Chapter 1
Harry walked slowly down the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow, knowing that his slightly insane godfather would be swept up in proving his innocence to everyone once they arrived back at Hogwarts. He wanted to take as much time as he could with the man before he inevitably left Harry behind for bigger and better things. Luckily, Ron was being fairly quiet in between them, so Harry and Sirius were free to talk and make morbid jokes. At least Harry could say he got along with one adult in his life that was supposed to care for him. Harry didn’t feel an ounce of regret for taking his time either, because not only had Ron just been bitten on the leg - which while definitely painful, and Harry could attest to because of Marge’s beloved Ripper, didn’t need too much babying because Harry hadn’t and his leg had turned out fine - but also Sirius was a convict who had escaped by starving himself and likely hadn’t had a good meal since. The man wasn’t exactly a paragon of strength or sanity, but Harry appreciated him anyway, basking in the care of an adult focused only on him even if he didn’t believe it would last.
Unfortunately, the tunnel was short and Harry couldn’t drag it out forever. Ron collapsed dramatically on a large clump of roots at the base of a luckily still frozen Whomping Willow. Harry and Hermione attended to his dramatics for a moment before Harry, at Hermione’s urging, left to go keep Sirius company, doing his level best to ignore Ron’s whining and ploy for sympathy from Hermione by repeating over and over that his leg would need to be cut off. She was definitely not amused but didn’t want to interfere with Harry’s attempt to build a relationship with his godfather and so stayed by the redhead’s side and ignored him the best she could while looking properly concentrated on him. The escaped convict, having a much easier time ignoring Ron because of the disjointed state of his mind really only letting him focus on one simple thing at a time, stared at Hogwarts like he’d never seen a better sight. Harry could relate. Hogwarts was the only home he’d ever known, and he was getting the feeling that it might have been that for Sirius too. Eventually, Sirius spoke, breaking the silence of the night while behind them Professor Lupin floated the unconscious body of Snape out of the end of the tunnel.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” Sirius stated. “I’ll never forget the first time I walked through those doors. It’ll be nice to do it again as a free man.”
Harry, for all the bad things that had happened to him in Hogwarts with Voldemort and the students, could never forget the joy and hope that walking through those doors had brought his first time either.
“That was a noble thing you did back there,” Sirius continued. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
On that, the two of them agreed. Pettigrew really didn’t deserve this third chance at life, but Harry didn’t know of another way to free Sirius. He knew the Minister was up at Hogwarts because of Buckbeak’s execution, though he doubted any of the adults other than maybe Professor Lupin did. Harry suspected that all of the adults thought he was some naïve child, not the person orchestrating Pettigrew’s speedy Kiss at the behest of the Minister up at the castle. If it didn’t provide him with more leeway to get away from his escapades with little consequence, Harry would have resented that, having never had a childhood at Petunia’s. Still, it was useful. What eleven- or twelve-year old would be tried for murder or permanent memory wipe, even if both had been accidental?
“Well, I just didn’t think my dad would have wanted his two best friends to become killers,” Harry replied, finally continuing the conversation. That too had factored into his decision, even though he’d never had a chance to get to know his father or Sirius. Remus hadn’t given him much of a chance to get to know him through the school year or ever come to visit Harry as a child, not that Harry was slightly bitter about that or anything. “Besides, dead, the truth dies with him. Alive, you’re free.” That was much closer to Harry’s true reasoning, and he was glad Sirius hadn’t reacted negatively to him thinking through the consequences like some Gryffindors like Ron seemed to. Unfortunately, Sirius seemed kind of out of it, so Harry would just have to wait to see how much of himself he could be around the man.
Behind them, Pettigrew had exited the tunnel at wandpoint. Harry and Sirius turned around, disgusted by the spectacle of it but unable to look away from a wizard begging for his life on the basis of being a good pet rat. Harry was disgusted with Pettigrew completely. The idea of pretending to be a rat for so long, of taking advantage of someone else’s goodness to take them in, made Harry shiver. Then again, he’d been told he was ungrateful often enough to have basically no self-worth, though Hermione did her best to talk him up when she noticed. Ron was just oblivious to it. Just thinking about the things Pettigrew must have seen while living at the Burrow and then in Hogwarts’ dormitories made Harry shiver in disgust. Remus eventually got Pettigrew back under control, so Harry and Sirius faced back towards Hogwarts.
“I don’t know if you know, Harry, but when you were born, James and Lily made me your godfather.”
“I know,” Harry replied, probably quicker than he should have. He just wanted this adult, unlike so many others, to actually care for him, and not for the Boy-Who-Lived or his parents.
“I- well, I can understand if you choose to stay with your aunt and uncle. But if you ever wanted a different home…” Sirius trailed off, still staring at the castle. He looked entirely hopeless, like he didn’t dare get his hopes up.
Harry couldn’t help but notice the word ‘home’ in Sirius’s invitation. Here, finally, was an adult that actually wanted him around. His aunt and uncle sure didn’t, his teachers magical and Muggle had never cared, and Remus had never put forth the effort. Sirius at least seemed willing to. “What, come and live with you?” Harry, hope finally lifting his heart. He had no clue what his voice was doing, but getting away from the Dursleys during the summer too was a literal dream of his.
Apparently, Harry’s voice had done all the wrong things, because Sirius seemed even more down after his reply. “Well, it’s just a thought. I can understand if you don’t want to,” Sirius said, shrugging like he was trying to show how much he didn’t care that Harry didn’t want to live with him even though Harry could see the broken look on his face shatter just a little further.
“Harry!” Hermione called with alarm, cutting Harry off before he could explain that he really did want to live with Sirius, would move in with him in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, as soon as the two turned around, they could see what had caused Hermione’s fright. The moon had risen, and the clouds were thinning. They ran back towards Remus and the others, arriving just as the clouds fully parted and the light of the moon fell on Remus for the first time that night.
Holding a sniveling Peter Pettigrew at wand point, Professor Lupin walked a little further from the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow. He had just enough time to take in the scene and mentally cheer Sirius and Harry on before the clouds shifted and a moonbeam pierced right through him. Faintly, Remus could hear Peter being disarmed after snatching Remus’s own wand from the ground just below his limp hand, then Sirius’s voice low and desperate. He couldn’t make out the words, but he and his wolf both relished in the company of a pack-brother for the first time in twelve agonizingly long years. Remus lost his battle with their pain, his battle to stay human. As their conscious mind expanded once more, both Remus and his wolf became aware of the presence of their cub. When Sirius didn’t move aside to let them get to their cub, Moony moved him aside for them. Remus cringed at the amount of force used, but then his focus was back on Harry.
His cub, who wasn’t moving, wasn’t afraid, just curious and worried, with the lingering scent of anger at the pack-betrayer hanging on his clothes. Moony breathed quickly, taking in the scent of his cub for the first time ever, having previously relied on the human memories his other part, the part that hated him, hated them and punished him for it. His cub was still not afraid, though the wretched child next to him with the scent of the pack-betrayer covering him was shaking in terror. The child approaching Moony didn’t hold pack-betrayer scent, but the girl-child was blocking his view of his cub, his scent of his still not-afraid cub. Moony lifted his head to watch the girl-child, close enough now to be almost a threat with how weak his human part forced them to be. She talked to him like his human still heard her, like he was nothing.
Moony howled in response, forcing the girl-child back to the afraid one and his cub, still curious and unafraid. The acrid scent of fear and terror, of the poison that Remus used on them, filled Moony’s sensitive nose as a dark man rose in front of the children. Protecting his cub from Moony. This man would not let him scent his cub, become familiar with his precious child. Angry now, Moony swatted the dark man aside, batting the poison away from his cub. His hunger-shaking paw had knocked all of the humans down. Moony paused and snarled at the poison-man for good measure, then turned to sweep the pack-betrayer-scented off of his cub. His own pack-brother slammed him away from his cub, trying to play, but Moony didn’t want to play. Moony wanted to scent his cub, to let his cub know he was Moony’s and that Moony would never hurt him. The poison-man was touching his cub again, but Moony could do nothing, unwilling to leave his cub or maim his pack-brother.
Pack-brother bit Moony, and Moony snarled and gave chase as pack-brother ran. Moony could scent fear on pack-brother, not for Moony but for his cub, but Moony was hurt and angry. Pack-brother fought Moony for dominance in pack. When Moony won, he could scent his cub. But pack-brother got in some good bites, and the hit to Moony’s head made him more angry, clouding all of his senses. He ran at his human attacker and bit his right shoulder to show his dominance over this human. As soon as the taste of the blood hit Moony’s tongue, Moony pulled back. The blood tasted of his cub, and Moony’s anger retreated for fear that his cub would fear him. Though hic cub landed on the ground, no sour fear crept into his scent, adrenaline and worry still his strongest emotions. A call came, and Moony paused. It was human-yet-not, as if another injured wolf like himself was in the woods. Moony nosed over his cub’s hair, trying to reassure his cub of his place in Moony’s pack, that Moony would never hurt him again now that he was pack-brother-cub. The call came again, and Moony could deny his instincts no longer. His cub would be safe with the humans until the next moon. Moony would find him then and take him into the pack, but for now he searched for a mate or pack-sister. The more pack Moony had, the safer his cub would be the next moon.
Harry struggled up to his feet. His shoulder hurt, but no more than it ever had when he took a beating from his loving relatives. Though it was bigger, the bite itself didn’t feel much different than the ones Ripper had lovingly given him, to Marge’s and the Dursleys’ amusement. No, the problem was the magic of the wolf’s bite he could feel in his shoulder, and Harry wanted to sigh. His Potter Luck had come into play again, but at least the werewolf hadn’t eaten him. Actually, the wolf had nuzzled him in some kind of weird apology or reassurance or something. No matter what the wolf had meant though, Harry knew how new werewolves were commonly made - the bite of another. He also happened to know just how much wizarding society hated werewolves.
He’d need to hide the bite and his injury from everyone then, even Sirius who seemed like he didn’t mind Remus being a werewolf. Harry refused to let this be the thing that made Sirius not want him anymore. Quickly, Harry bent down, ignoring the dizzy rush of blood to his head, and picked up a stray leaf and transfigured it carefully into a long, thin patterned strip of cloth like they’d practiced last year in class. He was sure McGonagal would fail him for the pattern if they were in class practicing different patterns like they’d spent so long doing to get finer control on visualization, but he wasn’t exactly in class. Harry shook his focus back onto the life-threatening situation at hand, blaming the blood loss and invading magic for his brain being worse than usual at focusing. Carefully, he cleaned it, using a charm he’d picked up his first year with the intention of making chores easier. Harry shook himself again. He needed to get this done quickly, before anyone came looking for him!
With make-shift bandage in hand, Harry quickly realized he had another problem: getting it on his wound. He didn’t exactly fancy trying to move his arm, but he did need to get the fabric of his dirty shirt and jacket unstuck from it. Carefully, Harry grabbed the fabric with his other hand and lifted his now-free left hand to tug gently at his shirt. It was stuck, and Harry sighed again in frustration. Maybe water would get it unstuck? He shifted his wand to his left hand, hating that the wolf had bitten his wand arm. One thing was for sure: after this, he was going to make sure he could cast with both hands smoothly, just in case his wand arm was ever injured again. The water he produced from the tip of his wand was rather less than normal, but Harry was just glad the spell had worked. He lifted his shirt painfully off of his wound with his left hand, then dried it the best he could with his wand back in his right hand with fabric.
Carefully, Harry levitated the fabric into place around his shoulder, closing his eyes and picturing precisely what he wanted the charm to do, ignoring the fabric slithering under his collar and underarm. At this point, he was just glad McGonagal had spent so much time teaching them visualization. It didn’t work perfectly, Harry thought, but it did wrap pretty tightly around his shoulder. He cast one last cleaning charm on his jacket, shirt, and the piece of fabric and hoped that plus the magic in the werewolf bite would prevent anything on his shirt from infecting the wound. Hopefully the charm would get rid of the blood too - he didn’t want to find a way other than him being injured to explain that. Harry couldn’t actually heal himself from any injury, now that he thought about it. Remus always seemed tired and sometimes hurt after a full moon, so maybe Harry should look more into healing. At the very least it couldn’t hurt. Sirius whimpered loudly and transformed back, snapping Harry out of his contemplation and into worries about whether or not Sirius had noticed anything. The man promptly stumbled off a cliff. Harry ran after him, terrified of his godfather and potential guardian being fatally injured.
Sirius had rolled down by the Great Lake. He was only semi-conscious, but Harry was too glad he was alive at all to notice the chill in the air. When frost started creeping over the lake, he could deny his worries no more and looked up, terrified of what he would find. Above them swirly at least thirty dementors. Relieved beyond measure now that he’d been training on his protection spell, Harry cast his patronus just as the first few swooped down towards them. His shield held up for a bit, but not forever, and they were protectionless against the dementors again. He fell to his knees as dementor after dementor swooped down on him and his comatose godfather. A ghostly blue light, the same as his patronus but condensed vastly, floated from Sirius’s mouth, and Harry realized with horror that that must be the soul, or whatever dementors took from their victims. Determination filled him. Harry pushed down his mother’s screams, the sound of her death and Voldemort from his head, and focused instead on Sirius, only on Sirius and the hope that had filled him with the offer of living not with the Dursleys.
“Expecto Patronum!” Harry called in a rush. A great silvery Grim the exact same as his godfather’s leapt from his wand and directly at the dementors. It chased them off, biting any who attempted to linger, leaving strange smoky wounds on the dementors themselves. The dementors fled, and the Grim returned to Harry, satisfied. Harry collapsed on the ground with the knowledge that he and his godfather were safe, and let the toll of the dementor attack on his emotions, the magical cost of fighting so many off, and the blood loss and magical attack from the werewolf drag him into darkness.
Harry woke again just before his and his godfather’s cots - levitated by none other than Severus Snape - floated through the infirmary doors. He’d need to play this absolutely perfectly to keep everyone present from knowing that the werewolf had bitten him. Once his cot floated to a stop beside a bed, Harry moved himself onto the bed, sitting with a confidence he didn’t feel on the crinkly sheets. He ignored the pain moving caused him as Madame Pomphrey came towards him. “I’m not hurt,” Harry stated before she could cast a diagnostic charm.
“Then why were you unconscious, young man?” Madame Pomphrey asked. She knew the both hated being in here, but to not even let her cast a diagnostic first! Honestly!
“I was just tired from holding off so many dementors,” Harry explained. She still didn’t look convinced. “I’ll be fine with some chocolate. Really!”
Poppy eyed the boy. It was true that he had likely magically exhausted himself from chasing off what Severus made sound like fifty dementors, but she’d still like to double check with the diagnostic, just to be sure. Another person floated in on a stretcher, accompanied by a scratched Miss Granger. It seemed that her choice was made. Poppy summoned a large chunk of chocolate and a mallet to give to Mister Potter and moved towards the person - Ronald Weasley, of course, because he always seemed to get the most injured on their little adventures - on the stretcher. As long as Mister Potter didn’t faint or otherwise indicate injury, she’d leave him to his chocolate.
Harry sighed in relief. He’d dodged a real bullet there with the timing of Ron and Hermione entering the infirmary. The chocolate cracked satisfyingly, and Harry munched on it while he watched Madame Pomphrey clean, heal, and bandage Ron’s leg, then clean and bandage Hermione’s cheek. Watching her only made Harry more determined to learn how to heal himself, but it also left him with a question: why had she not healed Hermione’s face? Maybe it would scar or something. Whatever it was, Harry would find the answer so that he could heal himself from any injuries the Dursleys left at the beginning of next school year and not have to worry until they healed themselves. He doubted that he’d be living with Sirius during this summer or any others, now that the man was unconscious in a hospital bed and Pettigrew free somewhere in the forest. Harry sighed and kept eating his chocolate.