Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

"Is that it?"

"I'm going, I'm going," Remus assured him. Even after all this time, the Potions Master's sharp tongue didn't quite cut the way it was supposed to. Not that it didn't hurt, but… it was a different kind of hurt.

"I just thought I'd stop by to say how grateful I am." He paused, summoning his Gryffindor courage for a moment. "It's good to see you again, Severus."

"Goodnight, Lupin," Severus replied flatly, looking away, his jaw clenched.

Remus took a step back, knowing when he had pushed too far. It had always been a delicate game between them. He could hardly believe he was playing it again—could hardly believe he wanted to. But after seeing Severus, he was certain. Even after all these years, he still couldn't quite shake him.

With a quiet sigh, he left the office and finally retreated to his quarters, letting out a breath of relief as he stretched out on his mattress. He closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting to the incident on the train—to the one student he hadn't been quite ready to face yet.

He's so small. Certainly bigger than the last time Remus had seen him, but still. James had never been that small at thirteen. Even Lily had been taller, he was pretty sure. Still, Harry Potter seemed happy enough—when he wasn't being attacked by Dementors, at least.

Remus sighed, rolling onto his side. The hollow ache in his chest throbbed, the faint howling in the back of his mind mournful. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could make it go away.

"I don't know if this was a good idea after all," he murmured to himself, knowing full well he was in for a night of nightmares.

It was going to be a long year, full of old memories and broken pack bonds in so many ways. He could only hope it would be worth it.

The start of term was certainly eventful.

Between everything with Buckbeak and Malfoy and adjusting to his new classes, Harry hardly found any time to focus on his extracurricular studies. True to their word, the twins had borrowed Angelina's Flourish and Blotts catalogue, and Harry had sent off for a book about old pureblood families, along with one about the duties of a pureblood heir. Having a list of available books made finding what he needed so much easier. He should have thought of this ages ago!

The night his books arrived, Harry left Ron playing chess with Ginny and scurried up to the dormitory. If he was lucky, he'd have at least an hour before everyone else started getting ready for bed. He dug into the side compartment of his new trunk and pulled out his books, wondering which one to start with.

The one about heir duties was shorter, so he went with that. It was dry—like most books about pureblood traditions seemed to be. They certainly didn't make it easy for people to learn about this stuff.

"Harry?"

He jolted at the sudden voice, hurriedly shoving the book under his pillow in a move that was anything but subtle. Neville stepped back, holding up his hands soothingly.

"It's okay! Sorry, I thought you heard me come in."

Harry let out a breath, relaxing slightly. "Sorry, Neville. You startled me."

"You're taking up your family seat?" Neville asked, nodding toward the book.

Harry blinked. "What? How do you know about that stuff?"

Neville gave him a somewhat crooked smile. "Neville Longbottom, Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom, at your service," he said, bowing formally—the way Harry had read heirs were supposed to address one another.

Harry gaped. "You… really?"

"Really," Neville confirmed. "My gran holds my proxy for now, but she'll pass it to me as soon as I'm old enough. Oh, this is great, Harry! The others will be so happy to hear you're taking up your heirship—we weren't sure, since you never said anything."

"Wait—no!" Harry's eyes went wide in alarm. "You can't tell anyone, Neville." He didn't even know who these others were, but if Dumbledore found out…

"Harry, whatever Ron's told you, there's nothing to be ashamed of," Neville said, sounding almost defensive. "The House of Potter has a great history, and being an heir is a huge honor."

"No, it's not that, I—" Harry hesitated before sighing. He could probably trust Neville, right? Especially if he was an heir too. Maybe he could even help.

"Come here."

He scooted up the bed to make room for Neville to sit across from him, then closed the curtains and cast a privacy charm he'd learned from A Hundred Spells Every Wizard Should Know. Neville raised his eyebrows.

"What I'm about to tell you, Neville—you can't tell anyone, okay?"

Neville nodded, brow furrowed in confusion. And so, Harry told him—about his trip to Gringotts, the block on his magic, and who he suspected was responsible.

"I've been trying to learn everything I can since I found out," he said, gesturing to the books. "Bought a load of them. But there's so much I don't know, and I can't make it too obvious or Dumbledore will realize I found out."

Neville's face paled. "He blocked your family magic?" His voice came out as a horrified whisper. "He could be sent to Azkaban for that! That's so many different kinds of illegal!"

Harry winced. "Who's gonna believe me over him, though?" he asked plaintively. "Even if they did, he'd find a way to convince everyone it was for my own good or some rot like that."

"That's awful." Neville squeezed Harry's shoulder in support. "Do Ron and Hermione know?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't be sure they wouldn't go to him. Or that he wouldn't get to them somehow." He couldn't quite say it outright, but Neville understood—he couldn't trust them yet.

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