The Song of the Trees

Chapter Six: In the Moonlight

Harry had always thought it was impossible for him to attract even more stares than per usual whenever he came to the Ministry, but he was proved wrong as soon as he had taken two steps within the Atrium the following morning. People now didn't merely follow him with their eyes: they were openly gaping at him -- stopping dead in their tracks when they saw him, bulging-eyed and open-mouthed.

It's just an arm in a sling, he thought irritably as he glared at a portly woman, who had abruptly fallen silent in the middle of a conversation at the sight of him. But from the way they're goggling, I feel like I've sprouted an extra leg or something.

They were probably all assuming he had fought with Dark Creatures -- which wasn't completely untrue, he had to admit -- or, more likely still, that he had indulged in dangerous and dark magical practices. Harry Potter didn't even have the right to have an accident. From a wizard who was thought to be incredibly powerful -- could it be otherwise, when he had defeated the Dark Lord? -- it was just suspicious.

By the time Harry reached the second level, word seemed to have already spread in the whole Ministry that Potter had gotten a mysterious wound during the night. Catching a trainee peering at his shoulder, Harry tugged on his cloak to conceal the bandage. No doubt he would soon 'accidentally' bump into at least one journalist hanging about at the Ministry, and they would be more than glad to jump at the chance to write a juicy article about him; he didn't want to give them an opportunity to photograph him so as to prove he had been wounded. He had enough publicity as it were, thank you very much.

Immersed in his thoughts, Harry didn't see a man coming out of a door on his right until he ran straight into him.

"Hey, watch it!" an angry voice shot at him.

Harry mumbled "sorry" and walked round the man, checking on his watch as he walked away; he'd better not be late at his appointment today. Especially since he was not only meeting Robards this time, but also Rufus Scrimgeour himself.

But the man he had bumped into suddenly called out:

"Potter?"

His voice held a familiar drawl -- very familiar indeed.

Harry hadn't heard that voice in two whole years.

He spun around. A tall and slim blond-haired, pale-faced man was looking at him, his eyes widened in sudden recognition. As Harry remained speechless, shocked to come face to face with the ex-Death Eater, his face broke into the smirk Harry had come to hate.

"Surprised to see me here, are you?" Malfoy drawled.

"I must admit I am," Harry answered coldly. "How did you wriggle your way out of the bunch of crimes you were charged with?"

Malfoy's smirk widened.

"Connections are always useful, Potter," he said smoothly. "I had more witnesses ready to testify that I am a law-abiding and respectable pure-blood wizard than I could count."

"Really? How much did you have to spend on them?" spat Harry.

As far as he was concerned, Malfoy was a Death Eater who had been more than happy to help Voldemort to take and burn Hogwarts. Malfoy had been struggling through several trials for the past two years; he had come very close to being sentenced to spend ten years in Azkaban once or twice. Seeing him free, healthy and strutting in the Ministry of Magic was infuriating.

"Freedom has its cost," Malfoy said carelessly, "but at least now I am perfectly free to act the heir of the most prestigious family of Great Britain again. Here I am, cleared of all charges, and most importantly reinserted in the wizarding society as the victim of a dreadful miscarriage of justice."

His malevolent eyes trailed on Harry's right arm, bent and supported in the sling, and on the bandage visible under the black cloak that had slid off Harry's shoulder when they had collided. Harry drew back the cloak on his arm and Malfoy sniggered.

"You don't look like you're out of trouble, now, do you Potter?" he said amusedly. "What happened to you? Who attacked you? I must send my congratulations."

"What happened to me is nothing compared to what's about to happen to you if you don't shut your face," Harry snarled. "You'd better watch your step, Malfoy. I won't miss a single opportunity to have you sent to Azkaban where you belong."

Malfoy laughed softly.

"This is really funny. Three quarters of the wizarding community think that you've lost your marbles; did you know that? They wouldn't object to sending you to Azkaban, Potter. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's not that the idea of chatting all day with you doesn't appeal to me --" He negligently pulled a golden watch out of his pocket and consulted it with his eyebrows raised, "-- but I have a press conference beginning in five minutes. I'll see you around, I guess... if you're not permanently sent to St Mungo's by the time I'm done with the journalists, that is."

And with a last smirk in Harry's direction, he walked away in the direction of the lifts.

Harry wheeled around and strode away, anger boiling in his veins. The worst part of it all was that Malfoy was right; now he had proved his 'innocence', his family would never be troubled by justice again. It was just -- sickening.

"Harry!"

Harry started as the sound of his name abruptly pulled him out if his thoughts; raising his head, he saw Lance emerging from the Aurors' Headquarters at a few feet from him and coming to meet him.

"So, how're you doing?" said Lance, looking uncharacteristically anxious. Then, without waiting for an answer, he went on: "You'd better hurry up, Scrimgeour just showed up at Robards' office and they're waiting for you."

"I was delayed," Harry replied as he quickened his pace. "I ran into Malfoy."

Lance let out a low whistle.

"So that scumbag is free to come and go, now?" he said.

"Yep," said Harry disgustedly. "Cleared of all charges and showing off in a press conference."

Lance shook his head.

"When I hear things like that, I suddenly remember the reason why I chose this job in the first place."

"That is to say?" Harry asked as they strode across the buzzing hall divided into cubicles; he was smiling in advance at the answer.

"It'll give me plenty of opportunities to enjoy the look on the faces of cowardly arrogant gits like Malfoy, when I do something nice such as... shoving a search warrant in their face, taking away their wand or -- my personal favourite -- telling them their rights and handcuffing them while they're crying shame and reciting the list of their illustrious ancestors at the top of their voices," Lance said with a dreamy look on his face.

Harry burst out laughing, attracting a few glares from the Aurors surrounding them. They had now reached the office where Robards' secretary vegetated. She was once more ruffling into an incredible mass of papers, looking completely lost, and she started with a small yelp when the two apprentices closed the door behind them.

"Potter's here to see Robards," Lance said loudly before she had the time to open her mouth, "and I'm here to wait for him."

"Wait for him?" she stammered, looking at Lance with wide eyes. "In-in my office?"

"Of course, why not?" Lance asked innocently. He and Harry knew fully well they were not supposed to be hanging around in the secretaries' offices -- there had been a few 'incidents' between Auror apprentices and female employees before. "Harry's my friend, and I can hardly wait for him in the hall, can I? There's always so much hustle and bustle there. I'd get in the way."

As he talked, he gave Harry a little push in the direction of Robards' office. Harry walked up to the door and had just the time to hear Lance cut in the secretary's protests by a flirtatious: "It's a shame to confine someone with such beautiful eyes in a dark office...", before he opened the door, stepped in the Head Auror's office and closed the door again behind him.

Robards was sitting behind his huge desk, looking thoroughly disgruntled, and Scrimgeour was nervously pacing. Surprisingly enough, the atmosphere was smoke-free -- something that Harry had never witnessed since he had been taken on as an apprentice. Maybe it had something to do with Scrimgeour's presence.

"Harry!" said Scrimgeour affably when he caught sight of him, waiting by the door. "How nice to see you again! Sit down, please. We have a few things to discuss."

Harry sat on the only seat available -- none other than the hard, straight-backed chair he had sat on a mere two days ago. Scrimgeour conjured an armchair to sit next to him; as soon as they were both settled, he handed Harry a scroll of parchment.

"Please read this. It's the medical report from Healer Parletoo, which he wrote after seeing you this morning."

Harry unrolled the scroll of parchment and quickly scanned it. After he had skipped the usual administrative considerations and the account of his many visits at St Mungo's, his eyes finally landed on a paragraph at the bottom of the parchment.

The bite is very deep; the contamination was unavoidable. The wound couldn't be healed completely due to the werewolf venom, and Mr. Potter will have to keep his bandage for a few more days. I was pleased to notice Mr. Potter takes his new condition quite well, and I was surprised by his quick recovery after suffering a werewolf's attack.

That was it. Harry lifted his eyes from the parchment and sent Scrimgeour an enquiring glance. The Minister looked nervous and ill at ease.

"These are terrible news, Harry," said Scrimgeour with a shake of the head. "I am so sorry. Merlin knows you've been through quite enough, without adding a werewolf's bite. I offer you my most sincere condolences."

Harry nodded, not quite knowing how he should react to this. "Thank you, Minister," he answered awkwardly.

Scrimgeour slightly bowed his head to acknowledge Harry's answer, still wearing the same contrite expression that looked oddly out of place on his sharp and shrewd features.

"Be assured you'll receive all the help you ask for," he went on gravely. "Your new... condition... will be known only to a very few people, and no revelation about it will be made to the journalists. As for your job, I'm thinking about giving you a position in my own office. It'll be a quiet, well-paid job, with possibility to be promoted very soon. You'll be able to take all the vacation you need."

"Last time I checked, Potter was in my Department, Rufus," boomed Robards suddenly; he was watching Scrimgeour with narrowed, resentful eyes. "Since when are you deciding what is to happen to my apprentices?"

Scrimgeour looked mildly surprised at Robards' intrusion in the conversation, and shot at him a glance that was both confused and wary.

"Come on, Gawain," he said uncertainly. "I thought it was for the best. Of course Mr. Potter, as your apprentice, will hand in his resignation to you, and after that only, I'll be more than happy to give him the position I've been talk--"

"Potter, did you come here to resign?" Robards asked, his thundering voice drowning Scrimgeour's.

"No," Harry replied, himself a tad confused by the behaviour of his Head of Department.

"Then I don't see why you would fabricate a sinecure in your office for Potter, Rufus," Robards went on, turning back to Scrimgeour.

The Minister now looked really annoyed.

"Come on, Gawain," he said again, but this time his tone was dry rather than soothing. "Don't be ridiculous, a werewolf as an Auror? You can't be serious!"

Robards scoffed. "I'm dead serious, Scrimgeour," he growled. "Potter would make a decent Auror, and if you think I'm gonna give up on one of my apprentices, just because he has to be off once a month, you're barking up the wrong tree. He's gonna work twice as hard to make up for his absences, and he's gonna pass his exam, damnit!"

"I don't understand you," Scrimgeour barked angrily at him. "You've been complaining loudly every day since I encouraged you to take Potter as an apprentice, and now you're finally rid of him, you make a scene to keep him! Make up your mind, Gawain!"

"I don't like it when you interfere with the way I run my department!" Robards roared, the famed vein starting to pulse on his reddening neck. "I'm the one who decide who I wanna train and who I wanna fire! Potter's gonna stay a frickin' apprentice of mine, whether you like it or not!"

Now pale with fury, Scrimgeour rose to his feet and walked to Robards' desk; leaning forwards, he placed both hands on the desk and brought his face inches to Robards' purple one.

"What if I made you fire him?" he hissed, his voice dangerously low and his eyes fixed on Robards', obviously trying to make the Head Auror look down.

Robards stared up in Scrimgeour's face, looking completely unfazed by the Minister's threat.

"I'll sulk," he answered simply.

Harry fought back a burst of laughter just in time. Robards couldn't be serious. But even as he watched, Scrimgeour's menacing expression turned to vague anxiety, and he slowly straightened up under Robards' satisfied gaze.

"Well," said the Minister rather stiffly. "I guess I'll let the pair of you work out the issues on your own, then."

"You would do well," smirked Robards. "Goodbye, Scrimgeour."

Scrimgeour's eyes flashed in anger and his lips thinned, and for a minute Harry thought he was going to retort; but then Scrimgeour swiftly turned on his heel and walked out of the office without even a glance in Harry's direction.

As soon as the door closed behind Scrimgeour, Robards dived for the cigar box on his desk and avidly lit one. He expelled the first puff of fragrant smoke with a blissful expression.

"Asshole," he said to no one in particular, a satisfied look on his face. "Not only he forbids me to smoke in my own office, but he also wants to teach me how to deal with my apprentices."

Harry, who had the distinct feeling that his presence had been forgotten for quite a long time now, coughed softly to attract Robards' attention. The Head Auror looked mildly surprised at first to see him still perched on the edge of the wooden chair; then, pulling himself back together, he said gruffly:

"So, Potter -- it seems you were stupid enough to run into a bunch of werewolves last night."

"So it seems," Harry agreed, smiling slightly. No matter the conversation he had just witnessed, things were obviously still the same between him and Robards. "I think I have to thank you for not letting the Minister relegate me in his office..."

Robards snorted. "Don't believe I will favour you because I just taught Rufus to mind his own business," he grunted. "I'm only keeping you because I think you could make a good Auror, with appropriate training. You'd better work hard, Potter, I'm telling you. I won't hesitate one second to fire you if you don't have the necessary qualities to be part of my teams. And this time I doubt the Minister will be there to force me to keep you," he added with satisfaction.

He blew another puff of smoke and scratched his chin as he eyed Harry intently, in an appraising sort of way.

"As soon as your arm's functional again, I expect you to train twice as hard as any of your fellow apprentices, to make up for all the time wasted because of your wound," he said at last in a curt tone. "In the meantime, practice your spell-casting with your left hand. We can always use an ambidextrous Auror. Now off you go."

Harry obligingly stood up and reached the door with two strides. Just as he was about to turn the doorknob, Robards called out:

"Oh, and one last thing -- don't you dare claim I stood up for you against Scrimgeour, or I'll throw you out of a window."

Harry had to suppress a grin.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," he answered.

When he finally got out of the Head Auror's office, which was now rapidly re-filling with cigar smoke, he found Lance snogging Robards' secretary on her desk.

"Sorry for interrupting your fun," Harry said, this time not bothering to hide his wide grin. "But we should go back to training."

Lance emitted a muffled sound and managed to nod without breaking the kiss; Harry had to admit such a feat was impressive. Three seconds later, Lance had finally emerged from the secretary's glue-like embrace and joined Harry, who was already in the hall, waiting patiently by the open door.

"Thanks for everything, babe, I'll call you," Lance carelessly shot at the flushed girl just before closing her door. "If I remember your name," he added in an undertone so that only Harry could hear him.

And ignoring the curious glances many Aurors sent them as they passed, they went back to the apprentices' quarters.

***

At six thirty, they weren't out of training yet. The head of patrol Hampton was pacing in the room, snapping orders and injunctions at the tired and sweaty apprentices. Lance was roughly kicked off the bench he had been lying on, and another right-placed kick sent him to climb -- once more -- up a thick rope hanging from the ceiling.

Harry was very conscious of the envious glares he was receiving from his exhausted fellow apprentices. All he had done since he had showed up -- two hours late -- at training, was practicing his spell casting with his left hand. He felt like he was the one to complain, though. He was clumsy with his left hand and hours of practice had done very little to improve his aim. Every single movement, that had become reflexive and effortless whenever he was using his right hand, had to be decomposed and slowly learnt all over again for his left-handed spell-casting. The only curses he had got right were those that didn't entail complicated wand waving -- basically, the curses that only involved pointing the wand at the target.

The task was boring and tedious, and he was annoyed by his lack of improvement. His left hand seemed to always jerk the wrong way at the last minute, sending the spell off course, and more than once he had almost hit another apprentice that had been stupid enough to wander near his area of practice.

Squinting in concentration, he aimed once again a simple Stunner at the round target encased in the wall. He had stared at the red and black concentric circles for so long that he was starting to have a headache. Why won't Hampton call it a day and send us off?

"Stupefy!"

A red beam shot from the tip of his wand -- and missed the centre of the target, hitting the widest red circle instead. Harry swore loudly.

"Having trouble?" said a feminine, slightly husky voice on his right.

"Obviously", snapped Harry without bothering to look round. He pointed his wand at the target again.

"You're aiming as if you had never held a wand before," said the same voice.

"Oh, really?" barked Harry. "In case you haven't noticed, I can't use my bloody right arm!"

He was having enough trouble as it were, without having to answer stupid remarks. He concentrated harder than before; but then, just as he said the incantation, a cool hand rested on his upper arm. His hand jerked in surprise at the unexpected contact and sent the spell off course -- again.

"Wow, nervous, are we?"

Harry closed his eyes for a minute. It would do no good to yell at whoever had made a point of preventing him to work for the last ten minutes. He dropped his arm and finally turned to see whom the voice and the hand belonged to.

She was a tall and thin apprentice, with dark brown hair that was cut short and hung loosely around her face; Harry had noticed her several times at training -- she was quite agile, very athletic, and she seemed to achieve very good results without working hard. Other than that, he was totally incapable of remembering her name.

"I'm Amy Redburn, in case you don't remember," she said in a slightly drawling voice.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well, I didn't remember," he said bluntly. "What do you want?"

She watched him for a moment, a slight smile tugging at her lips and an amused glint in her eyes, until Harry opened his mouth to ask what was so funny about him. But she spoke up before he had a chance to say a word.

"Why, I just want to help you. I'm left-handed." And she showed him her left hand, holding her wand. "Hard to get the correct wand-waving when you're not using your usual hand. I suppose we can work together, is that okay with you?"

Harry considered her proposition for a few seconds. He didn't like the idea of working with someone else; he had always trained alone. On the other hand, he was not making any progress at the time being. It would do no harm to give her a try. He nodded.

"All right."

She smiled at him, her head tilted to one side, but she didn't have the time to say anything else: Hampton's whistle had finally rung across the room, greeted by the groans of satisfaction from the exhausted apprentices. Harry said a quick goodbye to Amy and hastily went into the changing room. He had to get out of there quickly: after the events of the previous day, he felt that a meeting of all his old friends was in order.

***

"Let me get this straight," said Hermione, staring at her hands clasped together on the kitchen table before her. "You're a werewolf."

"That's what I've been explaining for the past ten minutes, I think," replied Harry, leaning a bit wearily against the table.

A stunned silence filled the kitchen of the Burrow. All nine Weasleys were gaping at Harry, as well as half of the members of the old Order of the Phoenix, who had gathered there at Harry's request. The only ones who didn't seem altogether shocked were those who already knew about Harry's condition -- McGonagall, Tonks and Remus -- and Luna Lovegood.

"No way," said Ron finally in a hoarse voice.

"For once in our life, I think we're going to agree with Ron on that," said Fred, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. "That's just not possible."

Harry shot a sideway look at Remus; he had gone deadly pale and contemplated the pattern of the tiled floor, as if it held some fascinating message he wanted to decipher. Tonks' eyes were nearly pleading as they met Harry's.

"Why is it so difficult to understand?" Harry asked. "I was enough of a fool to go out on a night of full moon, I met a werewolf and I got bitten. Simple."

At least that statement seemed to shake Hermione out of her stupor; a familiar expression of exasperation came on her face and she rolled her eyes at Harry.

"You know it's not that simple, Harry! It's like -- hearing you say you became a vampire! It would be hard to imagine you sucking random people's blood at night, wouldn't it? Well, it's just as hard to imagine you sprouting fur and claws and bawling at the full moon!"

"You never had much imagination, did you?" Luna said amiably to Hermione. "I think it makes sense," she added, gazing dreamily at Harry. "It makes perfect sense for you to get bitten."

"What d'you mean, it makes sense?" Ginny shot at her in a slightly trembling voice. "You think it was his destiny or some bullshit like that?"

At these words, Luna's round eyes went even rounder and Mrs. Weasley jumped on her chair as if she had received an electrical discharge.

"Ginny Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley protested, firing up at once. "Where have you learnt such foul language?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and seemed about to snap back when Luna cut across her.

"I never said it was his destiny," she said, sounding slightly reproving. "I just said it was logical: he got some unknown powers in his seventh year when he defeated Voldemort, and now he's just gotten another power."

"You think becoming a werewolf is a new power?" Ginny asked disbelievingly.

Behind her, the twins' faces had broken in two identical, malicious grins, as they undoubtedly expected to enjoy Luna's answer. Hermione had taken an expression of infinite patience and Ron was warily looking at Luna. Even Harry felt mildly curious about what wild theory was about to come out of the odd girl's mouth.

"Well, yes," said Luna matter-of-factly. "Werewolves are very powerful creatures, few spells can affect them and they're strong and enduring. But most of all -- they used to be a powerful people. Even more powerful than wizards themselves! They were able to turn into wolves as well, but they could control their actions. And they could make the wind change its course just by howling at the moon, and they had great, unknown powers like this one. Of course they were slaughtered a long time ago, so now the only thing that remains of that people are today's werewolves..."

"Okay, we all got your point!" Ron interrupted loudly.

"Isn't there a way Harry could have avoided infection?" Ginny asked the room at large. She sounded slightly desperate, as if she was frantically struggling to come back to a ground she had walked on before.

"No, there isn't," Remus spoke up, his voice hoarse and strained. "As soon as the teeth sink in the flesh, infection is unavoidable."

"But what if he --"

"Know what, as much as I love it when you're talking as if I wasn't in the room, I'd like to have a say in this," Harry said impatiently. "Honestly, that's no big deal. I'll live perfectly normally except for the nights I'll have to transform. And even these won't be a problem: I'll take Wolfsbane Potion, and Remus will stay with me."

The Weasleys twins were now nodding, with expressions as close to thoughtfulness as Harry had ever seen on their faces, and Ron looked relieved; but Ginny refused to meet Harry's eyes and was staring instead at the dishes piled in the sink. Hermione's eyes were slowly going from Remus to Harry and back again, her eyes slightly narrowed in a doubtful expression, as if she wasn't sure Harry could handle a transformation if she wasn't there to tell him exactly what to do. Mrs. Weasley suddenly sniffed loudly, and everyone turned to her; she had tears in her eyes.

"Harry, dear..." she said with a slight quaver in her voice. "I'm so sorry... I haven't s-seen you in months and now -- and now that you're finally coming home, you're telling me you're a -- a --"

She choked on her words and dabbed her eyes with her apron. Harry started to fidget nervously; he had never been good at handling crying people.

"Well, know that the house is always open for you," she went on, a little firmer. "And if there is anything you need, we're here... We're all here..."

"I know," muttered Harry awkwardly. "I know that, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you, it means a lot to me."

There was a long, embarrassed silence. Then Fleur Weasley's silvery voice sounded from the doorway leading to the living room.

"Well, I would 'ate to ruin ze mood, but I theenk we'd better 'ave dinner while ze baby is still asleep."

Mrs. Weasley sprang to her feet. "Oh my Merlin! Dinner! I had almost forgotten!"

Barely a minute later, she had everyone help her to make dinner and lay the table, and the kitchen was filled with sudden activity. In all the confusion, Harry made his way to the door of the living room to say hello to Fleur; he hadn't seen her in a long time.

She was leaning against the doorframe, a dazzling smile illuminating her beautiful face; not for the first time, Harry thought Bill was a really lucky man.

"Hello, Fleur," he said.

"Hi Arry!" she said brightly, seizing him by the shoulders and kissing him on both cheeks. "It's been a while! And you've managed to become even more 'andsome when I 'ad my back turned!"

Harry laughed aloud, though he could still feel himself blushing at Fleur's compliment. "You don't look too bad yourself," he said with a grin.

"Yes, I was afraid my silhouette would be definitely damaged by my pregnancy," she answered as she slid her hands down her sides, as if wanting to measure her waist. "But I was lucky. Now I theenk of it, you've never met little James, now, have you?" she added suddenly, with a suspicious look.

"Err... no, I haven't -- James?" Harry repeated suddenly, struck by Fleur's choice of a name for her baby.

Fleur rolled her dark blue eyes. Strange how she could do something so ungraceful and still look stunning.

"What's your problem, all of you, wiz James' name?" she asked grumpily. "Remus jumped about two feet in ze air when I told 'im, too, and 'e pointedly refused to tell me why 'e was so surprised. Isn't it a pretty name? It's ze only Eenglish name I like. Except for Bill, of course. And Arry is not bad either." And as she finished her sentence, she addressed Harry another one of her beautiful smiles.

Harry nodded to acknowledge the half-compliment.

"James is -- was -- the name of my father," he explained shortly.

Fleur's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh, now zat's an amusing coincidence!" she exclaimed with an excited expression. "I just wanted to ask you if you would like to be James' godfather! Because I can't choose among all of Bill's brothers, zat's what's annoying in big families, when you do someone a favour you make all ze others jealous. You want to, don't you?"

Harry stared wordlessly at her young and beautiful face, alight with hope. Apparently, it hadn't occurred to Fleur that Harry could find painful to be the godfather of a child bearing his dead father's name.

But then, maybe she's right. Let the dead be dead, and let's move on... Or at least, let's try to.

"All right," he finally answered.

Next second Fleur had given a squeak of delight and thrown her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Taken unawares, Harry had just the time to grab her before she fell over and stumbled a bit under her weight. But at the same time, he couldn't help grinning.

***

The month passed fast. Harry was training very hard to improve his spell casting with his left hand. Amy Redburn had been of some help, correcting his movements and showing him how he had to put his whole body in symbiosis with his left hand -- a complicated concept that involved reversing completely all the reflexes he had ever acquired in his life, so that his whole body could follow his left hand when he was fighting. Amy was efficient, though she spent far too much time flirting with him in Harry's opinion -- among other things, she never missed an opportunity to touch him, and often her hand lingered on his body a second longer than necessary. Harry had to suffer the other apprentices' endless teasing about it; Amy was known to be quite easy, and she had never been ignored for so long by any male she had ever come across to. Instead of being discouraged by his indifference, she actually seemed to enjoy the challenge.

Harry had no intention to start anything with her -- though it would actually be a good way to get rid of her. But the painful scene he had had with Ginny was still in his mind, and he didn't think he could handle a new relationship, even if 'relationship' was a strong word to qualify Amy's short-lived affairs.

What with his training with Amy Redburn, little James Weasley's christening and his visits at St Mungo's -- now more frequent than ever -- Harry didn't have much time to spare for thinking about his new condition as a werewolf. He went on leading the life he had known since he had been out of Hogwarts; his bandage was taken off after three weeks, and he very happily retrieved the use of his right hand. However, he went on training with both hands, following Robards' orders.

Therefore, it came as a shock when he received one morning an owl from Remus, reminding him that full moon was the following night and that he was to meet him at Hogwarts. He stared at the parchment for a few long minutes, and for the first time he felt a slight panic swelling within him at the thought of the coming night. He remembered Remus saying it was very painful to transform into a werewolf, but as he was still unable to feel physical pain, he needn't worry about that; actually, what really frightened him was the idea of losing control of his self. He knew what it felt like to be controlled by someone else, and he wasn't eager to experience the feeling again. Not being able to remember what he had done... Not knowing...

Harry mentally shook himself. He was being stupid. There would be Wolfsbane potion; he wouldn't lose control. He would merely transform into a harmless wolf, and wait till the morning. In the end, the night was likely to be pretty boring.

In spite of this comforting thought, Harry couldn't help dreading the coming transformation. His stomach was clenched and he was in a state of constant nervousness, bordering panic. The feeling was quite familiar; it was somewhere between the butterflies he had felt before his very first Quidditch match and his barely controlled panic before confronting a Hungarian Horntail in his fourth year. His hands were shaking slightly that night when he fastened his cloak to his shoulders, as he prepared to Apparate to Hogsmeade.

The sun hadn't set yet, and it was bathing the whole valley in warm golden light. Harry hurried along the main road leading to the gates of Hogwarts, his immense shadow stretched on the grass and running alongside him.

He walked very fast across the grounds; the mere idea that he could be caught outdoors by the full moon made him shudder. He tensed even more as the minutes passed, and finally broke into a run when the gigantic oak doors came into sight.

He jogged up the stone steps and ran across the Entrance Hall, his footsteps echoing loudly on the stone walls. He dashed through the door leading to the dungeons; it was only when he found himself in the abhorred corridor -- Snape's corridor -- that he forced himself to calm down and to walk at a steady pace. Remus had told him to meet him in Snape's office, where they would drink their potion. Harry wasn't too fond of the idea: even after they had fought the war side by side, he and the Potions Master still avoided seeing each other as much as possible. As a matter of fact, Harry had not seen him in a whole year at least.

Harry paused in front of Snape's door. He could already hear the bubbling and hissing sounds, meaning that several strange potions were being brewed inside the damp and dark room. He took a deep breath, knocked once and, upon hearing Snape's voice telling him to come in, opened the door.

As he had expected, Snape was busy over two cauldrons -- one containing a greenish and thick substance lazily bubbling, and the other filled with an electric blue potion, much more liquid than the greenish one. Harry recognised the blue potion: it was Veritaserum -- or rather, it would become Veritaserum in a week or two; it still lacked half of the necessary ingredients, which explained why it wasn't as clear and transparent as water yet. As for the other potion, Harry was absolutely clueless. All he could say was that it wasn't a potion Aurors were used to brewing; otherwise he would have recognised it as well.

"Potter." Snape had raised his head and was watching him through narrowed eyes, thick curtains of greasy hair hanging around his face and partly hiding it from Harry's view. But in spite of the hair and the colourful smokes that hung in the air and blurred Harry's vision, he could still see there was something more than the usual disgusted expression on the Potions Master's features. He looked almost gleeful.

"Snape," Harry answered curtly.

"What brings here the almighty Chosen One, if I may ask?" murmured Snape, his eyes fixed on Harry's face and still shining with a kind of fierce joy.

"Professor McGonagall must have told you," said Harry through gritted teeth. "I've been bitten by a werewolf a month ago."

"Oh yes," said Snape with a smirk, "the Headmistress did tell me about your... misfortune. But I still don't understand why you disturbed me tonight."

Harry's eyes narrowed. No... he wouldn't have...

"Tonight's full moon, Snape," he said tensely.

Snape's black eyes widened exaggeratedly, and he affected to check out Harry's information on a calendar fixed on a wall.

"Whoops," he said, barely hiding his smirk. "I was so sure it wasn't until tomorrow! Ah, that's a pity..."

He looked in the cauldron full of greenish potion.

"Tssk, tssk, tssk," he said gravely. "The Wolfsbane potion isn't quite ready yet. I'm afraid you can't drink it tonight. Unless you want to poison yourself," he added with another smirk. "Then feel free to empty the whole cauldron."

Harry felt himself going pale with anger and his hands curled into fists at his sides. In order to satisfy his hatred of Harry, Snape was forcing both him and Remus to suffer the full consequences of the transformation. Harry would never have thought he would be able to deprive them of the Wolfsbane Potion; it seemed that he had underestimated Snape's resentment. Once more.

Harry turned on his heel and strode out of the office; if he stayed in there one more minute, he would probably lose his temper and hit Snape. He caught Snape's sarcastic: "Have a good night, Potter!" before he slammed the door shut so violently that it trembled on its hinges.

Harry met Remus halfway to the Entrance Hall.

"Harry, we need to -- what happened?" said Remus, spotting the murderous look on Harry's pale face.

"No Wolfsbane Potion tonight," answered Harry through clenched teeth.

Remus blanched. "What?" he repeated in a toneless voice.

Harry stopped walking and looked at Remus straight in the eyes; then he noticed, for the first time, that Remus' eyes were not of their usual brownish colour: they were yellow, like a wolf's eyes. He wondered if his own eyes had changed, too.

"No Wolfsbane Potion," he repeated loud and clear. "Snape conveniently forgot to brew it."

Remus was still staring at him, and for the second time in one month, Harry saw panic reflected in the yellow eyes.

"We must go and convince him -- he can't -- you need to --"

"Remus," said firmly Harry, forgetting his anger at Remus' distress. "There's no point in asking him anything, and you know it. I don't think it'll be so bad anyway. There will be the two of us, for a start --"

"Yes, but we can be driven to fight and bite each other," said Remus wearily.

"Well, at least we can try not to," said Harry impatiently. "And anyway, we can't stay chatting here until the moon rises. Unless we sneak back into Snape's office and transform there, with him in the room --"

"Don't joke about these things, Harry," said Remus sharply. "You're right, we have to move. Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked curiously as he walked alongside Remus towards the Entrance Hall. "The Forest?"

"No. The Shrieking Shack."

Harry thought of the dusty room, with its broken furniture and its boarded windows that he had discovered in his third years; and a shudder ran across his spine. It was probably safe to transform here, but he hated the place -- there was a feeling of rage and despair still hanging in the air of the Shack, even years after Remus had last transformed there.

Tonight, the Shack will be Shrieking again, thought Harry, a sinking sensation in his stomach.

When they reached the edge of the Forest, where the Whomping Willow was still standing guard above the mouth of the tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack, the sun was bloody red and cast its last beams over the trees of the Forbidden Forest before sinking behind the mountains.

"Let's hurry," said Remus curtly.

They froze the tree with a well-aimed spell from Harry, who hit the right knot on the root with admirable accuracy -- and as he was using his left hand, he couldn't help but feel quite pleased with himself -- and disappeared in the tunnel. They walked silently, almost doubled up since the ceiling was so low, and reached the Shack after about an hour of walking. Remus was slightly breathless, and Harry's heart was beating very hard against his ribcage.

Harry hauled himself up into the Shack by the trapdoor, and helped Remus to get into the room. As soon as they were both in the Shrieking Shack, Remus panted:

"Close the trapdoor and lock it with your wand."

Harry did as he was told; meanwhile, Remus was getting up and discarding his cloak and robes, only keeping on an old tee-shirt and worn out trousers. He opened an ancient wardrobe that stood in a corner and put his things inside; Harry got rid of his cloak and robes as well and left them in the wardrobe too. Then Remus locked the door with another spell, and slid his wand in the pocket of his trousers.

"We'll be able to retrieve them in our pockets at the end of the transformation," he explained shortly to Harry, "but it's better to avoid having too many clothes on."

Harry just nodded and imitated him.

Then they waited.

Remus was sitting on the old broken couch, staring down at his hands. Harry was pacing round and round in the small room, a hundred thoughts turning over and over again in his mind. After about fifteen minutes, a golden beam filtered through a crack in one of the boards masking a window, and fell, very briefly, on Remus' tired and lined face. He abruptly looked up, just as the last sunbeam died.

"It's nearly time," he murmured.

The last minutes before the rise of the moon were excruciatingly slow. Darkness gradually crept in the room; Remus had begun to pace, too, and he was sweating profusely. His hands were clasped behind his back, but Harry could still see them shaking. Feel them shaking, rather, for his senses seemed even sharper than usual.

And then Remus suddenly stopped.

"It's time," he croaked, his voice unrecognisable. He had gone deadly pale, and next minute his limbs started to tremble violently. Harry remembered with a sharp feeling of dread the transformation he had witnessed, seven years ago, in the grounds of Hogwarts. It had not been pleasant at all to watch, and now he wanted more than ever to look away and clasp his hands over his ears so as not to hear the werewolf's painful howls. Already Remus' face was growing longer, and dark fur appeared on his arms and face.

Then suddenly Harry realised something.

I'm not transforming!

He looked down at his hands: they were normal. Why wasn't he transforming? Had he somehow avoided infection? He heard a low growl and his head whipped up in panic: Remus had almost completely transformed and was fixing him with a horribly hungry glint in his yellow, bloodshot eyes.

Oh no.

Remus snarled and slowly moved towards him; Harry stumbled backwards, his hand feeling for his wand in the back pocket of his jeans, ready to draw it -- and then he passed by a window. A ray of moonlight, filtering through a crack in the shutters, fell on his face.

At once, he felt something unclench in him. He was no longer anxious, or fearful. He was merely -- expecting. The werewolf had stopped moving and was watching him with wide eyes.

Harry had heard the transformation was very painful; but oddly enough, he didn't feel any pain right now. He felt -- good. Relaxed. Then, slowly, a feeling of power flooded through him, a strength he longed to use. He suddenly wanted to run, run, run, in order to use some of the energy that filled his whole being.

It didn't feel right to stand on his legs. He crouched and laid his hands on the floor in front of him. Now he was much more well-balanced. He lifted a hand, then the other; he advanced on all four -- it didn't feel awkward or childish, it felt wonderfully natural. Then, before his very eyes, his fingers curled and his hands closed in fists. He stared at his hands, fascinated; smoothly, naturally, they transformed into paws. Soft paws covered in white fur. Beautiful paws.

His whole body was transforming now. He could feel warmth spread from his heart to his limbs; his muscles were hardening and harmoniously rolling under his skin as he walked on all four. His legs had transformed, too. When he turned his head to look behind him, he saw a narrow back covered in smooth, pure-white fur, and a tail raised in a proud panache.

He turned back to Remus. The werewolf seemed oddly small now; his snout barely reached Harry's shoulder. He was looking up at him in awe, his yellow eyes widened to their fullest extent. On his skull was still visible the scar he had got when Harry had thrown a stone at him, a month ago. His fur was sparse and dirty, and hung loosely from his bones. He looked starved and as shabby as Remus Lupin had ever looked in his old patched robes.

I didn't lose control, thought Harry. I still know who I am, where I am and why I'm here. But then, I'm not sure this is a normal transformation. For a start, I'm really big for a werewolf. I'm not any bigger than Remus under my human form, so why would I been so much bigger as a werewolf? And there's something else: since when are there white werewolves?

Harry didn't have much time to think any further about his strange transformation. Remus was timidly nudging his side with his snout, emitting weird moaning sounds as he did so, as if he was asking him to do something. Harry looked down at him. There was pure adoration in the shabby werewolf's eyes. It was slightly unnerving.

Harry suddenly realised how much he needed to run. If he couldn't run, he would explode. He had to find a way out of the Shrieking Shack. He had to run under the moonlight.

He noticed one of the windows didn't seem as solidly boarded as the others: the shutters were cracked, and one of them hung from his hinges. Harry walked up to the window, stood on his hind legs and rested his front paws on the shutter. Then he pushed. The shutters trembled but didn't open. Harry groaned and dropped to the floor again, took a few steps back and gathered speed before leaping on the window again.

He put all his weight against the shutters, and they wailed and gave way. The moonlight flooded in the Shrieking Shack, and Harry found himself facing a miserable garden, invaded with weeds. It was a clear, beautiful night, the moon was smiling at him from the black sky and the stars were winking invitingly.

Harry leapt from the windowsill and into the garden; he heard Remus' joyful yelp before he saw the other werewolf jump after him. They had soon crossed the garden and reached the fence surrounding the Shack. They slid through a gap that was wide enough for something even bigger than a werewolf to go through, for the Shrieking Shack and its surroundings had been completely neglected in the past years.

As soon as he was out of the garden, Harry broke into a run; it was wonderful. It was very similar to the emotions he had experienced while riding his first broomstick. He was running up the hill that rose behind the Shrieking Shack, and indeed he was running so fast he felt as if he was flying. The steely muscles were working perfectly under his skin, propelling him even faster, even higher, with such easiness he thought he would be able to jump and catch the moon in his mouth.

Harry reached the top of the hill and waited for his friend to join him. Remus finally made it too, his sides heaving as he panted, foam dripping from his open mouth. He seemed to have been tired by the run, whereas Harry was feeling stronger than ever. But Remus' eyes were no longer haunted and hungry, they were twinkling like the eyes of a young dog playing with his master. He looked up at Harry expectantly. Harry looked back at him; then took a few steps towards the other slope of the hill, without tearing his gaze from Remus' yellow eyes. Remus took the hint, and soon they were trotting side by side down the slope and towards the wood visible at the foot of the hill.

They had just entered the wood when Remus abruptly stopped. Harry paused as well, wondering what had caught Remus' attention, but a second later he knew what it was. He had smelled it -- a delicious smell of warm and young flesh. Human flesh.

A vague hunger stirred into him, a longing for the taste of flesh and blood, but he quickly stifled it. However, Remus wasn't able to control himself in the same way; to Harry's horror he bolted forwards, the haunted glint back in his eyes.

Harry reacted a second too late. Remus was already well ahead of him, all his strengths having returned to him at the prospect of tasting human flesh. Harry ran behind him, following the grey tail fleeing in front of him and appearing here and there behind a tree or a bush. He caught up with him within minutes, ran alongside him for a few seconds before overtaking him and coming to an abrupt halt, blocking his way. Remus growled with frustration and tried to go round Harry, but Harry had played Quidditch for too long to be fooled by such a clumsy manoeuvre -- though, admittedly, he had never before played Quidditch under the shape of a wolf. He quickly repositioned himself so that Remus couldn't go on.

Remus snarled dangerously and bared his teeth at Harry, his hunger exacerbated by the smell persisting in the air. Harry bared his teeth, too, and a low growl rolled in his throat, deeper and more threatening than Remus'. They started walking round each other, growling and glaring, chops curled over white, pointed fangs. It lasted a long time; the smell was growing fainter and fainter, and Remus was getting edgy. Once or twice he tried to get past Harry, but every time he found Harry in front of him, blocking his way.

At last the smell cleared, and the glint in Remus' eyes seemed to go off. He let himself fall to the ground and wailed softly. Harry himself couldn't help feeling a bit regretful; that flesh had smelled so delightful... He quickly pushed the thought away, and approached Remus cautiously. He nudged him with his snout; Remus lifted his ugly, scarred head and their eyes met. They stared at each other for a few seconds, before Remus, as if strengthened by Harry's gaze, got to his feet and looked at him expectantly.

Harry turned away and started running again. How good it was to be running. The wind carried the heavy scent of the warm grass and the fresher, wilder scent coming from the distant mountains. He slowed his pace so that Remus could follow him; and they ran, side by side, under the sky sparkling with stars.

Another hill was rising before them; the moon was smiling just above that hill. Harry suddenly felt the need to go up the hill, to reach the top and salute the moon. He didn't know where this need came from and he didn't question it either; he sped up, leaving Remus behind, and climbed the steep slope as fast as he could. He was sliding on patches of bare earth and stumbling on rare tufts of grass, but he was still running, his eyes fixed on the moon -- perfectly round, perfectly serene.

He reached the top of the hill and was instantly bathed in the white and pure light of the moon. He stretched his neck as he pointed his snout at the skies, his mouth opened and a long cry flooded out of his throat. His cry was a pure, fierce and powerful note, it hung for a long time in the nightly air and the wind carried it over the mountains.

Harry screamed again. And Remus had joined him this time, and he too pointed his snout upwards and screamed with him. And their cries held none of the despair and sadness Harry had perceived in the cry of the pack of werewolves, a month ago. Tonight, they were screaming freedom.

Harry had never felt so free in his entire life.

When the echoes of their screams had finally died away, Harry and Remus walked down the hill again. At the foot of the hill was a little pool of greenish water, and now the moon was gazing at its own reflection in that humble mirror. Harry and Remus paused near that pool. The look Remus was sending Harry was almost questioning, and he waved his tail, inviting Harry to run home with him. But Harry lingered; he was wondering what sort of creature he had transformed into, for he was certainly not an ordinary werewolf. And so he cautiously walked to the pool of water and gazed at the glistening surface.

The water showed him the image of a wolf, of a gigantic size; neither the snout nor the tail bore the characteristic marks of a werewolf -- he was a wolf, a real wolf, only much bigger than ordinary wolves. And his fur was snow white, completely spotless, from his paws to the tip of his long pointed ears. His white tail was proudly curved over his back.

And his eyes were green.

Harry lowered his head until his snout was only inches away from the liquid surface. His eyes were still of that extraordinary shade of green that he had inherited from his mother. That small patch of such a vivid colour in the white face was a startling sight.

Remus almost yapped behind him with impatience. Harry looked away from his reflection and followed the werewolf as he led the way back through the wood, to the hill towering over the Shrieking Shack. Harry took the lead then; the morning was perhaps an hour away, it was time they should go back to the Shack.

Harry and Remus climbed up the hill, and then went down it again; they were going at a slow pace, enjoying their last moments of freedom. They slid through the gap in the fence enclosing the neglected garden as the blemish light of dawn crept in the valley, and jumped into the Shack by the still open window.

After about twenty minutes of waiting, Remus let out a groan of pain and shuddered as he started to transform back into his human form. Harry was pacing nervously like a wild beast in a cage.

Remus was panting with pain as his fur slowly disappeared, as his face shrank and as his limbs recovered their normal shape and size. And then suddenly Harry shivered; and the feeling of infinite power and strength seemed to be drained out of him. He slumped onto the floor and lay there, a great fatigue spreading in his limbs. He saw through half-closed eyes his paws becoming hands again, and as the cold took hold of the rest of his body, he knew he was a man again.

The two men stayed silent and motionless for a long moment. Then Harry pushed himself off the floor with shaky arms and sat up. He took off his glasses in a mechanical gesture and cleaned them with a corner of the old shirt he had been wearing. When he put them back on, he found Remus staring at him strangely.

"I remember everything," said Remus brusquely. "I was almost myself. Almost like when James and Sirius and Peter were with me. I remember we ran, I remember you prevented me from hunting down someone, I remember we bawled at the moon."

He paused, his eyes boring into Harry's.

"I remember what you looked like," he whispered.

Harry just looked back at him, not knowing what to say. Remus slowly shook his head, and he wore an expression of bewilderment mixed, oddly enough, with admiration and even wonderment.

"I don't know what you are, Harry," he said at last softly. "But you're not a werewolf."