Dumbledore's Office
The door to the Headmaster's office clicked shut, and Dumbledore strode inside, his face set in deep concentration. He moved past the rows of ancient tomes and enchanted artifacts, barely casting them a glance. Once he reached his desk, he sank heavily into his chair, fingers steepled as he muttered softly to himself.
"Harry must follow the path I've set for him... it's for the greater good. So much depends on him…" His voice trailed off as he tapped a gnarled finger against the polished wood of his desk.
It troubled him, deeply, that Harry was proving to be so resistant, so independent of his guidance. The boy had to understand, he thought, that he couldn't be left to make his own decisions, not when the fate of the entire magical world was at stake. And those Muggles... The Grangers, with their unqualified opinions, were clearly encouraging Harry to defy his destiny.
Dumbledore leaned back, his hand absently stroking his beard as he recalled the interaction he had witnessed in Hermione's mind. It had been surprisingly easy to slip in and see the memories he needed. With her highly organized, almost structured thoughts, it was as though he had opened a well-kept ledger, each interaction and thought plainly visible. And from what he had glimpsed, it hadn't taken long to discover the truth about Harry's transformation, about Remus, and the unexpected role Hermione was playing in Harry's life.
A small, almost imperceptible smile flickered across his lips. "Such convenient access," he murmured to himself. "Yes… very useful indeed. It will be far simpler to keep track of Harry's intentions with such a clear window into his closest companion's mind."
Dumbledore sat up straighter, a fresh wave of resolve settling over him. He had no intention of allowing Harry's allegiance to sway further away from him, or for this budding independence to take root. No, he needed something more concrete, something more forceful, to remind Harry of his obligations.
"Though," Dumbledore muttered, his brows furrowing slightly, "I can't afford to reveal Remus's involvement in this matter. He still has value in the Order. His unique... abilities might prove useful yet."
His gaze drifted to the high, arched window behind him, the evening light casting long shadows over the room. For now, Remus would remain under his protection, safe from any inquiries or scrutiny. But that left the question of what to do with Harry—and how to separate him from the Grangers without revealing Remus's involvement.
An idea began to form, faint at first but growing with each passing moment. Mundungus Fletcher. He'd proven himself resourceful in the past, particularly when it came to less-than-legal pursuits. And Dumbledore knew Mundungus had contacts in all circles, both respectable and otherwise. A few werewolves under his employ, perhaps some who knew little of loyalty or compassion, might suffice to put just the right amount of pressure on Harry to reconsider his options.
With a soft flick of his wand, Dumbledore summoned a piece of parchment and a quill, his hand gliding over the paper with practiced ease. He wrote out a quick note to Mundungus, instructing him to seek out werewolf mercenaries who might be persuaded to carry out a simple mission. One that would, ideally, push Harry back onto the path Dumbledore needed him to follow, without implicating Remus or revealing Dumbledore's own involvement.
As he signed his name with a flourish, he paused, tapping the end of his quill against the parchment thoughtfully.
"Harry, you must see reason," he murmured to himself, the steel in his voice unmistakable. "For the greater good... sometimes even difficult choices must be made."
Satisfied with his plan, he set the letter aside, letting it dry before sending it off. His eyes drifted back to the window, his mind drifting to all the players on his grand chessboard. And, as always, he found himself wondering what sacrifices he might need to make next to ensure victory.
After all, in his world, the ends always justified the means.
Granger House
The evening air was thick with anticipation as Remus Lupin arrived at the Granger home, his expression tense yet resolute. Harry stood in the doorway with Hermione by his side, her hand entwined tightly in his. She was doing her best to stay strong, but her worry was evident in the way her fingers clutched his, unwilling to let go.
Hermione turned to Harry, her face softened with concern. "Promise me, Harry," she whispered, barely audible. "Promise me you'll be careful."
Harry met her gaze, feeling the weight of her plea. He leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss across her lips. "I promise," he murmured, his forehead resting against hers for a long, quiet moment, savoring her warmth and her strength.
"Come back to me," she whispered, her voice catching.
"I will," he replied, and, with one last squeeze of her hand, turned to Remus, nodding in readiness. Hermione's hand slipped from his, and Harry felt a hollow ache as he and Remus moved away from the Granger home, their figures disappearing into the darkness.
With a sharp tug of Apparition, they were transported to the forest surrounding Hogwarts. The towering trees cast long shadows under the emerging moonlight, the silence of the Forbidden Forest broken only by the distant sounds of night creatures. The cool, pine-scented air was thick with the feeling of wild, natural magic, as though the forest itself sensed the transformation that was about to occur.
"This is it, Harry," Remus said, steadying himself as he took in their surroundings. Both men wore old, tattered clothes, knowing they would be shredded by the transformation. "Remember—don't fight the change. Let it take you."
Harry nodded, drawing in a deep breath as he readied himself. The sky was now fully dark, and the first silver beams of the full moon peeked out from behind the trees, sending a jolt through his body. He could feel it—an instinct, a pull deep within his bones, urging him to release his human form and embrace the wolf.
A sharp pain gripped him, his spine twisting as the change began. Harry fell to his knees, clutching at the ground as his bones started to shift, lengthening and reshaping themselves with brutal precision. He bit down hard to stifle a scream, his teeth grinding as his muscles stretched and reformed. Fingers elongated, claws sprouting from where nails had been as his senses sharpened. The scent of earth, the rush of wind against his fur, the rapid pulse of creatures in hiding—it all pounded through his ears in a dizzying symphony.
Across from him, Remus was wracked with his own transformation. The elder werewolf's frame contorted in jarring movements, his form covered in ragged, matted fur and crisscrossed with the scars of years past. His face twisted as it elongated, revealing rows of lethal teeth that glistened in the moonlight, a reminder of the countless full moons spent alone.
As the change completed, Harry took a shuddering breath, feeling the new, powerful muscles settle into place. He shook himself, the sleek black fur of his werewolf form catching the moonlight. The night air filled his lungs, bringing with it a sense of freedom, and he felt, instinctively, that this was who he was meant to be.
He lifted his head, his emerald-green eyes locking onto Remus's. The difference between them was stark—Harry's wolf was sleek, powerful, every bit as wild as the magic within him, while Remus appeared worn, his scars and mangy fur telling a story of hardship and isolation. Their gazes locked, and Harry felt a primal urge rise within him, a challenge to establish dominance.
Remus growled low, his stance stiff and defensive, and Harry felt his own lips curl back in response, baring his fangs. Without moving, he let out a deep, rumbling growl, his unspoken challenge reverberating through the clearing.
Remus lunged forward, but Harry countered quickly, maintaining his ground without aggression. A silent battle of wills ensued, each wolf testing the other, each breath coming in measured, controlled bursts. Finally, Remus lowered his head in submission, acknowledging Harry's dominance.
As the tension eased, a cool, soothing voice echoed in Harry's mind, like a beam of moonlight piercing the darkness.
Harry, the Moon Goddess, Illura, spoke, her tone both gentle and commanding. The wolf before you is broken, shattered by scars and the harshness of his life. But you have the strength to heal him. Bite him, Harry. Help him find his true self, the wolf he was meant to be.
Harry paused, taking in her words as an undeniable sense of duty welled within him. Without hesitation, he approached Remus, his heart filled with a deep sense of purpose. Leaning down, he gently closed his jaws over Remus's shoulder, his fangs piercing just enough to transfer the energy Illura had granted him.
As the magic passed between them, Remus let out a low whine and collapsed to the ground, sinking into a deep, restorative sleep. Harry watched in amazement as Remus's twisted frame seemed to soften, his mangy fur gaining a healthier sheen, his scars fading slightly. His posture was more relaxed, as though some ancient burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
Just as Harry took a step back, ready to guard over his mentor, an intense, searing pain jolted through his mind, startling him from his vigil. A panicked, desperate voice filled his mind.
Harry, help me!
It was Hermione. Her voice, raw with terror, echoed in his head, and he could feel her distress as if it were his own, the urgent need in her voice twisting his insides into knots.
Harry, please!
The connection was powerful, pulling every ounce of his wolf instincts into focus. He knew he had to reach her. Without thinking, he drew upon every bit of strength he possessed, channeling it through his mind, calling upon the primal magic surging within him.
And then, something extraordinary happened.
For the first time in generations, a werewolf tapped into the raw, ancient magic of the wolf, pulling on the very essence of the Moon Goddess herself. With an instinctual command, he focused his energy, envisioning Hermione's presence, her scent, her warmth.
In a flash of silver light, Harry's form blurred, the forest disappearing in an instant as he Apparated, an act so powerful that it was whispered only the werewolves of old, blessed by the Goddess herself, had ever wielded such magic.
And now, with his instincts ablaze and the urgency of Hermione's plea still echoing in his mind, Harry stood ready to protect what he knew was his own.
Granger House - A few Hours Earlier
Hermione sat in her room, staring out the window as the last rays of sunlight disappeared, leaving the world cloaked in twilight. Her mind was a storm of thoughts and emotions, her heart aching with worry for Harry. She could picture him out there, waiting for the inevitable transformation under the full moon, and a pang of helplessness constricted her chest. She wished she could be there beside him, not only to see him through the pain but to show him he wasn't alone.
I wish I could be there with you, Harry, she thought, the longing swelling in her chest. She imagined them together, running under the silver light of the moon, wild and free. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her lips, even though she knew it was just a dream.
A loud bang shattered her thoughts. She jolted, turning her head sharply toward her bedroom door. Her pulse quickened as the noise echoed through the house. It didn't sound like her parents—they rarely made noise like that. A flicker of unease crept into her mind, and she stood slowly, glancing back at her wand on the nightstand.
But worry drove her forward, down the staircase and toward the living room, each step hesitant as her nerves tingled with growing dread. As she neared the bottom of the stairs, the shadows in the hallway seemed to grow longer, stretching out ominously in the dim light. She felt her heart begin to race, her senses on high alert. Just as she took a step forward, a sharp, blinding pain exploded at the back of her head. A heavy object had struck her, and the last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was the rough outline of two imposing figures standing in her living room.
When she awoke, Hermione's head throbbed painfully, and she squinted against the dim light as her vision slowly cleared. Her wrists ached from the tight ropes binding them behind her, her body sore from where she had collapsed on the floor. As she took in her surroundings, dread pooled in her stomach.
She was in the living room, tied to one of the heavy, high-backed chairs. Her parents were bound and gagged nearby, lying helplessly on the floor, their eyes wide with terror as they stared at her, then at the two figures standing just a few feet away.
Hermione's heart dropped. The two men standing in her living room were massive, their menacing forms casting dark shadows across the room. The older of the two, with wiry, silver-streaked hair and scars crisscrossing his face, stood with his arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his thin, cracked lips. His pale, sickly yellow eyes gleamed with a twisted, predatory satisfaction as he noticed her awake.
"Well, well, look who's finally up," he drawled, his voice a low, raspy snarl. He stepped forward, his boots heavy on the wooden floor as he leaned down, bringing his face uncomfortably close to hers. His breath was hot and rancid, making her gag as he sneered.
"Did you really think you could hide from us, Mudblood?" he sneered. His words dripped with disdain, each syllable laced with a malice that sent a chill down her spine. "You and your family were easy pickings."
Beside him, the younger man laughed, his cold, black eyes gleaming with amusement. He was stockier, his muscular form filling the room with an intimidating presence. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile as he glanced at Hermione's parents, his sharp canines flashing in the faint light.
"A small fortune, we're being paid for this job," he sneered. "Though honestly, it's hardly worth it for targets as weak as you." He let out a mocking laugh, his gaze flicking back to Hermione. "We're just waiting for the moon to rise, sweetheart. Once it does… well, let's just say we'll make quick work of it."
The words struck her like a punch to the gut, and her heart raced as dread consumed her. She glanced desperately at her parents, her father's face tight with fear and rage as he glared at the men, his body straining against his restraints. Her mother's eyes, however, were filled with sorrow and a silent, heartfelt apology as they locked onto Hermione's.
The older werewolf turned to the window, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes as he saw the first sliver of the full moon rise into view. He let out a low growl, his gaze shifting back to Hermione, his face contorting as his body began to shift. Hermione watched in horror as his form twisted, bones cracking and elongating as fur sprouted along his skin. His mouth stretched into a snout, his teeth sharpening into deadly fangs.
The younger man followed suit, his muscular form bending and reshaping as he snarled, the grotesque transformation filling the room with the sound of snapping bones and tearing flesh. Their growls grew louder, their forms contorting as they completed the transformation, towering over her as monstrous wolves.
Hermione's heart pounded, terror paralyzing her as she struggled against the ropes, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could only watch as the older werewolf turned his blood-red gaze onto her father, his lips curling back into a snarl before he lunged.
Dan's eyes widened, a flash of fear and defiance crossing his face as the werewolf tore into him. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, her mind screaming as she tried to block out the horrible sounds—the wet tearing, the snarling growls, and her father's agonized cries. Tears slid down her cheeks, her body trembling as she fought to contain the overwhelming horror.
Her mother's strangled sobs reached her ears, and Hermione forced herself to look up, her gaze meeting her mother's tear-streaked face. Emma managed a faint, trembling smile, her gaze filled with love and sorrow as she whispered, "I love you, sweetheart." The words cut through Hermione's heart, a final goodbye that felt like a dagger to her soul.
The wolves turned to her mother, their blood-soaked muzzles twisted into grins as they advanced. Hermione watched, helpless, as they lunged, her mother's scream slicing through the air, filling the room with a pain that was almost too much to bear. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing back against the chair as she struggled to block out the sight, the sounds, the overwhelming terror and grief that threatened to consume her.
Her heart was a storm of desperation, each beat a silent plea. Please, Harry… she thought, the words a prayer, a desperate cry. Help me…
But the wolves were relentless. When they finished with her mother, they turned their attention back to Hermione, their glowing eyes filled with a twisted satisfaction as they prowled toward her. Blood dripped from their jaws as they circled her, their growls low and menacing, savoring the moment.
The older werewolf stepped forward, his mouth curling back into a snarl as he crouched, preparing to lunge. Hermione forced herself to sit tall, her heart racing, her mind numb with terror. She barely registered the pain as he swiped a clawed paw across her shoulder, the sharp agony making her gasp as blood seeped from the wound.
The younger werewolf laughed, a growling, mocking sound as he crouched, his gaze fixed on her. He lunged, sinking his fangs into her shoulder with a searing, excruciating pain. Hermione's vision blurred as fire exploded through her veins, an intense, unbearable heat that spread from the bite, searing through her every nerve.
Her mind reeled, her senses overwhelmed by the fire coursing through her. She barely registered the flash of light, barely heard the deafening crack that filled the room as a surge of magic burst around her.
The werewolves froze, thrown back by an unseen force. Hermione's world spun, the fire consuming her as her vision faded, her last thought a single, desperate name: Harry.
AN: Sorry for the delay. I had some real life projects that I had to work on. I hope you guys enjoy the story. Here are some more review responses.
To Karou WindStalker: Thank you for reading.
To PrinceFroze: I'm going to respond to both of your reviews here. I agree that transformation scenes are key for a werewolf story. I hope this was a better version. I have plans for Daphne transformation but I'm not sure about Astoria's yet.
To NazgulBelserion: I also am not a fan of the whole vampire vs werewolf trope either.
To Alice Scarlett Knabel: I hope you like the direction I take this story.
To Nicholas: I like the idea of both 2 and 3. However I think 1 is not going to be an option now.