Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

We can always go next time, Harry, really," Hermione began, but Ron tugged on her arm.

"Look, the man said leave, so we'll leave," he said. "We'll bring you back loads of sweets, Harry."

"See you at the feast tonight!"

It was Halloween—Harry's favorite day of the year just kept getting better and better.

"Are you sure you don't want company, Harry?" That was Neville, his scarf already wrapped snugly around his neck. Harry smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Really, Nev, I'm alright. Probably just going to hang out in the library."

He was getting worse than Hermione when it came to spending time there. Though, to be fair, she wasn't up to her usual standards this year—probably because her schedule had her in about six places at once.

"If you're sure. Happy Samhain, Harry."

Neville had been teaching him about the traditional wizarding holidays—Samhain, Yule, Beltane. Thanks to him, Harry knew that some students would be lighting a bonfire that evening in the stone circle. He wished he could join them without revealing his secrets to Dumbledore. Maybe next year.

The path to the library was a familiar one, and Harry headed for a little-used back corner of the enormous room. From an offhand comment Hermione had made, he knew the Hogwarts library kept yearbooks of all previous classes. Judging by the thick layer of dust on the shelves, it wasn't a particularly popular section.

There were rows upon rows of black, leather-bound books, each labeled with a decade of dates on the spine. Harry found the one for the graduating classes of 1970–1980, carefully eased it from the shelf, and carried it to the nearest table.

The section for 1978 was easy to find, and the first page he opened made him gasp.

Near the bottom of the second page was a picture of a redheaded teenage witch with luminous green eyes and a bright smile. Beneath her photo was a short caption:

Evans, Lily

Gryffindor House

Head Girl

Top of the class in Charms, Arithmancy

Harry's fingers trembled as he hurriedly flipped through the pages until he reached the P names. His breath caught in his throat. He could certainly see why so many people said he looked just like his father.

Potter, James

Gryffindor House

Head Boy

Quidditch Captain (Chaser)

Top of the class in Transfiguration

Gently, Harry ran a finger over his father's face, his eyes burning as he took in that rakish grin. James had been only eighteen in this photo—just a few years away from death.

Absently, Harry scanned the rest of the page, remembering what Hannah Abbott had said about pureblood families trying to have children around the same time so they could attend Hogwarts together. He spotted a Macmillan—Ernie's dad, maybe? Or an uncle?—a Nott, and then—

Wait.

Snape, Severus

Slytherin House

Top of the class in Potions

Sure enough, there was a surly-looking teenager with a hooked nose and black hair that hung into his eyes. His Potions Master, age eighteen. He knew, of course, that Snape had hated his father—he just hadn't realized they had gone to school together.

Curious, he flipped back to the beginning, wondering if he would recognize any other names. The very first page made his jaw drop.

Black, Sirius

Gryffindor House

Top of the class in Astronomy

He could hardly believe that the winsome, grinning black-haired teenager in the picture was the same hollow-eyed man staring back at him from the wanted posters. Sirius Black had gone to school with his parents? Had even been in the same house?

Had his father known, even then, that he was evil?

The man looked familiar—wanted posters aside—and it took Harry a minute to realize why. The photo Hagrid had given him years ago, from his parents' wedding. Sirius Black had been in it.

Sirius Black had been their best man.

Harry felt sick. He quickly turned the page, unable to keep looking into those sparkling grey eyes. Instead, he forced himself to keep searching for other familiar names, refusing to dwell on what he had just discovered. If he thought too hard about it, he'd only work himself up.

Greengrass, Fenella. Lupin, Remus.

Wait.

Harry did a double take, staring at the boy with dark blond hair and honey-colored eyes, a bashful grin tugging at his lips, a faint scar running across the bridge of his nose.

Lupin, Remus

Gryffindor House

Gryffindor Prefect

Top of the class in Ancient Runes, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Professor Lupin seemed far too old to have gone to school with his parents. He was already going grey! Desperate, Harry kept flipping through the pages, wondering who else he might recognize.

Who next—Cornelius Fudge?!

When he reached the 1979 graduating class, Harry slammed the book shut, the sound echoing through the empty library. He barely registered Madam Pince's sharp "Shhh!" from her desk.

His heart was still pounding.

Before he could really think about it, Harry shoved the book back onto the shelf and bolted from the library, ignoring Pince's reprimands. The hallways were practically deserted as he ran, only slowing when he reached Lupin's office.

The door was open. The professor looked up, surprise flickering in his tired eyes.

"Harry? Is everything alright?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Lupin stiffened. "I—uh, Harry, why don't you come in and shut the door behind you?"

Harry did so, staring at his professor with a look of betrayal.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew them?" The hurt was clear in his voice.

Lupin blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"My parents," Harry said, his voice sharper now. "You went to school with them—I saw it in the yearbook. You were all in Gryffindor together. You, and them—and Sirius Black."

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