Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

Remus crossed the corridor, guilt gnawing at his gut, when suddenly, a hand clamped onto his shoulder, and his back was slammed against the stone wall.

"Swear to me," Severus hissed, his near-black eyes narrowing venomously as his wand dug into Remus' throat. "Swear to me you aren't helping him."

Remus' eyes widened in horror. "Severus, I would never! I'd never do anything to hurt Harry. I swear it."

Severus lowered his wand and loosened his grip—but not by much. "Forgive me if I don't trust you entirely, Lupin," he said sharply. "I know what the two of you were like."

"I know what you thought we were like, and you've always been wrong," Remus corrected, recalling countless arguments and pointed remarks about the true nature of his relationship with Sirius Black. Back then, he'd found it amusing—sweet, even. Now… the words felt bitter on his tongue. "I would never help that traitor get in here and hurt my cub."

Severus held his gaze steadily, so long that Remus began to feel lightheaded. Eventually, Snape nodded and stepped back. Part of Remus wanted to follow.

"It's late," Snape said at last. "And Dumbledore has called off the search. I suggest you go to bed, Lupin."

Remus bit back the first three responses that tried to leap from his mouth. Instead, he settled on, "You can trust me, Severus."

Severus scowled. "We've both been wrong about that before."

With a sharp turn, he stalked away, his robes flaring behind him, leaving Remus alone in the corridor.

Remus let out a long, steadying breath. "You fool," he murmured quietly, unsure whether he was talking to himself, Severus, or Sirius Black.

He should go to Dumbledore. He should walk straight to the headmaster's office and tell him about Sirius' Animagus form, about the secret passages he could be using to get in and out of the school. If he were a better man, he would have told him weeks ago.

But he wasn't a better man. He was a guilty, desperate, lonely man who still couldn't believe, even after twelve years, that one of his packmates had done something so monstrous. That Sirius—happy, playful, ridiculous Sirius—could be hunting down the child he had once loved so dearly.

Sirius had doted on Harry, insisting the boy was practically his since he would never have children of his own. He had been the perfect godfather.

Until he had betrayed them all to Voldemort.

Remus felt like his heart was being torn to pieces, his wolf howling in the back of his mind, demanding justice, demanding some other explanation. That only made his rage worse—if not for the wolf, Lily and James might have trusted him instead, might have made him their Secret Keeper instead of Sirius.

But no. Despite everything, they had still doubted him. Thought that because of the wolf, because of Severus—

No. He couldn't go down that road. Not tonight.

For now, all he needed was sleep. And perhaps some of the whiskey he kept in his cupboard. Whatever nightmares awaited him, he had no desire to face them sober.

When Harry walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and saw Snape standing at the front, he knew it was going to be a bad day.

When Snape had them open their books to the chapter on Dementors, he realized just how bad it was going to be.

Almost everyone in the classroom turned to look at him as Snape introduced the topic. He could hear several Slytherins snickering in the back—Malfoy included. Ignoring them, he stared down at his textbook and read the introduction.

Dementors feed off positive emotion, draining away all happy thoughts and feelings, leaving a person with only their worst memories. Many are driven mad by prolonged exposure. Some individuals have particularly adverse reactions—those with strong negative memories are especially sensitive to a Dementor's aura.

Harry thought of the sound of a woman screaming. His stomach churned.

Strong negative memories. That definitely applied to him.

Much to his surprise, Snape's lesson was actually somewhat informative—when he wasn't busy insulting them or making thinly veiled comments about Harry's fainting spell.

After dinner, Harry headed to Professor Lupin's office, hoping to talk to him if he was feeling any better. But when he arrived, the office was empty. He sighed. Another time, then.

On his way back down to the dungeons, he passed two Slytherins from his year. Ducking his head, he planned to slip by unnoticed—he was not in the mood for a fight.

That plan was ruined when one of them stepped in front of him.

He eyed Blaise Zabini warily, keeping his hand near his wand holster.

Zabini faced him, palms open, and slowly bowed his head. "Well met, Heir Potter."

Harry could hardly believe it. Beside him, Daphne Greengrass did the same. He blinked in astonishment before returning the greeting.

When Greengrass straightened, a coy smile played on her lips. "Maybe you're not so bad, Potter. For a Gryffindor."

So much for keeping things secret. How many others knew? He could only hope they were all as skilled at Occlumency as Neville assured him they must be.

"There are more important houses than just Hogwarts ones," Harry said at last.

"And more important enemies than each other," Zabini added quietly, his dark eyes sharp with meaning.

Harry's jaw tightened. Was he referring to Voldemort… or Dumbledore?

They parted ways without another word, and Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room—just in time to hear another explosion from Ron about Crookshanks going after Scabbers.

Honestly, the sooner that rat died, the better. Maybe then they could all finally have some peace.

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