AN: This story used to be a one shot but I decided to expand it. If you read the one shot thank you for reading! There are more details and lots more dialog in this fic. I've actually all ready finished this story so I'm just revising it. I'll probably post a chapter every day.
There are Mentions of Sirius/Remus pairing in this story. This is also abuse of a minor (Harry) in it, and a scene of Corporal Punishment. I use that term loosely because in this story that scene is one of abuse. Harry will eventually be in Snape's care but that will be a while yet , just an FYI. This fic explores what would happen if Sirius was Lupin's mate and how he would react to Harry being placed with him after Sirius dies.
Beware the Wolf
Chapter One - The Infirmary and Talks with Old Men
Harry Potter slowly drifted back into consciousness. He tried valiantly to open his eyes but it felt as if he were trying to lift a piano instead of two, usually, unnoticeable pieces of flesh. His eyelashes only fluttered uselessly against his cheek.
His head hurt fiercely, but he soon pushed that aside, having dealt with pain his whole life and well use to waking up in pain. He vaguely heard voices speaking nearby, and although he wasn't completely alert, he stilled his mind and stopped trying to open his eyes in an attempt to hear what was being said. His habit of eavesdropping to well developed to allow for him to do anything else.
"…ministry…Fudge finally…Voldemort…" Harry recognized Professor Dumbledore's voice immediately.
"Can't believe…really gone?" A dark voice answered uncharacteristically soft. Professor Snape.
"Yes…love…unable to withstand…Sirius." The last word effectively stopped his curiosity in the softly spoken conversation.
Sirius. He remembered now. Oh how he remembered! He had stupidly led his friends to the Ministry to save Sirius, but it had all been a horrible trap. He had been so foolish and now Sirius was dead.
His chest exploded with the pain of the loss and he couldn't bare it. He tried to lift his arm to clutch at the pain, but he couldn't, his arms just wouldn't move. The pain in his chest was worsening and he realized he wasn't breathing. He struggled unsuccessfully to catch his breath and will the tears he could feel pooling behind his still closed eyelids away. Finally, his lungs could take no more and he made a pained noise, not unlike that of a wounded animal, as his back arched slightly off the bed.
Silence descended for only a second before chaos seemed to explode from all around him. Frantic voices yelled his name, spells were whispered, and hands touched his chest and throat. The boy barely noticed in his haze of grief as he swiftly and silently passed back into the realm of unconsciousness.
Harry was sitting in stony silence in his bed in the infirmary. It was Sunday evening, and apparently, the only reason he hadn't been allowed to leave as soon as he had woken was Professor Dumbledore's wish to speak with him.
To say he was annoyed would be an understatement. Didn't the man have an office to conduct meetings in? He hated the Hospital Wing.
Harry was really in no mood to talk. Surely the man would realize that? He thought for a moment and realized even if he did it wouldn't stop him. Dumbledore had this odd notion that horrible happenings needed to be talked out as soon as humanly possible. Harry hated that too.
He decided almost immediately, in a fit teenage temper, that he would sit silently when the Headmaster showed up. He wouldn't speak to him at all. Let's see how he likes it! Oh, he knew it was a juvenile plan and showed just how immature he still was, but he was fifteen after all. He thought it was high time he started to act like it. Truthfully, it had hurt more than he was willing to admit to have the Headmaster treat him so coldly all year and as ridiculous as it may be, he was determined to return the favor.
Harry was just finishing his supper when the Headmaster finally showed up. Harry heaved a quiet sigh before laying his utensils down and folding his hands in his lap.
The Professor didn't hesitate as he conjured his signature squashy purple chair and quickly sank down into it. He peered at Harry over his half moon spectacles and Harry found he had no desire to look at the man, so looked down and watched his fingers twisting in the sheets instead. For the first time in months he was able to look into his mentors eyes, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. To him, it would almost be like granting forgivness, and he just wasn't ready to do that yet.
"How are you feeling, my boy? You've had us all quite worried." Dumbledore sounded no different than he ever did. Harry merely made a vague shrugging motion with one shoulder
Out the corner of his eye, he saw the headmaster clasp his hands softly in his lap before he started speaking again.
"I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear neither your friends nor any of the order members sustained any permanent injuries stemming from the fight at the ministry." The, except for Sirius, was understood.
Harry clasped his hands tightly together at the reminder of what had been lost and what could have gone wrong. Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought of his friends and what could have happened to them. Sirius' death needn't have been the only one that night. They had been so extremely lucky. Was Dumbledore trying to remind him of that or was he really offering the reassurance he said he was? Harry wasn't sure and he didn't care to ponder on it either.
He pulled himself together and nodded tightly, still looking down at his fingers. There was a moment of silence that may have been awkward had Harry cared at all.
"I suppose you are wondering about the prophesy you found yourself fighting for last night?"
And so the Headmaster explained as Harry sat in incredulous silence.
Harry closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. He had been prophesied to defeat a Dark Lord. He clutched the bridge of his nose.
That wasn't even the most shocking thing, though. After all the odd things that happened to him it actually seemed somewhat tame. The thing that he just couldn't reconcile was that the two most powerful wizards in the world actually believed it and took it to heart as absolute truth.
Common sense, evidently wasn't so common.
Harry knew he wasn't the smartest or the most powerful. He was, at least, self-aware. His connection with Voldemort was the only thing that enabled him to defeat him; otherwise, Harry was sure he would have been the loser in the whole "either must die" contest. That is if you believed in Prophesy, which Harry didn't. Especially when that stupid bint Trelawney was the one who gave to ridiculous thing. Of course since Voldemort believed in the stupid thing then it was guaranteed to be 'fulfilled.'
Stupid superstitious Dark Lords.
He just couldn't understand why these two ridiculously powerful men believed that he, a child, would ever stand a chance against a 70 year old magical prodigy. They did though. They had truly believed it.
And now the Headmaster had started prattling on about how exactly he believed Harry had defeated Voldemort. If he noticed that the boy in front of him had stayed silent and stony-faced as he was told of the prophesy and the circumstances of it being kept from him, he had steadfastly ignored it.
Harry just couldn't give up being angry yet and continued to sit, glaring and indifferent, in his uncomfortable infirmary bed while the Headmaster explained Voldemort's death.
"When he possessed you that evening, he was unable to sustain contact. Even with your blood in his veins, your mothers love still protects you. When he made mental contact with you, that protection, along with the love you feel for those around you, was too much for him. Much like you did physically your first year, you clung to his consciousness inside of you mentally, and Voldemort, body and soul, was destroyed." He smiled a grand smile at the bewildered boy.
Harry wasn't so sure it was a impressive a feat as the Headmaster was suggesting. He thought that his mind just went into survival mode and instinctually tried to protect itself from the threat it was presented with.
"Many Aurors, ministry workers, and the Former Minister of Magic witnessed this." The man continued, oblivious to Harry's skepticism. "You have been cleared in the press and given the Order of Merlin first class. I am very proud of you, my boy. Perhaps, when you feel up to it, you can join the celebrations."
Did he really just…? Harry thought shooting the man a poisonous look.
"Headmaster, I didn't meant to kill Voldemort and quite frankly I don't give a damn how proud anyone is of me. Sirius is dead." His voice cracked at the beloved name. "To me that is all that matters."
Dumbledore seemed surprised for a moment. Harry couldn't be sure, if it was because of what he said or because he had actually spoken.
"My dear boy, you must not wallow in your grief. It will do little good for anyone. Sirius died the way he would have wanted. You must trust me on that."
"Died the way he wanted did he?" Harry asked getting progressively angrier as he continued to talk to this stupid old man. Dumbledore nodded his head with a sympathetic look.
"By his bitch of a cousin's hand and drapery? You really think that would have been his preferred method?"
Again, Dumbledore looked taken aback. "Fighting, Harry. He died fighting."
"Well personally I don't think he wanted to die at all. And it would be an insult to him if I immediately forgot him and started to party like all the other inconsiderate arses out there. The same ones who vilified him and called me a liar for months. So please forgive me if I stay right here and grieve like any sane person would."
Dumbledore had the bullocks to actually look disappointed. "I know you are upset Harry. That is completely understandable, but you have a responsibility to show the people that the worst is over now. You will join a celebration or, if you prefer, you can wait until tomorrow night when we will go to the ministry to receive your Order of Merlin to make your first foray into public. I won't allow you to hole yourself away. The sooner you get out the better you will be." The man sounded a bit sterner at the end. He obviously expected to be obeyed, but his softly worded reprimand had done nothing but cause Harry to finally lose the hold he was trying desperately to keep on his always-volatile temper.
"If you think I'm going to celebrate anytime soon you have lost your mind!" He spat angrily. "I care nothing for the public's opinion or piece of mind at this point. They had a grand old time crucifying me in the paper this year and I'm not prepared to just forgive and forget! And the ministry?" Harry let out a derisive laugh. "They can go fuck themselves."
"Harry!" Dumbledore admonished, looking quite scandalized, but Harry just continued.
"I'll have nothing to do with the ministry, sir, if it's all the same to you. I wouldn't accept an award from them even if came with all the gold in Gringotts! How dare you come in here and try and tell me what I'm going to do!"
"I know what's best, Mr. Potter." The man demanded looking steadily over his glasses. "You will be going to the Ministry party tomorrow night." There was steel behind the man's voice, but Harry couldn't care less.
"The hell I will!" He spat and in his anger his magic lashed out.
Dumbledore's beard burst into flames.
Later on Harry would laugh about that but now he was too preoccupied, being both horrified at his accidental magic and angry at the man's gall. Dumbledore put his beard out quickly, and although it was singed and black in some places, it looked relatively fine.
Harry figured he had all ready screwed himself by using magic against the Headmaster so he may as well continue. "I'm not going to the Ministry, and you'll have to drag me kicking and screaming if you're convinced I have to be there. I'll tell every reporter I see exactly what I think of the ministry, the general public, and the goings on at this school this year. I am not in the mood to pander to the masses and I'll probably be quite harsh."
Dumbledore looked warily at the boy breathing deeply in the hospital bed and conceded defeat gracefully. Well, as gracefully as someone who had almost had his beard burned off, before being thoroughly put in his place by a student, could be.
"All right Harry. No need to get so worked up, yes? You don't have to go. You are right. It is much to soon. I will just let Cornelius know that you can not attend." Dumbledore then quickly fled…er…hastened out of the infirmary to do just that. As he left Dumbledore couldn't help but be a little impressed. Harry was no push over, and he definitely had his mothers temper.
Harry laid back and tried to steady his breathing as the Headmaster left the infirmary. He hoped against hope that he wasn't expelled for what he had just done. It had been an accident after all. He suddenly chuckled as he remembered the look on the old man's face as he tried to stop his beard from burning. His chuckles soon turned to sobs as he tried not to think of how funny Sirius would have found it, but he didn't succeed.
In the end Harry succumbed to his emotions and the memories that were overwhelming him, hugged his pillow tight to his chest, and wept.