Harry Potter: Raised by Wolves.

Remus watched the flames in his fireplace fade from green back to orange, as Professor McGonagall bid him a harried goodnight. The entire castle had been searched, and there was no sign of him. Whatever had happened in the Gryffindor common room, Sirius was gone.

His hands shook. His cup of tea had long gone cold, and he heated it back up with a wave of his wand, hoping it might calm his nerves. His eyes strayed to the door, wondering if Severus was going to come bursting in, accusing him of helping Sirius break into the castle. Remus honestly wouldn't blame him if he did.

Sometimes it felt like he was as good as helping, just by not saying anything. There was no doubt in his mind that Sirius was hiding out in his animagus form. If Remus told someone about it, they'd probably catch him within the week.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Deep down, in his heart, his pack instinct was screaming that Sirius would never, could never, hurt Harry. Even after tonight —standing over Ron Weasley with a knife, what the hell was Sirius thinking?? — he had to believe there was some other explanation.

Reaching for the photo album on the coffee table, Remus flicked it open to the page he'd spent more than a few nights looking at since the week before Christmas, when he'd unearthed all his old photos to find the one for Harry. This photo was from the same day.

Arms wrapped around each other and beaming smiles on their faces, the four Marauders looked up at him, all wearing festive jumpers and laughing. Merlin, they'd been so young. He watched as photo-Sirius ruffled photo-Remus' hair, while photo-James blew a kiss to Lily, who was the one behind the camera, and photo-Peter jumped as the cat brushed between his legs. In the corner of the photo, you could see the moses basket where baby Harry slept peacefully, little reindeer antlers peeking over the edge. James had been so proud of himself for finding that onesie.

Remus could remember that day like it was yesterday. Lily and James' first Yule in the new house, the first — and only with the baby. They'd thought it was the best thing ever, starting their own family traditions — the second generation of Marauders. It had driven Lily nuts to hear her son referred to as such, but she'd had a smile on her face nonetheless. James had good-naturedly pestered the rest of them about settling down and making some playmates for little Harry, insisting he couldn't carry their legacy entirely on his own back. Sirius had laughed and promised he was in no rush to have kids, but he'd treat Prongs' like his own. Peter had blushed and stuttered and made some mention of a date he was going on in the new year. Remus had pretended not to hear Lily dropping hints about a certain Slytherin; they'd had a fight a while before that Christmas. It had been months before they'd spoken again. Again, Lily's doing. No wonder he was a mess without her.

His gaze kept drawing back to those familiar grey eyes, shining with so much life and love and joy. He still didn't understand how everything could go so wrong. Maybe he never would.

"Why, Padfoot?" he murmured to the photo, a question he'd asked thousands of times in the last twelve years. "You could've had everything. We could've had everything." Even with Voldemort's growing power, they still had so much hope in that little family of theirs. Now, it was all gone. Except Harry. The only hope he had left, the shining light in the darkness. He couldn't believe Sirius capable of snuffing that light out.

Maybe he was fooling himself. Time would tell.

.-.-.-.

When the letter from Hagrid arrived at breakfast, a few days after Black broke into the tower, Harry knew something was up. The way it was addressed to just the two of them, not Hermione… With a sinking realisation, Harry checked the calendar. Buckbeak's trial was at the end of the week. He had completely forgotten about his promise to help with the research; and from the look on Ron's face when Harry mentioned it to him on the way down to meet Hagrid at the entrance hall, so had he.

"We're really sorry, Hagrid," Harry said once they were inside the cabin. Buckbeak was curled up in the corner, snuffling at what looked like half a dead stoat. "We should've been helping more with Buckbeak's case. We've just been so busy lately—"

"I'm not angry abou' that," Hagrid assured, pouring them tea and offering a plate of Bath buns, which neither boy touched. "Yeh've had a lot on yer plate, practisin' quidditch all hours o' the day an' night. I wanted to talk t' yeh both about Hermione."

"What about her?" Ron asked, a scowl coming to his face at the name. He still wasn't over Scabbers' assumed death.

"She's bin down 'ere a lot since Christmas, helpin' with Buckbeak an' all. Cried a fair few times — she's goin' through a bit of a rough time at the minute. Bit off more than she can chew, I think, with all those classes o' hers. But more'n that, I think she's lonely. I've barely seen the three o' you together these days."

Harry winced, glancing at Ron. "If she'd just get rid of that bloody cat, I'd speak to her again!" he insisted. "But she won't hear a word against it!"

"Ah, well, people can be a bit stupid abou' their pets," Hagrid said, looking over at Buckbeak with sad eyes. "I jus' thought yer friendship was worth more than rats, or broomsticks," he added with a glance to Harry.

"I had no problem with her handing the Firebolt to McGonagall!" he said defensively. "I'd happily spend more time with Hermione, but I can never bloody find her. It's like you said, she's taking a million classes at once. And I'm at quidditch every free hour I've got." He knew he was making excuses, but he didn't want Hagrid to think he was purposefully ignoring Hermione, or taking Ron's side. He wasn't spending much time with Ron lately, either. "We'll talk to her, Hagrid, I promise." He elbowed Ron in the side until the redhead nodded, though he didn't look happy about it.

They spent the rest of their visit discussing Gryffindor's chances at the Quidditch Cup, and when they made their way back up to the castle, they found a cluster of students around the notice board in the Gryffindor common room. "Hogsmeade, next weekend. Brilliant! Oh, sorry Harry," he added belatedly. Harry bit his lip. He still hadn't told Ron and Hermione about the map yet. Maybe it was time to start mending some bridges. Harry nudged Ron over towards Hermione. "Can I talk to you two for a minute? Privately?"

Ron scowled at Hermione, but let Harry move them to a secluded corner. He put up his privacy ward. "Don't get mad at me," he started, reaching into his bag and pulling out the map. "A little bit ago, the twins gave me this."

He explained the map, not letting on exactly how long he'd had it. Ron beamed at him when he realised what it meant. "You can come to Hogsmeade with us! Brilliant! Mate, you're gonna love Zonko's—"

"This is really dangerous, Harry! If you get caught in Hogsmeade — if Sirius Black catches you—"

"Lighten up, Hermione!" Ron cut in with a roll of his eyes. "Black's hardly gonna come after him in the middle of a crowd of students, is he?"

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