Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

The old wizard's face was friendly, and Harry knew he would have fallen for it easily six months ago. His stomach churned—did Dumbledore disapprove of him learning the Patronus Charm? Why? Surely any defense against Dementors was a good thing!

"I—I told him what I hear when a Dementor comes close," Harry admitted carefully, choosing his words with precision. He didn't want Dumbledore to think he was hiding anything. "I told him I couldn't keep listening to my mum die over and over. I begged him to teach me."

He tried not to meet those twinkling blue eyes as they studied him, forcing his mind to remain blank. "He—he said he was feeling well enough, but if he's not—if I should stop— I… I suppose I can handle it, sir."

Poor, brave, orphaned Harry Potter. Exactly what far too many people expected to see—but easy enough to give them when it suited him.

"Of course not, dear boy. If Professor Lupin believes he is well enough to teach you, then by all means, learn what you can. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to endure such a thing."

Dumbledore paused, as if in thought. "I suppose mentioning your mother's death would make him especially keen to see you spared such heartbreak."

Harry knew what the man was fishing for and stifled a scowl, instead furrowing his brows in calculated confusion. "Sir, I don't understand?"

"Did the professor not tell you that he and your parents went to school together?" Dumbledore sounded genuinely surprised.

Internally, Harry smirked. Let him think I'm still in the dark, oblivious to the family I was kept from all these years. Let him think I don't know the truth about Sirius Black.

"He said he knew them," Harry replied, feigning innocence. "He never said… were they friends?"

"Indeed they were, my boy," Dumbledore said. For the briefest moment, Harry thought he saw a pleased look flash across the headmaster's face.

"They were all in Gryffindor together. But if Professor Lupin hasn't mentioned it, perhaps it's best not to bring it up. Grief can do terrible things to a man, Harry. Once it settles, you won't want to disturb it." His voice was sad, his head shaking with a small sigh.

Beside him, Harry nodded along obediently—while inside, he seethed.

Imagine if I had never broken the compulsion.

He would have let Dumbledore lead him away from Remus Lupin—away from the memories Lupin could share, from the support he could offer, from everything.

Dumbledore wanted Harry alone.

He wanted him with no one to rely on—except those he had chosen himself.

The thought made Harry uneasy. Who in my life can I trust? And who is only here because Dumbledore placed them there?

More importantly—why?

What was so special about Harry that the man had started playing his game so early in his life?

Scowling to himself, Severus strode back toward his quarters, shaking his head at Sybill Trelawney's ridiculous prophecy. Why Albus insisted he attend the small Christmas lunch, Severus didn't know; he would have much preferred dining alone in his private rooms.

The only person at the High Table he remotely tolerated was Minerva.

Especially with Lupin—

He shut that thought down before it could take root. He refused to think about Remus bloody Lupin at Christmas.

It was bad enough seeing the regretful look in those honey-brown eyes when he'd realized the full moon fell on Christmas Eve—meaning he'd be missing the festivities entirely.

Severus' scowl deepened.

Muttering the password to his quarters, he stepped inside and shed his cloak, tossing it toward the hook on the wall, where it hung itself neatly.

All he wanted for Christmas was a glass of brandy, a good book, and at least twelve hours without seeing a single student—or Albus Dumbledore. The old man had fallen even further from Severus' good graces than he had been at the start of the year.

The familiar embrace of his favorite armchair was a welcome relief. Severus closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.

When he opened them, he paused.

There, on his coffee table, sat a neatly wrapped package in brown paper.

It definitely hadn't been there when he'd left for lunch.

He reached for it warily, already knowing—without needing to check—where it had come from.

That sodding wolf.

Sure enough, the handwriting across the top was unmistakable.

Severus,

I know you weren't expecting anything. I highly doubt you got me anything. Don't worry—I just couldn't resist.

Perhaps we could have a drink when I'm feeling better. I'm going to need help working through the bottle of Glenfiddich Minerva will undoubtedly gift me.

I'm not asking for things to be as they were. I'm just asking for us to move forward.

Merry Christmas,

Remus

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