Transformation
Harry stumbled down the Gryffindor boy's staircase and into the common room with a pounding headache. He just downed the godawful potion he needed for his upcoming transformation in a few days, and his sickness was steadily worsening even further. Sometimes, his vision got so blurry from the pain that he felt as though he was living back in the time when he actually needed glasses. He was astounded, at first, that he didn't need those stupid things the Dursleys shoved on his face once it got bad enough that glasses became a requirement for them to provide. If he knew it would come with such a steep price, his 8-year-old self wouldn't have been nearly as excited.
"Damn, you really look like hell. It's even worse than you did at the start of the week."
He knew that voice; he just didn't know why she was still hanging around the common room. Every part of his body hurt like a bitch, and Ginevra Weasley’s particular brand of insufferable sass set him off in a way it never would’ve under normal circumstances.
"The fuck do you want?"
He could tell by the way she was smiling that she wasn't offended in the slightest. She was almost certainly doing this just to piss him off. It seemed to be the girl's favorite activity as of late.
"What, I'm not allowed to be concerned for a friend?" She asked innocently.
"Not when it’s a front for you to take the piss," He snapped back at her.
"Oh well," she said lightly. "I guess that means you want to sit by some randoms at breakfast today 'cause I know there isn't going to be a seat open at the Slytherin table this late."
He looked about ready to die at the thought of it, and her smirk couldn't be bigger.
"No, I'd really rather not."
"Then I think someone owes me an apology," Ginny almost sang.
"Not on your fucking life," he guaranteed as he grabbed her arm and walked her out of the portrait. "You'll be lucky if I decide to give you my help the next time you get stuck in your classes."
She didn't respond to his completely empty threat, but he could tell from her smile that she was pleased. They were just about to descend the first flight of stairs when he was forced to let go of her to cough out a lung or two. Leaning against the stair railing for support, he chanced a glance at Ginny and saw her looking at him with serious concern on her face.
“You really should go to the hospital wing, Harry.”
Suppressing a growl, he waved his hand in the air and continued his slow walking once again.
“That’s Potter to you, and I’ve already been. This is a recurring thing. I just have to deal with it for a bit.”
Ginny didn’t look like she could give less of a fuck about his attitude.
“Oh, yeah, mean Harry Potter and his insults. Please, you really think you can talk all tough after lending me your special pillow in the hospital wing?”
Harry looked about ready to kill someone, and if he was thinking clearer, he would’ve realized that his current tactic was not the way to resolve Weasley’s teasing. He was well aware of how much she thrived on his own annoyance.
She might as well have been shining under his waves of loathing.
“Just…” Harry said, stopping to run a hand down his face. “Shut up and walk to the Great Hall, Weasley.”
He sighed to himself when she started shining even brighter at his refusal to dismiss her. The two of them made their way down and began eating. He was tempted to go to sleep on the table, but he knew that he wouldn’t be going to classes today if he did. Personally, that was something he didn’t care about. He did know, though, that after his transformation tonight, he was not going to be going to classes for a day or two. It was because of this that he ate his food like a good student, said his farewells to Weasley, and walked to his first class.
He barely managed to stick it out during most of his classes, but he knew he was doomed the second he walked into his history class. Even worse was when he noticed that both he and Malfoy were late enough to not have seats next to each other. Malfoy was with Nott and Parkinson, and Harry was left with little choice of where to sit. In fact, it looked like he was about to get stuck with those two annoying gits Finnigan and Thomas. His day was going to be so shitty; he knew it would be.
That was, at least, until his eyes fell upon none other than Daphne Greengrass sitting next to the other female in the “Ice Queen Trio” as Harry called it. The third seat, though he knew who would usually be in it, was unoccupied. A lesser wizard might have suffered the Gryffindors for the sake of kindness, but Harry didn't think twice before falling into the seat to the right of Greengrass.
"You know that seat is taken, Potter." Came the voice of Greengrass's friend.
His expression could not have shouted louder how seriously lacking his fucks department was at the moment.
"Bite me, woman." He proclaimed in a crackly, tired voice before dropping his head onto his hands.
Never before had Daphne heard a more indignant exclamation from Tracey in her entire life, and it only made her smile grow. Ever since their last walk to Gryffindor Tower, Potter had taken to talking to her on a semi-often basis. He was certainly a character, and his "I couldn't care less about anything or anyone unless it pleases me" attitude was more than a breath of fresh air. She grew up in a family of people who only cared for the approval of those around them. She lived in a world full of people who sank and swam by the influence they had over others. Potter, though, and his hedonistic tendencies; unbreakable confidence; and straightforward, aggressive demeanor made for an acquaintance that was almost the antithesis of the kinds of people she spent her time with.
Blaise walked into the door, and his eyes bugged when they fell upon a sleeping Harry Potter. He stomped up to the desk and gestured incredulously at him with open hands.
"It appears as though Potter plans on sitting here today," Daphne told her friend.
"So what? we're just going to let him!?"
"Well," Daphne replied. "Tracey tried to get him to move. He told her to bite him."
"And you had no problems with that?" Her male friend questioned seriously.
Daphne shrugged, "I imagine that Tracey can handle herself if she was honestly offended."
Blaise looked between the two of them before slowly examining the last spot open. He cringed when he realized just where he was going to be spending the next hour of his day.
"You're really gonna make me sit next to Finnigan just so Potter can take my seat!?"
Daphne shrugged once again, "I suppose you could try to move him if you wanted."
Needless to say, Blaise was not about to do that. His family was not the dueling type, and even though he wrongfully assumed that she won the duel between herself and Potter, he was well aware of just how long it took them to come back to the castle. Anyone who could last even a bit in a duel against the Greengrass family magic was someone a Zabini didn't want to tussle with.
"This is very unfair," he said matter-of-factly.
"Maybe, next time, you should come straight here instead of flirting with that Hufflepuff. Honestly, Blaise, Potter walked slower than a toddler across the entire castle. You don't have an excuse on this one."
The boy in the Slytherin trio walked toward the Gryffindor table like a prisoner approaching his execution. Daphne, ever the attentive student, was just as invested in the history lecture as everyone else in the class was. Therefore, she caught about three sentences all starting with “Goblin Rebellion” and was spending most of her time distracting herself with the hopes of at least staying awake. Looking around her, she noted that most of the students already lost that battle, but she was different. Falling asleep in any of her classes would have consequences if it got back to her mother, and nothing remained a secret within the walls of Hogwarts.
“He looks really bad.”
Daphne looked over to Tracey before analyzing Potter’s worsening condition. She was right; he did look really bad.
“How long has he been sick again? It’s been about a week, right?”
Daphne gave no reaction to her words, but Tracey didn’t really need them. She had an uncanny ability to catch onto things with only a small amount of hints to lead her to the stunningly accurate conclusions she tended to arrive at. Instead of attempting to deceive the girl, she took the much more effective route of glaring at her until she dropped the subject. Whether or not she knew the truth about his condition wasn’t important. So long as she knew to keep it to herself, it would be fine.
“You know, he really chose his peers horribly,” Tracey said after a few moments of silence.
Daphne could only nod. A truer statement had never been spoken. Of all the people in the school, Slytherins would be the most likely to know about the signs that came with lycanthropy. Most of their parents had dealt with werewolves in some capacity before, and even more of them were taught what to look for in case they had the misfortune of stumbling upon one. Making friends with a Slytherin was the most likely way to get outed. He’d be much better off with friends from Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, people less likely to be well versed in the Dark Arts or dark creatures, people who were less likely to look deeper into a person than what was displayed on the surface.
“Do you reckon Malfoy knows?”
Daphne glanced at Potter just to make sure he was asleep. She didn’t really have to check though. This close to the full lunar cycle meant he could sleep through almost anything.
“I would be shocked if he didn’t," Daphne responded.
The two sat through class like always, but when it finally came to its glorious end, she realized that they were stuck in a predicament. Potter was still sleeping in an eerie silence. He didn’t move an inch, and he was so pale that he wouldn’t have looked any different as an actual dead body. She wouldn’t have known the difference if he managed to pass away at his desk just like Binns did so long ago.
Remembering how he reacted to professor McGonagall waking him, she didn’t fancy giving it a try herself. Tracey caught onto her dilemma but apparently decided to let her friend figure it out herself. She didn’t feel like leaving him to sleep through all of his classes was a polite decision, so she decided to step back and poke him with a charm. That was when Malfoy approached the table and gave Greengrass an odd look.
“You two can go to our next class. I’ll wake him up.”
“Are you sure?” Greengrass asked him as if she knew that he knew what was really going on here.
“Please,” he huffed with an eye roll. “Who do you think has been dealing with him all week?”
The two girls wasted no time with collecting their things and exiting their desks. Daphne paused for a moment to turn around before leaving the classroom to see what Malfoy did.
“Oi, Potter!” he exclaimed with a raised voice. “You still have a class today! Wake your lazy arse up!”
Malfoy nudged the sleeping boy roughly with his shoe, and Potter awoke violently. He stood straight up in his seat, sending the wooden chair flying into the desk behind him. He grabbed Malfoy by the front of his robes and had him up against the wall in a flash of supernatural speed before he seemed to realize what was happening. Malfoy’s smirk couldn’t have been more pretentious if he tried.
“If I would’ve known how quickly you wanted to throw me up against a wall, I would’ve chosen to sit somewhere else in Lockhart’s first class. I don't swing that way, sorry.”
Harry’s eyes went immediately back to their usual green at the unexpected comment, and he released his friend’s robes with a “tch”. It didn't occur to him until much later that his blond companion said what he did explicitly because it had the potential to knock him out of his illness-induced funk.
“If I’d known you’d be so fucking annoying, I would’ve killed you in the train to avoid the hassle.”
“Hah!” Malfoy shouted. “And then you would’ve joined me a week later after offing yourself to avoid another one of Binns’ lectures.”
Daphne was gone long before they reached the door to the history classroom, so the two of them were left to go to their next class alone. That was fine by Harry. It had just been those two for a while. They would be just fine on their lonesome for a bit.
“So where did the two ladies go?” Harry asked on their way to the staircase where they usually separated.
“I told ‘em to piss off. Didn’t think you’d be as okay with throwing one of them across the classroom as you are with me.”
Harry cringed at the thought.
Seeing his friend's reaction, Malfoy immediately continued with, “Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s why I told them to leave. What happened with her after your little show during detention anyhow? You never did tell me how it ended.”
It was truly surreal for Harry to think about just how much Malfoy knew about what happened to him at school. If Severus was right and Malfoy really was a Death Eater in the making, he was seriously shooting himself in the foot. It was something he couldn’t help though. He grew to see Malfoy as someone he could trust, and the boy was the first bearable person his age he’d found in his entire small life. He knew that his lycanthropy was playing a role in the situation as well, but that was also something he legitimately couldn't help.
He used to feel like he was alone at Hogwarts. That quickly turned into him and Malfoy against the school. That kind of dynamic was something that appealed to his illness more than just about anything could. It led to him feeling comfortable saying things. Severus wasn’t going to be happy at all when he figured out just what was going on.
The two never talked about his lycanthropy, but Harry knew that Malfoy figured it out. Unlike Greengrass, they opted to simply act as if it was something that didn’t exist. Perhaps it was Malfoy silently telling him that he didn’t care, or maybe it was his attempt to give Harry a chance to bring it up himself. Either way, that resulted in the two of them merely treating it as a non-factor in their odd comradery. It seemed like now, however, they were going to continue as if Malfoy had known all along. It was whatever in Harry's opinion. It wasn't as if his lycanthropy was something he was attempting to keep a secret for his sake. He only concealed it from the general student body because his mentors wanted him to. If Malfoy preferred to take the route that required the least actual conversation about his illness, then Harry had no plans of forcing them down a different path.
“She didn’t seem to care,” Harry answered honestly. “It was the oddest conversation I think I've ever had with a person."
"Yes, well, her father is Nathaniel Greengrass. If she couldn't at least tolerate you, I don't know how she managed to survive so long in their family estate."
"I suppose," Harry admitted while making a nasty face at the mention of such a prominent death eater. "Whatever the case, I'm still shocked that she kept it completely to herself."
“It is odd, but it really depends on the situation. Her father would have certainly asked her to befriend you while reporting to him, but her mother's only real concern is about status according to my father. I could see Greengrass making friends with you on her orders, but I can’t imagine that she would be under any orders to report back to her like I am. As long as she's gaining the right sort of influence, Lady Greengrass is likely to be pleased.”
Malfoy made good points assuming his information was solid, but if she was under orders to make friends with him, then she had a damn convoluted plan to get there.
“... and you? Does your father know?”
He did it; he broached the forbidden subject. Their companionship worked because they acted as if their ulterior motives didn’t exist. The way Malfoy looked at him spoke clearly of how little he wanted to mention it. Still, though, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“My father was mostly concerned with your opinions, your personality. He wants to know what makes you tick. Your personal affliction isn’t something I need to report about unless it affects your character much more than I thought.”
Harry didn’t respond; they just kept walking to the stairwell. What was there to say? Malfoy made it plainly clear that he was keeping this a secret for Harry's sake despite his father's orders. He was just about to split at the stairway with a friendly nod, but a hand was placed on his shoulder.
“Be careful tonight, Potter. Wouldn’t want to wake up to some viciously mauled body or something.”
Harry smiled at the blond boy. It was obviously his way of showing that their odd sort of partnership wasn’t solely built for the purpose of digging for information.
“I’ll make sure to put any mangled corpses next to the Hufflepuff common room.”
A small laugh burst from Malfoy, and it grew into a stronger, heartier laugh as he walked further down the hallway and parted with his friend for the rest of the day,
Harry skipped his detention with Minerva's permission. It had gotten progressively harder to repress his dark magic the further it got in the week, and it was now almost impossible to contain. It was because of this that he walked out of the castle and towards the Whomping Willow. His claws and teeth were already out, and he knew that he didn’t have the strength or willpower to pull them back in. His eyes were shining so brightly that he almost thought that he could use them as low-powered flashlights.
Hair was starting to grow on his body like he was some kind of neanderthal, and his mind was getting a bit fuzzy. He was starting to cut it close. Severus was not going to be happy with him. If he hadn’t been rigorously taking his wolfsbane all week, he might’ve already been delirious. He, like every lycanthrope, was capable of withholding the transformation until the moon actually rose, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t succumb to the compulsion before if they felt like it. A loud, crackling howl from the forbidden forest called to him like a family member calling to a long-lost brother, and he had to physically fight the desire to transform now and run to the invitation. So many of his people transformed in that place for various reasons. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t tempted to do the same and really let loose for a night. That, though, was out of the question because, so long as he had his human senses with him, there was only one person he wanted to spend these nights with.
A man in a dark cloak sat against the trunk of a leafless tree, pressing his wand against the knot that kept it subdued.
“You’re late,” Severus said with a mixture of worry and sternness in his voice.
“I got lost,” Harry answered with a weak chuckle that was muffled by teeth more than a bit too big for his mouth.
Everything would even out in due time though. There was no rush. His mouth would be stretching to accommodate them soon enough.
“Well, I implore you to keep your wits about you next time. I would hate for the Gryffindors to piss themselves in their tower when they feel your magic.”
Harry and the potions professor retreated into the Shrieking Shack, and Harry sat on the absolutely ruined couch with a wide smile despite the intense pain plaguing him.
“HA! That’s funny. Gryffindors are the brave ones, you know. It's your dungeon that would be flooded with piss if I turned in the castle.”
Severus made a sour face that didn’t have any heat behind it, “It's only a few minutes until the moon rises. Are you planning on holding it off until then?”
Harry shrugged while picking at his long claws.
“It hurts like a mother fucker, but it does wonders for learning to contain it between phases.”
Severus seemed to respect that decision. Ever since Harry could remember, they did the same thing during the full moon. They would joke around to help him ignore the pain while he held it at bay with everything he had. Severus was the only one besides Albus who had occlumency barriers strong enough to ignore his dark magic, and that meant he was the one who kept him company during his transformation. It wasn’t like that in the beginning. Before Severus began warming up to him, he used to spend the nights here alone. It was actually when a full moon coincidentally fell on Halloween night that Severus found him sulking and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to sulk together during a transformation. Now, though, it was a tradition. He was extremely thankful for it. Not many men were capable of existing around a werewolf while transformed without being in the midst of an animagus transformation themselves. It took an amount of self-control, discipline, and confidence that only Severus and Albus had so far possessed.
His head spiked with the pain of withholding the inevitable, and he stood up from the ground on shaking legs.
“It’s coming,” Harry gasped with a shuddering breath.
“Well, you might as well strip, then, Potter, unless you want to be running around starkers in the castle tomorrow when you wake up with shredded clothes like you did that one summer.”
Harry laughed as pained tears forced their way out of his eyes. He took his cloak off before removing his shirt and his pants. It used to be awkward at first, but Severus was a potions master. Much like healers, they were always very professional about such things when it came to health-related matters.
“You know damn well that was only because you neglected to mention that you could conjure clothes for me.”
“Hmmm," Severus hummed. "Perhaps that was because you attempted to spike my drink with that fingernail growing potion you still haven't told me how you obtained.”
Harry fell to the ground with a whine of pain that would’ve made Severus cringe if he wasn’t deep within his own occlumency-forged mindscape.
“Maybe if you didn’t make me run naked through the castle,” he hacked a few times as he held back another yelp. “I would’ve told you by now.”
Severus didn’t respond to the comment; the time was finally here. Harry could hold it back no longer. Reminded heavily of his time with the Dark Lord, Severus stood and watched with a forced face of neutrality as the boy began writhing and screaming against the old floor. It was worse than the cruciatus. The boy’s very body was contorting to the will of a curse. It burned his blood, ripped at his skin, tore his muscles, and snapped his bones. The screams that haunted the stories of an entire generation of students ripped through the shack and echoed across Hogsmeade. Never once did he look away from the horrifying scene that was a child lycanthrope’s transformation. He owed it to the boy to take it in stride. It would only make his pupil feel worse if he allowed the boy to know just how painful it was to watch the transformation.
Finally… Blessedly… The tortured screams died.
A dark, deadly aura swirled around the room as the wolf’s predatory magic attempted to force him into submission for an easy meal, but his mind, protected as it was, refused to yield. He remained strong for Harry and held his wand aloft in preparation to strike in case something went wrong with the wolfsbane doses. He stared unwaveringly into the wolf’s eyes as it stared at him with the slits that were its pupils. It was a hunter built for the night, and all one had to do was look at those specialized eyes to know it.
The wolf was absolutely huge, at least up to his chest in height. That was why the transformation was so much more excruciating for children; its size didn’t depend on the human’s physical stature; it grew to whatever size it felt was most natural, and it used the host’s magic to feed the change. The fact that he was much smaller than the wolf did nothing to stop it from assuming whatever size it fancied.
That was when the thing’s eyes flickered with distinct humanity, and Severus lowered his wand with a relieved sigh.
“Must you take so long to get your bearings, Potter? I almost blow the roof off of this musty shack everytime you change.”
Instead of responding in his usual dickish way, Harry walked up to Severus and swatted him with his tail before collapsing against the ground with a snorting huff.
“Yes, I know.” Severus drawled with an eye roll. “You’ve made it abundantly clear how much you despise sitting still during the full moon, but you would get put down in a second if you walked anywhere near a wizarding village, and you aren’t going into the forest without extra backup... and, no, random werewolves who happen to be in the forest at the same time as you do not count as backup.”
It astounded Severus how an animal without the ability to display sass through facial expressions could look so fucking obnoxious, but he got the message.
“Don’t blame me, Potter. I’m a potions master. You should talk to McGonagall about her less than imposing animagus form if you want someone to blame for your lack of animal friends.”
The wolf grumpily moved its head so it didn’t have to look at the professor anymore, and Severus found himself holding back a laugh. If he would’ve traveled back in time and told himself who he would be spending every full moon with, his old self would have murdered him and thought it a kindness when compared to the torture of spending a night every month with a Potter.
“You might as well get some sleep. You're going to regret it tomorrow if you don’t.”
They both knew that Harry would be tired for the next few days no matter what he did that night, but the boy still closed his eyes while Severus walked over and sat down, leaning against the wolf’s side and scratching its raven black fur idly. The two fell asleep like they did every full moon, and Severus once again found himself oddly at peace with his lot in life. The only thing that could make it any better was if James Potter was rolling in his grave next to a smiling Lily. If only that tiny hope came true, he didn’t think even the Mirror of Erised could’ve shown him a better image.