I love you too much to let anything happen to you."
Cho's breath hitched. She stared at him, her tears forgotten for a moment. "You… you love me?"
"I do," Harry whispered, the weight of those words heavy but true. "I love you, Cho. And it would destroy me if anything happened to you."
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver necklace, the delicate chain shimmering in the dim light. "I had this made for you," he said softly, holding it out to her. "It's pure silver, and it's enchanted with powerful protective wards. As long as you wear this, you'll be safe."
Cho stared at the necklace in disbelief, her heart swelling with emotion. Harry clasped it around her neck gently, his fingers brushing her skin. She touched the pendant, feeling the magic thrumming through it.
"I can't always be with you," Harry continued, his voice thick with emotion. "But I want you to have this, as a reminder that I'll always be trying to protect you."
Cho, her tears now falling again but for a different reason, looked up at him. "I'll stay by your side, Harry. Wherever you go, I'll follow. But I won't stay at home, waiting and wondering if you're alive. I can't sit on the sidelines while you fight alone."
"Cho," Harry started, his voice filled with concern. "I can't let you—"
"You can't stop me," Cho said fiercely. She grabbed his face and kissed him deeply, pouring all her love and determination into that single act. "I love you too, Harry Potter. And I'm staying with you."
Harry, breathless from both her kiss and her words, could only stare at her in awe. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he whispered.
"You don't have to deserve me," Cho said softly, resting her forehead against his. "Just let me love you."
...
Mr. and Mrs. Chang stood quietly outside the door, listening to the muffled conversation between their daughter and Harry. The weight of the words inside the room—the promises, the fears, the declarations of love—settled heavily on their hearts. Both of them were deeply worried about the path Cho had chosen, but they knew, as parents, that it was no longer in their hands. She was no longer a little girl; she had chosen her way, and all they could do now was support her as best they could.
Mrs. Chang leaned into her husband, silent tears streaming down her face. Her heart ached for her daughter. The road ahead was dark and fraught with danger, and she could feel the depth of Cho's love for Harry. But with that love came peril—a peril that mirrored the tragic path of James and Lily Potter. A quiet fear gripped her heart, hoping her daughter wouldn't face the same fate.
Mr. Chang, though a man of quiet strength, felt his own resolve waver. He wrapped his arm tightly around his wife, holding her close as she wept. He hadn't said much since dinner, but his mind was whirling with thoughts of the risks Cho had decided to take alongside Harry. He respected the boy for his bravery, but the danger he carried with him was undeniable. Yet, in that moment, he realized that it wasn't his place to question their bond. All he could do was hope— hope that this war, this fight against Voldemort, wouldn't steal their daughter from them.
"I trust her," Mr. Chang whispered softly, as much to himself as to his wife. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, trying to offer what little comfort he could. "She's strong, just like her mother."
Mrs. Chang sniffled quietly, nodding against his chest. "I just wish she didn't have to go through this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I wish she could've had a simpler life."
He nodded in silent agreement. They stayed like that for a few moments longer before he gently pulled her away from the door. They wouldn't ask Harry to leave tonight. Cho would need him more than ever, and both parents trusted that she wouldn't do anything she'd regret. In the end, love was about trust—and they had to trust their daughter to make her own choices.
Little did they know, as they went to bed, that Cho and Harry had already fallen fast asleep in each other's arms. Exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions and the weight of their confessions, the young couple had found comfort in each other, their worries temporarily at rest as they drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.