Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

Harry didn't look for Ron and Hermione when he slipped out of the Honeydukes cellar, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell them about the map yet. Ron would probably get jealous that the twins had given it to him and not him. Instead, he simply wandered, alone and invisible, thinking fondly of his time in Diagon Alley.

He could sort of see what the fuss was about, but there wasn't anything truly remarkable here. He supposed the real appeal was just the freedom to go somewhere without adults.

He took a brief look inside the Three Broomsticks but quickly realized it was far too crowded to move around unseen without getting bumped into. Besides, he couldn't exactly order a butterbeer. He spotted Ron and Hermione sitting together, hands wrapped around their mugs, and smiled softly to himself. They seemed to be having fun.

For a while, he wandered through the shops, imagining what he might buy if he weren't hiding under his cloak. Perhaps he'd come back another time. Some of the treats in Honeydukes looked particularly tempting.

He was back at the castle before dinner, sitting in the common room and working on his Charms essay when Ron and Hermione returned—completely unaware of his little adventure. They practically ran toward him, urgency written all over their faces. Hermione's eyes were red, as if she'd been crying.

"We need to talk to you," Ron said gravely, dragging him toward a secluded corner of the common room.

Harry blinked in confusion as Hermione, her voice quiet but strained, explained the conversation they'd overheard in the Three Broomsticks—how Fudge and the teachers had told Madam Rosmerta about Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.

Before he could stop himself, Harry scowled. What right did they have to be bandying about private information like that in the middle of a pub? But then he reminded himself that this was supposed to be new information to him, so he quickly schooled his expression into one of horror. It wasn't difficult. The truth still horrified him every time he thought about it.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione murmured, her voice thick with sympathy. "We had no idea."

"Yeah, well, neither did I," he muttered darkly. "I'm going upstairs."

It seemed like something old, impulsive Harry Potter would do—storming up the dormitory stairs, throwing himself onto his bed. He reached for his trunk, pulling out the photo album Hagrid had given him.

Flipping it open, his eyes landed on the picture of his parents' wedding. Sirius Black was there, his gray eyes shining with happiness. He looked barely older than he had in his yearbook photo. Had he already been lost to Voldemort by then? Did he know what he was planning to do?

Harry tore his gaze away, scanning the rest of the picture. In the background, partially hidden from view, was Remus Lupin. His dress robes were a little worn at the elbows, but he was young and beaming. His dark blond hair was neatly combed, his face clean-shaven except for a shallow cut healing across his cheekbone. He certainly had no idea what was coming.

He wondered if any of the other men in the photo were Peter Pettigrew. He vaguely recalled Pettigrew's picture in the yearbook—chubby, mousy-haired, looking as if he'd jump at his own shadow. Harry remembered being surprised that he had been a Gryffindor, with that kind of fear in his eyes.

That cowardly boy had stood up to Sirius—and paid the worst price for it.

The album snapped shut with a loud noise, and Harry flicked his wand to draw his curtains closed, setting up his privacy charm. He wasn't angry at Ron and Hermione. He wasn't grieving his parents. He wasn't even furious at Sirius Black—he had already processed all those emotions the first time he'd learned the truth.

The real feeling twisting inside him was guilt.

One less secret to keep from his friends. But they still didn't know how he had heard about it.

They didn't know about the map.

The secrets were piling up, one on top of the other. And Harry dreaded the day they all came crashing down.

.-.-.-.

Remus knocked lightly on the door before nudging it open. He was greeted by a scowl.

"I just got rid of the students, Lupin, and I was hoping for at least a little peace and quiet. What do you want?"

Easing the door shut behind him, Remus strode toward Severus' desk, perching himself on the edge. The glare Severus shot him was sharp, but Remus ignored it—he'd stopped being intimidated by Snape years ago.

"What do you know about Harry's home life, Severus?" he asked.

Severus raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Potter? What does it matter? Albus sent him somewhere safe. Probably some Squib family that turned him into a pampered little prince, filled his head with stories of the Boy Who Lived, making him think he's something special."

Honey-brown eyes blinked at him in utter disbelief.

"You don't know Harry at all, do you?" Remus said, shaking his head. Pampered little prince? That didn't sound anything like the boy he knew.

"He's not James, Severus. Believe me. Yes, he has his moments, but… there's so much of Lily in him. It actually hurts to see it sometimes."

The way Harry had reached out to him almost immediately, desperate for a connection to his parents. The way he had tried to cheer Remus up, even after Remus had just given him some of the worst news of his life. His determination not to let the Dementors defeat him.

Severus leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. Clearly, he had no idea what Remus was talking about.

"Watch him," Remus suggested quietly. "Don't think about James. Look for Lily, and you'll see it. You'll see it in spades."

Merlin. Having those green eyes fixed on him sometimes felt like stepping back in time. It was almost too much to bear.

"If you insist," Severus droned. "But why does it matter where he lives? Planning to steal him away in the night?"

Remus' expression darkened. "Albus sent him to Petunia."

The reaction was immediate.

Severus stiffened, shoulders tensing ever so slightly at the mere mention of her name.

"What?"

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