Harry Potter: Raised by Wolves.

"Have a good evening, Harry."

Harry left the office with his hands in his pockets, his emotions so jumbled in his head he could barely make sense of them all. At least one person — one adult — knew the truth, now. One person was on his side.

.- .

He bumped into Hermione in the corridor, expecting her to scold him again about the map. Instead, she had tears in her eyes, her hands trembling. "Hermione? What's wrong?" Had Ron said something awful to her?

She wordlessly handed over a crumpled piece of parchment, and Harry's heart sank. Buckbeak lost his trial.

"They can't do this," he murmured, taking her arm to lead her back to Gryffindor Tower. "Buckbeak isn't dangerous."

"Malfoy's dad thinks he is, and he's got the whole committee in his pocket," she retorted, wiping at her eyes.

Ron was in the common room when they entered, and he scowled at first, before he realised Hermione was crying. "Don't tell me she told on you, mate," he hissed, glaring at the curly-haired girl. Hermione's lip quivered, and she bit back a sob.

"I did no such thing," she bit out. "I just thought you might like to know, Hagrid lost the case. They're going to execute Buckbeak."

Ron's freckles stood out stark against his pale face as it drained of colour. "What?" Harry passed him the letter. "But that's not fair! Buckbeak did nothing wrong, it was all Malfoy!"

"We know that, but the committee doesn't care! There'll be an appeal, there always is, but… I can't see how it will help. Nothing will have changed."

"Yeah it will," Ron said fiercely. "You won't have to do all the work alone this time. I'll help."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione flung herself into Ron's arms, sobbing on his shoulder, and Ron sent Harry an alarmed look as he patted her awkwardly on the top of the head. Through her sobs, she managed to stutter out an apology for Scabbers, and Ron shook his head, entirely out of his comfort zone.

"He was old, y'know— and a bit useless. It's alright." He kept patting Hermione's head until she finally drew away. She met Ron's eyes, offering him a tentative smile, which he returned. Another small sob escaped Hermione's lips.

Harry could only hope they were finally done fighting. They had more important things on their mind, now.

.-.-.-. As a cold and dreary February rolled into a slightly less cold and dreary March, Harry was beginning to feel like he was almost as busy as Hermione. His curly-haired friend was drowning under her workload, always doing some sort of work and looking increasingly hysterical while she was at it. But Harry had his classes, plus a truly absurd amount of quidditch practices — they were so close to the cup they could taste it, and Wood wanted them at their best. Add in his patronus lessons, his private study and his secret late-night meetings with Draco, he barely had time to sleep. And after knowing Sirius Black could get all the way up to his dorm… well, even when he did have time to sleep, it was hard.

True to their word, he and Draco had resumed antagonising each other in public. It was actually sort of fun, now that Harry knew it was just a game. It certainly made Ron happier, having 'the old Harry' back. That made the guilt rise up again, but Harry shook it off.

They managed to meet about once a week, never in the same place twice, arranging meetings by dropping little notes in each other's pockets or school bags whenever they had one of their 'fights'. It was harder now Harry didn't have the map, but he was managing. Tonight, they were in one of the old Charms classrooms on the fourth floor, chairs pulled up to the desk as Draco taught Harry a wizarding card game called Warlock's Bluff. The rules were somewhat complicated, but Harry was starting to get the hang of it. He'd actually won the last round, much to Draco's surprise.

"It's better with four players," Draco told him, using a spell to shuffle the deck for the next round.

"By better you mean harder."

Draco smirked at him, eyes flashing in challenge. "Struggling to keep up, Harry?"

He dealt again, and Harry picked up his cards, keeping his face blank. Not a bad hand. He could win this one. "So what does being a good pureblood have to do with playing cards?" "You can get a good measure a person by playing Bluff with them," Draco replied, making his move. "Often business meetings will include a game or two, to keep conversation flowing. It shows logic, strategy, how many risks a person is willing to take. A little like chess, but quicker."

Of course, even games had an ulterior motive with purebloods. Harry said as much, and Draco scoffed. "Not every game has an ulterior motive. Sometimes we play for fun. Just don't ever play against Daphne, especially not for money. She'll rob you blind with a smile on her face, the girl is a menace."

"When would I ever play cards with Daphne Greengrass?" Harry asked, bewildered. "You never know." Draco shrugged. "The future holds many opportunities. There may come a time where we don't have to put on quite so many masks."

That was one thing Harry was learning, spending more time with Draco. Just about everyone in Slytherin — and many in other houses — was playing a part, to some degree. Draco wouldn't say why it was so important, but he'd made it pretty clear that nobody could be taken at face value. It sounded exhausting to Harry.

Outside in the hallway, they heard a door slam shut. Both boys froze.

"It's getting late," Draco said eventually, flicking his wand and sending all the cards neatly back into their box. "We should go."

They tried not to stay out too long past curfew, both because they needed to sleep, and because they were both painfully aware that Sirius Black could be roaming the castle at any time. Harry knew he was being foolish, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He liked spending time with Draco. The blond boy was funny when he wasn't being scathing; and sometimes even when he was. Spending time with him made Harry wonder if he'd made the wrong choice when he'd begged the sorting hat not to put him in Slytherin.

"I'll see you later." Harry watched Draco leave — Draco always left first. He waited several minutes, then made to swing his invisibility cloak over his shoulders, only to freeze when the door swung open. He stared guiltily into the honey eyes of Professor Lupin.

"Harry," the professor greeted neutrally, taking in the scene in front of him. "Did I just see Draco Malfoy leave this room a few moments ago?"

"…Maybe?"

"You don't look like you've been fighting," Lupin started, and Harry shook his head.

"We weren't fighting! playing Warlock's Bluff."

We

were, ah,

"A card game," Lupin said flatly. "With Draco Malfoy."

"We're maybe, kinda, friends now?" Harry replied, voice rising an octave as he shrugged helplessly, waiting for the outburst about not trusting Slytherins and being more carefully running about after dark.

"Merlin," Lupin muttered under his breath, glancing skyward in exasperation. "History repeats itself indeed." He cleared his throat, looking back at Harry. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor for being out after curfew."

"What! Aren't you going to take from Slytherin? Draco was out too!"

"Draco had the good sense not to get caught," Lupin retorted. "Also, he doesn't have a murderer looking for him. You're playing a dangerous game, here, Harry." His eyes flicked down to the fabric bunched in Harry's hands, and he smirked. "Ah, of course. How long have you had James' cloak?"

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