Harry Potter knew quite a few things. But at this particular moment, what he knew most importantly came down to three things only.
That Albus Dumbledore had indeed been wrong to trust Severus Snape with so much as a grocery list, never mention his life or the safety of the students.
That Lord Voldemort had been raised in a Christian orphanage and was familiar with the phrase 'The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.' That was a long story.
That, had Harry ever considered how his life would end, good or bad, he would not have foreseen this.
There was a collar around his neck, and it had been there for three days. He hadn't had food or water for the same length of time, and it was beginning to seriously weaken him. The collar was a seamless ring of dragonhide, black, and despite every effort Harry had not been able to so much as get the edge to fray. It was magically leashed to a short metal stake buried in the center of the chamber he was held in, which was just as resistant to Harry's efforts as the collar.
At the moment, he was leaning against the nearest wall, about three yards distant from the stake. The sun was barely glimmering above the western horizon, minutes from disappearing. Harry knew this because the chamber he was in seemed to have been an outdoor, covered pool at one time, but the ceiling had decayed and most of the large stone tiles were gone, letting in the fading sunlight. There were few other things to look at. The steps at one end were bare, he was too far from the surface to see anything at ground level except a few trees, and though he knew there were guards posted nearby, they stayed out of sight.
The only other thing to see was Remus Lupin. He had a similar collar around his neck, also impervious to any effort to remove it, though his was tied to a stake at the other end of the pool. He was in much worse shape than Harry. In fact, had he not been a werewolf and stronger than a wizard, he would have been dead some time before. Both arms were broken, and the terrible slices made with cutting hexes were open and infected; he was conscious, but silent. They had given up talking, said their goodbyes and last apologies, hours before.
Harry blinked as a wave of dizziness caught him by surprise. He shifted, cradling one arm over his broken ribs as he did so. These, surprisingly enough, were not the work of Death Eaters. Vernon Dursley was not to blame. Neither was his son Dudley. Actually, it had been Petunia Evans Dursley, Harry's last living blood relation, who had taken her rolling pin and smashed it into his side over and over until the bones cracked and splintered under the force. She had been driven mad with grief when she found her husband and son dead, Harry standing over their bodies. Unfortunately for her, nearly killing Harry had been her last act on earth. Harry had been mostly healed and treated for the rest of the injuries he'd gotten during their capture, only to be put out here to die.
The light was completely gone now. It was still summer so he wouldn't freeze to death, but that, of course, wasn't his concern in the first place. Harry turned his head gingerly to the east, wondering how long it would be before the moon rose into view. Remus, staked closer to the shallow end of the pool, would see it first, as was intended. In little time, Harry would be seeing the last of his former professor when Moony took over.
It wasn't the first time he would be witnessing the transformation since they had been captured. Tonight was the third and last night of the full moon, and they had been down here for both previous nights. Remus had not been healed of any of his self-inflicted wounds, but then again, he had not been too rough on himself. Moony had been more interested in the human staked so close to him.
Voldemort was a cruel and sadistically clever man. At first, their collars were set at the same length – ten yards each. During the first full moon Moony had pulled and snapped at the furthest reach of his collar, growling at Harry who was likewise as far as he could get away from the werewolf. But the next night, Harry's leash had been shortened and Remus' lengthened so there was barely a yard between the werewolf and boy. Even knowing Moony couldn't reach him Harry had reacted on an instinctive level against the maddened werewolf, terrified out of his mind until the moon set at last.
And today, as they already knew, there was no chance for Harry to escape. His leash had been shortened to just over three yards, and Moony's was over twenty. Remus had not had anything to eat or drink, either, so they both knew Harry did not need to fear being turned into a werewolf tonight.
His ears unwillingly perked at the sound of soft sobs. Harry looked up, long since resigned to his fate, to see Remus was now easier to spot. Moonlight.
While Harry turned his head away from his friend's pain, the sobs began morphing into cries then screams and finally, growls. He couldn't help but look toward the werewolf as Moony raised his head and howled loud and echoing in the night. Faint howls answered over the hills.
The yellow eyes lowered from the moon's sight and turned unerringly toward Harry. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, whether Voldemort would kill Remus right away or let him live in agony for a while instead. Harry had no doubt which would be the crueler end, so it was easy to guess Remus would be left chained in the pool with his own corpse to keep him company.
This was not really a time for wondering. Moony leapt forward, starved with hunger and maddened by the moon, slavering jowls open and ready to tear. Harry wished, quick and hard, that Remus would be able to control Moony enough to kill him with the first bite.
Suddenly Harry looked up. He felt his scar burning, caught a glimpse of red fire and skull whiteness against the night, before his vision was blocked with gray fur stretched over straining flesh. Despite his resolution to let death take him, his body took over and he tried to lunge away.
Pain erupted in his stomach and leg and he cried out, instantly on alert to twin snarls, the snap of teeth, thud of flesh against flesh. When nothing more happened to him Harry opened his clenched eyelids and looked down. There were long scratches in his abdomen, more on his legs, but no bites, no flesh missing.
He stared as the umber-gray Moony went down under a burnt pewter wolf even larger than the last Marauder. The two werewolves broke apart, snarling, teeth bared, then Moony lunged with fierce speed only to be turned away and sent rolling across the ground with a high-pitched yelp and spray of blood.
Harry's mind left him and base instinct flooded up, making him tear and yank at his collar with the two wolves distracted. He dared not look up to see the master of puppets standing at the edge of the pool, knowing if he did Voldemort would make this even more agonizing than it already was.
There was no time. His fingers slipped in sweat and blood and still the collar wouldn't come off. Dark amber eyes turned to him and Harry scrambled back, pulling against the invisible chain with his entire body, straining until his heels and back bled.
The large wolf leapt, one huge paw throwing Harry's shoulder into the ground with a sickening crack and yellowed teeth descended –
Blinding agony exploded from his shoulder. Harry screamed, tossing his whole body backward in a final futile attempt to get away even as sharp fangs dug deep and ripped free again. Blackness deeper than any night descended but he wasn't free to unconsciousness; he was blind but heard the growl and cry of the two wolves fighting again, felt fire, pain and blood racing from his shoulder to the rest of his body.
His bones snapped, muscles ripped and his organs contorted; the tortured screams that filled the sky descended in pitch until, with a final wrench his spine snapped in twain and all was silent.
Moony whined, falling silent again when the larger wolf snapped at him. They were both still for a long time before the alpha raised his head and howled, loud voice ringing around the pool. He was joined by Moony, then weakly, a third howl.
Harry's mind was a prisoner in his skull as a voice that was not his in a body that was not his own forced out a howl in response to the alpha's call. His vision was dancing with black spots and he could barely register the movement as he rolled to his knees and elbows, then shakily to his four feet.
Everything hurt … no, everything screamed at him in pain. The alpha was coming closer again. He tried to move away but his limbs were too weak, perhaps broken, he could only shuffle and whimper. The alpha snarled and he dropped back to the ground, neck exposed, still bleeding from the bite.
He cried out in agony as the lycan bit him again, crouched over him, pain pounding in his shoulder and back and – oh god not there … For a moment he suffered the anguish of being forced open, impaled on the alpha's cock before real darkness descended and all was gone.
When Harry next achieved consciousness – though he had expected to never wake again – it was slow and painful. He was first aware, past the dull edge of pain that came from everywhere and nowhere, that he was parched and his eyelids felt heavy, sanded, and glued shut.
Hearing came next, probably because there was actually something to hear.
"Break … let him die…. I cannot…" the voice faded in and out, and Harry knew vaguely that he was missing parts.
"What about Lupin?" Harry tried, he really did, to listen to the answer, wondering what had happened suddenly where he had not before.
"…Dark creature, he will be – " more muttering, "Follower."
Harry felt the dryness in his throat and mouth the most annoying thing, once the voices had stopped and he had nothing to listen for. He tried moving his tongue to moisten it but even that felt like a glob of dry cotton.
He must have made some sign or noise, probably of frustration, because a moment later there was a hand on his arm – reminding him that arm had been broken and not healed – before a trickle of liquid ran over his lips.
A new voice entered, sharper and more acidic than either of the two before. "You'll have to pry open his jaw first, he can't drink on his own yet."
Accordingly, something forced his lips and teeth apart and blessed, cool water dripped into his mouth. It flowed slow but constantly and he had to swallow five or six times before it stopped grating in his throat. The tingle of magic swept across his face feeling like a damp cloth and someone peeled open one of his eyes.
He jerked at the sudden influx of light and snapped his eye shut. Something growled.
"There's nothing wrong with him that a day of rest won't fix. Here, give him this one." Harry was able to open his own mouth to accept a wash of liquid, strongly mint flavored and thick, before more water came. "Not too much water, he hasn't had enough to eat and those potions need to stay down or they won't work. Here, now this one."
Harry lay compliant as a number of potions he stopped counting after four were poured down his throat … some pleasant and some rotten. Finally it seemed to be over and he was allowed more water to wash the last of the taste away.
He felt no need to open his eyes or so much as twitch when he was picked up and shifted around. Something plucked lightly at his throbbing shoulder and he heard cloth hitting the ground as the bandage was removed. Again more growling, distinctly dangerous this time.
"Fine, apply it yourself. A thick layer, make sure all of the cuts are covered."
Harry felt something prick his skin, heard a muttered 'bloody hell', then cold glop was dropped on his shoulder. It felt good at first, soothing the hot ache of the wound before cold fire, like raw ice on skin, replaced the glop and began to sear off his flesh. He tried to cry out and roll away but only managed a whimper.
"Nothing else?" one of the first voices asked, when the freezing flames had died back and he was being shifted to wrap a new bandage around his shoulder.
"No, the nutrition potion will suffice until he can eat on his own. Dim down the lights and don't let him reopen those wounds; the potions can only heal so much. Sleep will do the rest."
The tinkle of glass vials clinking together accompanied this instruction. Soon Harry could detect the swish of cloth and stamp of feet getting further away, more than one set. Someone remained with him, though, long enough to roll him onto his uninjured side. Lassitude began to drag him toward sleep again – probably one of the potions – and he sighed into the heat as a thick blanket covered him.
The second awakening was a bit more difficult; Harry remembered almost nothing from the first except a lot of gross potions going down his throat and not being able to open his eyes or mouth on his own.
This time he tried blinking and met with success, taking in the sight of a somewhat blurry, dark room with the only light seeping around the thick curtains on the window. As he began to wake more, he started testing his limbs for injuries, wiggling his toes and fingers, stretching his back.
His shoulder still stung, but it was far from the nearly paralyzing pain it had radiated before. The rest of him was sore yet unhurt as far as he could tell. He also had an empty stomach, a full bladder, a heavy headache and he was far warmer than usual. He shifted the heavy blanket off him and rolled off the bed, taking a few stumbling steps before his legs obeyed and he managed to walk semi-normally toward the open door that showed a bathroom beyond.
He managed to grab a towel and wet the edge before flipping up the toilet lid and pissing. He ran the damp cloth over his face and neck, feeling it clear away sleep grime and dust from the past few days. Merlin, how long had he been out for?
Brain not quite yet awake, he flushed the toilet and went over to the sink, rinsing out his mouth a few times before putting his mouth under the faucet and drinking. He considered the bathtub, but he was still feeling rather weak-limbed and he wanted to get back to bed and nap a little longer.
It was as he got back into the room that the muck of sleep and injury finally cleared from his mind and he realized the current situation did not fit with his last memory. He looked down at his chest at touched the remnants of the claw marks on his abdomen. Ignoring his lack of clothing or weakened body, he took off for the only other door in the room and twisted the handle.
"Won't be gettin' out that way, kid," same a rough voice from behind him. Harry spun around, plastering himself to the door. He didn't know that voice, but he recognized the face that was smirking at him from the bed. Fenrir Greyback. Oh god. He pulled and wrenched at the door but it wouldn't budge.
Greyback climbed out of the blankets with a lot more surety than Harry had, striding over to the frantic young man in only a few steps and picking him up as if he weighed nothing. He tossed Harry back onto the bed and, when Harry tried to use the momentum to climb off the other side, growled at him.
Harry froze then scrunched up, curling his legs and arms together. Greyback flipped back the blanket and lay down as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening.
"You had a bad change for your first time," he said roughly. "Snape and Pomfrey had a hard time holding you together afterwards." Harry tensed even more when the man's thick arm wrapped around his back and pulled him up against a broad, furred chest. He immediately tried to move away but Fenrir growled, low and sharp and he stayed in place, shaking now. "You still hurt anywhere?"
Harry shook his head and then put a hand to his throbbing forehead. Greyback's free hand gripped his hair and tugged until he was looking up at the older man, though he was focused on Harry's scar.
"He can send you pain anytime he wants, but Lord Voldemort won't have you killed now. You're more valuable alive than dead."
Harry's shoulders hunched slightly, "What happened to Remus?" his voice was rougher than usual and it hurt to talk.
Fenrir growled at him enough to make Harry lower his gaze and turn his head so his neck, and his bite scar, were exposed. "Lupin's recovering, slowly." He said at last. "Lord Voldemort hasn't decided whether to let him live yet."
Harry blinked at the man's arm. It was bare of the Dark Mark, how…? Without conscious thought he reached out to touch the skin, noticing faded scars littered the tanned flesh but no skull and snake.
Greyback noticed the direction of his attention and snorted, "I don't need his Mark, I follow because he delivers what he promises freedom for werewolves without the Ministry's restrictions."
Harry squirmed, uncomfortably aware that he was a werewolf now, too. He was consciously trying not to think too deeply on his situation – what would happen to him, to Remus, how they were going to survive, what everyone else would think when they were discovered missing, the list went on and on.
Greyback's chest rumbled underneath him in a warning sound and Harry went still again. The older werewolf had pulled the blanket back up and he was too warm again – his own skin felt warm, as if he had a fever and Fenrir's was just as hot if not more so.
"Will you stop that squirming!" Greyback growled at him.
"It's too warm," Harry snapped back, immediately regretting it when the hand under his arm started to squeeze his ribs. He gasped in pain and tried not to struggle when he was tossed over on his back.
"Don't whine at me, boy," Fenrir snarled, rising above the smaller male in a crouch, arms and legs caging him in place. "That warmth will keep you from freezing to death even in the winter. I'm not going to punish you like you should be for that, since you're still adjusting." Harry didn't dare breath in relief yet, especially not when Greyback relaxed and settled on top of him. "It will be a week at least before your body's adjusted to everything. You're too skinny," he pressed his hip down on the boy, emphasizing the bony jut of Harry's hip, "but we'll fix that."
Harry was made aware by this that they were both still naked, Greyback's prick was half-hard against his stomach, and though he recoiled mentally from the thought, his body wasn't protesting. He remembered the brutal invasion of his body from the last night of the full moon but he couldn't fight against the wolf inside or Greyback's strength when he moved his legs between Harry's own and nipped his tender bite scar.
"You're not a human anymore," he growled, rubbing his body full-length over Harry's and grinning ferally at the shiver it produced. "Your wolf knows me, knows its alpha and its mate," No! Harry tried to protest but it was weak in his voice and nearly lost under Greyback's words. "You aren't a human, you won't act like a human … if you try it will only make this much harder on you. You are a were. My were." Harry whined at the last words, his consciousness retreating when he couldn't control his body's actions any more now than he had been able to after being turned.
Fenrir smirked and bit his shoulder a little harder, producing a twinge of pain and a reaction from Harry at last. With his wolf now in charge he titled his head back to give the alpha proof of his submission. Fenrir moved his hands all over the younger male's warm body, rumbling his pleasure at every small movement that showed the pup was enjoying his attention. He licked at Harry's mouth in reward when his hands hesitantly slid up Fenrir's arms.
Harry fought against the physical pleasure but his wolf wouldn't let him disobey the alpha. He wanted to cover his ears to block out the small sounds he was making, but it was taking all his willpower just to remain as still as he was and not actually reach out for Fenrir.
He was doubly tested as heated palms swept over his hips, titling him to the right angle so that when Greyback pushed down their dicks brushed together. Harry bit his lip to hold back a moan, shivering in response to the growl Fenrir gave in pleasure.
(Edited for Content)
He was trembling too hard to remain upright. Fenrir merely laughed, lowering both their bodies back to the bed and curling around the smaller male.
"Sleep for now, pup, we'll finish this later."
It was only a few hours later when a house elf popped into the room with a tray of food and three potions vials carefully balanced next to a note. Since Harry was still asleep Fenrir took the food, smirking when the elf squeaked in fear and popped away instantly. He easily plucked the note off the tray without disturbing the trio of potions and read over Severus' instructions. 'The blue one before he eats anything, then the red with food, the yellow just before sleep.'
Snorting over the potions master's curtness even in a note, he set it aside and put the tray down at the end of the bed before turning to wake the boy. Harry snuffled and growled low at him when Fenrir shook his shoulder, not even halfway waking. Shrugging, he picked up a plate of chicken and began to eat, knowing it wouldn't be long.
The aroma of the food got to Harry even in his dreams and he woke up to find himself gnawing on the edge of his pillow. He spat out the cloth, twisting around and squinting to see what had changed. Outer door still closed and locked; Fenrir Greyback still beside him in the bed; various aches and pains from the full moon and his first hours awake in where-ever-he-was. But the food, that was new. He sat up, not looking directly at the werewolf beside him and reached for a tempting plate of hamburger mash.
"Your first lesson," growled Fenrir, making Harry freeze in place, "is that you do not take anything from me without my permission."
Harry took back his arm, glaring at the older man as he scooted himself back against the headboard. Fenrir handed him a bottle of sky-blue potion and snapped, "Drink." Harry drank.
When nothing more happened, including no permission to eat, he folded his arms over his knees and buried his face. He could go without another meal; he'd certainly done it often enough before. Some time passed, the only sound that of the older werewolf eating and his own breathing. Harry was tortured by the smell of the food, cursing his increased senses as he listened and smelt the food disappearing piece by piece.
Using a trick he had learned at the Dursleys', he went into the bathroom to use the toilet then drank again from the tap, letting it fill his stomach rather than the food he really wanted. Instead of going back to the bed he paused by the window, drawing aside the drapes enough to see it was early morning outside, the sun barely in the sky and no one moving about. He could see a forest not too far off, and in-between the house and the tree line were manicured lawns. They appeared to be on the third floor of the building, with no convenient trees, balconies or even water pipes to climb down on. Not that Harry figured the window would open anyway.
The room itself was fairly featureless. His sight had improved enough to see the bed, the lone chair in front of a cold fireplace, and another small window flanking the bed. That was it. No paintings, no carpet, nothing to pay attention to. Harry turned back to the window. He wondered where Hedwig was, whether the Weasleys had gone into a panic when Harry and Remus hadn't shown up at the wedding – surely it had been a week since they were captured?
It had happened so fast. Harry woke late on his last morning at the Dursley's, made sure his trunk was packed, and headed downstairs. He'd left the trunk by the door and headed for the kitchen, only to pause on his way past the parlor. Usually the television was blaring one of Dudley's programs but all was silent. It sent an odd frission through Harry, who crept into the room with his wand drawn.
He'd been staggered to find Vernon and Dudley Dursley stretched out on the floor, blank eyes staring at the ceiling, expressions of fear on their faces. It was such a familiar position that Harry immediately knew what curse had been used, but he hadn't had time to contemplate it. Petunia had come to investigate the unusual silence, too, only to find Harry with his wand out standing over her family's bodies.
She'd screamed and grabbed her rolling pin and proceded to beat the tar out of Harry. Her screaming had drawn the attention of Remus, who had just Apparated in to collect Harry and take him to Grimmauld Place.
In the confusion none of them had noticed the Death Eaters until it was too late. At the same time Harry and Lupin were being cursed Petunia Dursley joined her husband and son with a quick green flash of light. Harry's injuries had been mostly healed, but Remus … had he gotten worse over the final full moon? Had he even survived?
He glanced at Fenrir. "What's happened to Remus?"
"No idea," the man shrugged nonchalantly, having no trouble hearing Harry though his voice was low and rasped. "I haven't been out of here since the Dark Lord sealed the room Tuesday."
Harry grimaced. Definitely more than a week. How long was he going to be kept in here alone with the older man? He grew frustrated enough to ask.
Fenrir shot him a glare, then nodded to the bed. "Sit down." When Harry hesitated, he growled loudly and spat, "Sit!"
Harry felt his knees weaken right where he was so he quickly moved back to the bed and perched on the edge.
"Do I have your permission?" Harry snapped. He flinched internally, knowing that had been stupid but unable to help rebelling in the only way he seemed capable of.
Fenrir reached out, casually, and took hold of the boy's neck. His hand nearly wrapped around it and it was no trouble for him to drag the smaller body toward him until they were nearly nose-to-nose.
"I won't take your insolence, is that understood?" he waited until the bright green eyes lowered before continuing. "You've got only two choices here, so you'd better decide right now how you want this to go. You can obey me and stay here, fed and warm and eventually you might even be allowed a wand and room to move around the castle. Or, you can piss me off at every turn and get yourself a lot of pain and no better circumstances for your trouble. Eventually Lord Voldemort will have enough and put you down in the torture rooms – you'll be kept alive, but I doubt you'll like it.
"Those are your only choices. If you try to run I will be able to call you back. You have no wand, you're still weak, and trust me when I say that if you try the Dark Lord will not go easy on you. You have no one to run toward who can protect you from either of us." He gave Harry a rough shake, "Understand?"
Harry bit his lip and nodded. Everything the werewolf had said was true, things he had known subconsciously but hadn't wanted to face up to.
"We have one week – long enough for you to learn all the rules and how to act when you're let out. Now you have my permission to eat."
After only a small hesitation he reached blindly for something off the tray. It turned out to be a ham sandwich – Harry gulped it down in barely five bites, already reaching for another before he'd swallowed the first. Fenrir chuckled and leaned back against the headboard, one arm going around the boy's waist and resting, palm open, on his abdomen.
When ten minutes had passed and Harry had begun to slow, Fenrir pulled him back and away from the food. "Drink," said Greyback, handing him the red potion. Harry swallowed the apple in his mouth and took the potion, surprised at the pleasant cherry flavor. He leaned forward to take another warm roll from the plate but the hand against his stomach prevented it. "You've had enough, you'll sick yourself if you stuff in much more." He pressed hard on Harry's skin to make his point, putting uncomfortable pressure on the boy's already full stomach.
Harry had no idea how long they sat there. He was uncomfortable at first, unsure what Fenrir would do and unconsciously tense because of it. Slowly, though, he relaxed with the heat radiating against his back and side and the comfort of a full stomach. He'd eaten too much but when it started to make him nauseous the larger male rubbed his hand across his belly, soothing the ache and almost lulling him back to sleep.
He barely made a sound when Greyback shifted and startled him back to full awareness. Despite his tense, uncooperating limbs the werewolf had no trouble shifting Harry around until he was sitting up, straddling the man's lap. He began to hate how strong Fenrir was compared to him, how he could pick Harry up like a toy and do what he wanted. Some of that showed in his face and Greyback snarled at him.
"Lesson two, boy, I won't take disrespect from you. You mouth off to anyone else, that's their problem and they can deal with it how they see fit – but you will not ever disobey me." Harry looked away, wishing he had his wand or any ability in wandless magic so he could turn some of the fury he was feeling back on the person responsible. Fenrir shook him, hard enough to make his teeth clack together painfully. "You don't want me to have to punish you. Werewolves heal fast and I can do a lot of damage to you without having to worry about you dying. Do you understand?"
Harry glared up at him, unable to actually force his throat to toss the angry words he wanted at the older man so he settled for trying to light him afire with his eyes.
"Fine, we'll do this the hard way first," Greyback growled at him, drawing his knees up as he gripped Harry's arms and forced him to lean back. Not understanding, Harry struggled as much as he could before Fenrir trapped his hands behind his back and squeezed them between the man's hard thighs. He felt the bones of his forearms and wrists creak in protest, trying to draw his legs up and kick the werewolf. "You had it the easy way once," Greyback snarled at him, hands sliding down to Harry's hips and lifting him forward.
Harry froze and then twisted frantically when he felt the blunt head of the alpha's penis pressing against his hole. "No! No, don't!"
"I can make this painful for the rest of your life, puppy. You'll heal and I can keep using you – your pleasure isn't necessary."
(Edited for Content)
They stayed that way for a while, barely moving but to breath and relax tensed muscles. It wasn't long before the scent of Harry and sex got to Greyback and he hardened again. Harry groaned in protest but didn't have the energy or the mental strength to fight as he was turned over and Fenrir loomed above him, still cradled between his thighs.
"Good boy," he grumbled. Tossing one of Harry's legs over his arm Fenrir bit at the boy's shoulder and started thrusting again.
17This is the missing conversation when Harry was semi-conscious.
"We have experienced an unexpected lucky break. I finally see why Dumbledore was so delighted that I had used the boy's blood to revive myself. No, we cannot let him die, I cannot yet be sure I would survive that." Voldemort
"What about Lupin?" Harry tried, he really did, to listen to the answer, wondering what had happened suddenly where he had not before.
"17The boy is now a Dark Creature, he will be easier to turn to our side. Especially now, especially with you. And Lupin is a follower. He will do whatever Potter does."