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batsutousaiTitle: Nose to the Wind
Series: Like a Ghost in My Town
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort, James Potter/Lily Potter
Warnings: AU, violence, universe hopping/rebirth, Dark!Harry, werewolf!Harry, underage relationship (ish)
Summary: While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?
A/N: I seem to recall saying there would be no sequel to Stand Against the Moon, and then, after four months of absolute silence, my muse popped his head out of the sand and said, 'Hey, I really like those re-do fics. Let's do another one.' (Although I took a bit of a long-arse break in the middle of writing because other fandoms kept eating my soul. ^^; )
Since SAtM already had a world/reality hopping foundation, and were!Harry is fun, my brain attached my muse's ideas to that universe and it...clicked. Curse everything.
If you're new to this insanity, you may want to read SAtM just for the backstory of why Harry's as fucked up as he is and why/how Tom became Death (mentioned in the opening scenes of this chapter), but I'm intending to write it in such a way that you can skip that fic without suffering for it. ^.^"
This fic is completed at 27 chapters. It'll be updated every other day until it is finished posting, which should be on 25th September, for those who like to wait and read a fic all at once. (It is over 200,000 words, so plan your time sensibly.)
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
This fic's cover can be found on deviantArt and tumblr.
Chapter One – Death Once Again
-0-
The older Harry got, the more he ruminated on his choices. A lot of that was almost certainly due to his isolation; a product of his own wish for privacy, outliving most of his few friends, and quitting his job teaching at a muggle grade school to teach those handful of young non-humans and humans with a talent for reading Death's book (who then left him to spread his teachings to others, and so it went).
His only remaining companions were the house-elf Aurora, and the avatar of Death, his lover Tom Riddle. And while Tom could keep him distracted while he was around, he had a job to do that all-too-often kept him away from Harry's Antarctic abode. Which Harry respected – it was technically his own fault that his dead lover had been made to take up Death's mantle – but it still left him a lot of lonely downtime.
It was just such a time, Tom gone out to collect the spirits piled up during the past couple hours of distraction, when Harry wondered what it would have been like, this life, if Tom hadn't had to die. If Harry, himself, hadn't been forced to reorder the entire world because of a prophecy saying he'd save the non-humans.
Not that he wasn't glad to have saved his people from the human governments' persecution, but for all that his people had gained freedom, his personal losses were...
Well, let's just say there were a lot of people who had saved him in his first life, who he'd brought about the deaths of in his second.
"Master Lord?" Aurora said, a concerned look on her face.
Harry reached up and touched the wet streaks he hadn't even realised had begun to mar his cheeks. "I'm fine, sweetie," he whispered around the block of a sob in his throat.
Aurora didn't look like she believed him, but she inclined her head anyway, familiar enough with Harry's refusal to be comforted by anyone.
What is it like to not always have to be strong? Harry wondered a bit inanely.
"Aurora doesn't understand the question," Aurora replied, and Harry realised he'd spoken out loud.
Oh, that was never a good sign. At least Tom wasn't there to mock him about 'losing your mind in your old age, Sol?'
Harry took a couple slow breaths, calming himself enough that he could speak past the block in his throat. "Don't mind me, Aurora. I'm just being an old man, regretting my life choices."
Aurora's ears drooped. "Master Lord regrets...everything?" she whispered, and Harry heard the lifetime of oppression that this house-elf, Kreacher's granddaughter, had never had to suffer in her words.
"No," he said, the word thrown down between them with such force, Aurora flinched. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, made a concerted effort to gentle his tone as he explained, "I don't regret the outcome, but I regret the means. The lives lost."
"Master Death," Aurora said, and Harry glanced over at her to see her nodding in understanding. "Master Lord would rather he was..." she frowned.
"Not dead?" Harry suggested drily and she ducked her head. "Him, yes. A number of other people, too. You remember Bill?"
She frowned in thought, but nodded after a moment; she'd still been young when Bill had died fighting off a rebellion attempt.
"His father and one of his brothers both died in the war, before Tom. Others, too. People who never knew me, but whom I... They could have been my family, if I'd been less what I am."
"Parents? Brothers and sisters?" Aurora asked, very likely thinking of her own extended family; she'd drawn the short straw – or the long straw, she always insisted – to take care of Harry and his quiet home, while the rest of Kreacher's descendants lived in the UK, operating the werefolk wayhouses that still existed for those loners who wanted something like a pack without the hierarchy.
Harry thought of Molly Weasley, who hadn't spoken to him again after he came out as the Alpha Lord; of Ginny and Ron and Luna, occasional childhood friends who had never shown any interest in forgiving him for his hand in their changed world; of Hermione and Neville, neither of whom he'd ever met. "All of the above," he admitted quietly.
Aurora stepped forward and rested her hand on Harry's knee. She met his eyes and then said, very carefully, "I...am sorry."
Harry smiled down at her, so very fond of her unique form of comfort. "I know," he murmured, gently laying his own hand over hers. "There's nothing much for it. Not unless I want to, oh, I don't know, start over again."
Aurora's eyes widened even as Harry paused, realising exactly what he'd just said. Start over. Another chance to live his life, have the family he'd lost. Have Tom, alive and not duty-bound to corral recently-deceased souls.
He was getting old, there was no arguing with that, not with how he could no longer get down on his knees when Aurora or another house-elf he knew needed comforting. Almost all of the werefolk he'd grown up with had died decades ago, their bodies no longer able to survive the forced monthly change; Harry's saving grace had been his ability to shift against the moon.
"Tom will be furious," Harry whispered to himself.
"Why?" the voice of his lover asked, and Harry closed his eyes to keep from laughing. "What have you–?"
The sudden silence had Harry opening his eyes again. He found Tom standing just to one side, fingers clenched tight around the scythe that served as his mark of office, expression twisted with concern and anger. "Tom?"
Long, pale fingers reached out and cupped his cheek, thumb tracing the reminder of tears that Harry had forgotten about. "What's happened?"
Ah, Harry thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes; Tom was half the reason he had to always be so strong, because the man couldn't seem to understand how to help Harry with his grief unless there was someone to kill.
"I upset myself," Harry explained, and the words came out tired.
Tom pulled away, wrapping both his hands around the scythe like it would protect him from Harry's emotions. "Don't do that," he ordered, as if he could direct Harry's mental state. "What have you done?"
Harry rolled his eyes and gently patted Aurora's hand to get her attention. "Tea, please?" he requested, giving her an excuse to flee the room before this confrontation.
Her eyes were bright with gratitude even as she ducked her head and hurried away.
Harry sighed, then held up a hand for his lover. "Help me up?"
"Why?" Tom demanded, even as he stepped forward to help Harry stand.
"I don't like you towering over me when I say something that's going to upset you," Harry reminded him, ensuring he had his balance before letting go of Tom's hand. Then he turned and walked towards the bookcase with Death's book on it, saying, "You know how I got my knowledge, that I lived a life in another reality before taking over the body of child-me here."
"I'm aware," Tom replied, voice tight with suspicion. "Why?"
Harry touched the spine of the book, the familiar sensation of human skin almost a comfort, despite the knowledge of how much it should have disturbed him. "I'm old, Tom," he said, refusing to turn around and see Tom's expression. "I'm old, and I'm tired."
"You're lonely," Tom insisted. "You just need to spend some time among people. Black can't come to you right now, I'm aware, but maybe you–"
"No," Harry interrupted, drawing old Gryffindor bravery around him like a cloak and turning to watch his lover go through the same agony Harry had once suffered. Except, this time, there would be no coming back, no vague possibility of finding his lover in the Realm of Death. "No, Tom. I'm tired."
"So you're going to die?" Tom shot back, and there was the anger Harry had known would come. "You're going to, what, completely give up because it's hard to get out of a chair on your own?"
Harry let out a laugh, too sharp. "What?" he snapped, and he knew getting angry wasn't the way to approach this issue with the former dark lord, but that had never served as much of a deterrent in the past, and it was clear this time would be no different. "You'd have me stay by your side until I'd withered away into a prune?"
Tom turned away, his anger palpable between them. "You should have been a vampire," he muttered.
Harry closed his eyes. "In what part of any of this have I ever had a choice?"
Tom was suddenly there, in his space, the blade of his scythe cutting into Harry's shoulder. He stared up into the familiar red-brown eyes, blazing with such fury. "You want to discuss choices, Potter?" he breathed, and the quiet nature of his tone was far more terrifying than yelling ever could have been. "Do you want to discuss who's been cursed with an existence we never wanted?"
Harry smiled, the twist of his lips bitter. "Once I'm dead, there will be nothing holding you to that form," he pointed out.
Tom jerked back, staring at Harry for a long moment in something like horror, before a doorway into the Realm of Death appeared behind him and he vanished into it.
Harry could have followed, could have opened his own doorway, but he turned away, instead. Sometimes, the better part of valour was to leave Tom to sort his emotions and thoughts out on his own.
Tom was there when Harry woke in the middle of the night, his sleep constantly restless. Death's avatar was no more than a shadow among shadows, but Harry knew he was there from the taste of death heavy in the closed room. "Tom," he called, keeping his voice down so Aurora didn't wake down the hall and come to see if he needed anything.
The shadow moved and Harry's bed dipped with Tom's weight. The scythe thudding quietly against the thick carpet on the floor was the only real warning Harry got before cool lips pressed to his. A thousand apologies and 'I love you's had been transferred in just this way, because no amount of time would ever make those phrases any easier between them.
"You want a third chance," Tom whispered once he pulled away, "don't you?"
"Third time's the charm," Harry agreed, trying to smile up at the shadow hovering over him.
"I can't come with you, you understand."
Harry closed his eyes; he'd wondered about that, after Tom had left. "But you'll be freed from your duties?" he asked.
"Yes." Tom cupped Harry's face, the action he'd stolen from Death when he took its place. "I can be reborn in this reality, as a new person with new memories, but I can't follow you; I'm too tied here."
Harry reached up and covered Tom's hand against his cheek, forced himself to ask, "Is it my fault?"
Tom snorted. "No," he admitted, and Harry could finally open his eyes, look up at his shadowed lover again. "No, most souls are tied to their home realities. You're just..."
"Special?" Harry suggested drily.
"Rather." Tom sighed and shook his head, the movement barely visible in the darkness. "You broke your ties to your home reality when you joined with Death."
Harry frowned and motioned to summon a weak lumos, just enough to see Tom's expression. His lover looked...resigned. As tired as Harry felt. " 'Joined with Death'," he repeated.
Tom nodded. "Becoming the Master of Death is one thing; accepting your dominion over it, learning its secrets, that's something else. A stronger bond."
"You joined with Death," Harry pointed out.
Tom shook his head. "I am but a part of Death, my Sol, bound to serve in this reality. You are Death's Master, keeper of its secrets; your very existence transcends the bindings of realities, simply because you once wished it so."
A lifetime ago, grieving and furious, Harry had made a choice, and that choice had, apparently, changed his entire soul. Such was...mind-boggling.
But, too, there was a forming emptiness in the space in his heart where Tom – this Tom – had taken up space. Just as there was hollowness where his family from another reality had once been, where Bill and Remus had been, where Dobby and two different Kreachers had been. He could see them all again, but they would never be the same.
At least I'll have them, Harry decided, because having to meet all those people all over again would never hurt as much as when he'd woken up after he'd transformed for the first time and found the ever-loyal Kreacher dead in the kitchen, or when Tom brought the news that Bill had been killed in the rebellion attempt twenty years after the end of the war.
He reached up and cupped Tom's cheek, a mirror of Tom's own touch. "If it's possible," he said, because he'd done some soul searching while Tom had been away, "I'd like a reality where I can hide, where I don't have to be–"
"The Alpha Lord? The Boy-Who-Lived?" Tom suggested, tone dry as aged paper.
"All of that. Any of that," Harry agreed, amused. "I want you, but I don't want us to start out as enemies."
"You want different parents?" Tom suggested and Harry scowled at him. Death's avatar flashed him a smile that was more than a little mean. "We'll sort something out."
"I'm not sure I want you involved in this decision-making process," Harry admitted and Tom laughed, as bright and happy as if they weren't discussing Harry leaving for good. Harry sighed and shook his head, resigning himself to his fate being in his lover's hands. "Bastard," he grumbled.
Tom turned and brushed a kiss against Harry's palm. "Shall I spend the night?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't you have people to be killing?" he asked.
Tom snorted. "They'll keep," he replied and they both smiled, sharing in the old joke.
Harry shifted on the bed, making room for Tom, and Death's avatar motioned to vanish his clothing, then slid under the covers with Harry. Harry rolled his eyes, but let himself be drawn into Tom's embrace without complaint.
"Master Lord?" Aurora asked as she slipped into his dark room. She was concerned, a bit, because he was usually up and about by now, but there hadn't been a stirring from him since she'd heard him and Master Death conversing quietly in the middle of the night.
She found the Alpha Lord laid out in the middle of his bed, a peaceful smile on his too-still face. One of his hands was wrapped lightly around a tarnished chain he'd worn since before Aurora had been born, which held two wedding bands, an engagement ring with a large diamond, and a golden band that seemed to be missing the black stone that had always been attached to it.
Aurora let out a sob, somewhere between broken-hearted and grateful; after yesterday, she'd half expected he'd pass soon. And, as much as she – as much as their whole world – would miss him, she could be content with the certainty that his bettered relations with Master Death the night before meant he was off to another, hopefully happier, adventure.
31 July 1980
-o-0-o-
Harry made a mental note, after his body finished aching from being pushed from his mother's body and he'd been left to rest, to make it a rule, should he choose to skip realities again, that he never have to suffer through being born again. Because that just...no.
Though, the fact that he was now promised a little over a year with his parents was... Merlin. Hearing hundreds of stories from Sirius and Remus as he'd grown up the last time could never compare to the promise of being able to remember them this time around. His dad's laughter, his mum's voice when she wasn't pleading for Harry's life... A thousand little gifts that he could never have believed he might receive.
Which, well, he'd called their spirits before, through the power of the Stone, but there would always be a difference between speaking to echoes and getting the chance to see them when they're so very alive.
But, ah, that would clearly have to wait; he didn't expect anything could win out against the exhaustion of a newborn.
"I can't wait for them to meet him," James gushed. Harry half expected his father would have been bouncing around the room in glee, save for the fact that he was holding Harry.
Harry was, admittedly, a little impressed with how careful James was with him. And, judging by the looks he sometimes caught Lily giving him when James wasn't looking, she was equally surprised. (That, or disbelieving that he wasn't freaking out about becoming a father. Harry's wasn't completely clear on what was going through her head, and he regretted that he likely wouldn't be able to get to know her well enough to ever find out.)
The floo lit up and the visitors James had been excitedly waiting for stepped through, one at a time: Sirius, Peter, and Remus.
"Hey, Prongs! Lils!" Sirius called, stepping forward with a careless sort of swagger, which Harry had never seen him move with in either of his past lives. Clearly, this was something Azkaban had robbed him of. (That, or the death of two of his best friends and the betrayal of another.)
Remus grabbed Sirius' shoulder, eyes trained on Harry and nostrils flared. "Impossible," he declared.
"Remus?" James replied as Lily carefully stood from the chair she'd collapsed into earlier and stepped up to her husband's side.
"What's up, Moony?" Sirius asked, glancing back at the werewolf with a frown.
"That can't possibly be your child," Remus insisted.
"I assure you, this is Harry James Potter," Lily replied, voice firm.
Remus turned to her. "A born werewolf?"
"Impossible!" James shouted, looking down at Harry with an expression of...horror?
Harry felt like a stone had just fallen into his stomach.
"Moony, that's poor taste," Sirius said, something forced in his tone.
"Test him," Remus replied, voice hard. He looked at Lily, then James, and his expression darkened. "No," he snapped.
"How else can you explain a born werewolf–" James started.
"You think I cheated on you?!" Lily shrieked.
There was a crack of a hand against skin, then Harry rather suddenly found himself held in his mother's arms, while his father nursed his reddened cheek. A part of Harry wanted to start bawling at how this was all falling apart, just because his curse had to follow him from reality to reality, but he resisted the urge. As callous as it might seem, he wanted – needed – to see what was going to happen.
Lily stepped forward, and something in her expression had Sirius and Peter hurrying out of her way. Remus stood his ground however, brown eyes sparking weakly with gold as he said, "It's not safe for you to go to St Mungo's, Lily."
Lily's arms tightened around Harry, pulling him closer, and the stone in his stomach lightened a bit at this show of unconditional love from the woman who would one day be forced to give her life for him. "I need to know. What if... what if there's some sort of special diet I need to put him on, or, or–"
"Full moons?" James said quietly, and Harry saw him coming to stand at Lily's side. He looked cowed, and a part of Harry crowed for joy at the power his mum had over his dad.
Remus shook his head. "I can find the information–"
"Information is only good with confirmation," Lily insisted. When Remus flinched, she quietly added, "It's not that I don't trust you, Remus, I just need a second opinion. Because this is..."
"Impossible," Remus agreed quietly.
"We'll all go," Sirius announced from behind Harry's parents. "Not even Voldemort would dare face all five of us."
Lily looked down at Harry so he was the only one who could see her roll her eyes. All the same, she agreed, "I suppose I can trust you four to keep Harry safe."
"And if we fail," James said in a stage whisper to Sirius, "she'll avenge us all and protect Harry on her own."
"N-not hard, o-once we've w-weakened him," Peter stuttered with false bravado.
Lily didn't bother hiding her eye rolling that time. "We'll be fine. Where's that mask we bought for him?" she added to James.
"Padfoot, top drawer just inside the kitchen. Moony, Wormtail, go on ahead and let them know we're coming and why," James ordered, and the Marauders scrambled to follow his orders as he turned to Lily and Harry, gently turning Lily so she was facing him. "Hey. We'll sort this out."
Lily swallowed and nodded. "I know. But I'm..." She hoisted Harry higher, holding him tight to her breast. "James," she whispered, quiet enough that only Harry and James could have heard her, "I'm scared. It's bad enough that–"
"I know," James agreed quietly and leant forward to kiss her forehead. "I know. We'll figure this out. If we have to, we can try to find a pack to protect him." He let out a broken sort of laugh. "That's a possibility I'd never have considered."
"I'm not leaving my son to be raised by wolves," Lily insisted, and Sirius' laugh warned of his return.
"I would threaten to tell Moony you said that, but I know he'll just agree with you," he said as he held out a strange sort of hair cover.
"Yeah, well, Moony has a thing about other werewolves," James muttered as he accepted the cover and proceeded to cover Harry's whole head with it, like an opaque bubblehead charm. "Right, all set. Padfoot, you want to go on ahead? Lily can follow, then I'll bring up the rear."
"Trusting me with the missus, Prongs?" Sirius teased.
"I'm screwed either way," James insisted while Lily snorted.
In retrospect, the cover made sense, given how dirty floo travel was, and how sensitive Harry's new body was. Too, he suspected it had some sort of one-way silencing charm on it, so any noises he made wouldn't upset the rather finicky direction magic involved. Still, it was uncomfortable, and he was feeling a little claustrophobic by the time Lily carefully took it off him in the St Mungo's lobby.
What followed was a good twenty minutes of magical tests – mostly checking to see if he was a werewolf, healthy, and (at Lily's request, likely to ease James' mind) a paternity test – a great deal of which Harry found himself dozing through. (Because he was still only a week old, for Merlin's sake, and it was boring, without the danger of those needles that muggles were so fond of.)
He did wake himself up to hear the findings, even though he knew everything would come back positive. (Though, he half expected his lycanthropy to come back negative, since it always had in the other realities. That said, Death had twisted his curse last time; Tom could well have added his own touch, just to irritate Harry.)
"Harry is, unquestionably, a Potter, and perfectly healthy," the mediwizard started, clearly aiming to force paternal attachment before he added, "He is also a born were. We won't know until he's old enough to transform what sort of form he'll take, given that neither of you have the curse."
"Until he's old enough?" Remus asked, while Lily cuddled Harry close, James' arms around her shoulders. "I'd heard something about born weres able to control their change, but I wasn't sure how true that was, or what that meant for their development."
The mediwizard sighed. "There's some good news and some bad news there, I'm afraid," he admitted. "Born werefolk can, indeed, control their own transformations, and they're not beholden to the full moon, though I've been told there is a certain discomfort in remaining human on such nights. Were transformations are rather like accidental magic, in that there is a clear stage in the child's development when he'll begin transforming when he's frightened or upset. That's around three or four for most children, and I very much suggest you find a were pack willing to take him around then, so he'll have no chance in infecting any of you during this stage. They can teach him how to control his transformations, so it will hardly be for life."
"Accidental magic and transformations all at once?" Sirius joked. "That'll be a right joy."
The mediwizard cleared his throat uncomfortably. "About that," he offered, and his tone earned him a very much captivated audience, "born weres are squibs. Harry will never attend Hogwarts."
Everything seemed to stop for Harry. No magic? Nothing? Only... Only my curse?
If any of the adults had a reaction to that news, it was completely lost to the wail that Harry had no interest in quelling.
Lily and Remus took him home after that, leaving James, Sirius, and Peter to finish hearing the mediwizard out. Harry cried the whole way home, mourning the one part of himself that he never would have willingly given up. Not for anything.
After finding out he was a squib, Harry settled in to find what little joy in life with his parents he could. On the plus, they had no need to go under Fidelius with Harry as he was, since there was no way Voldemort would ever consider a squib a threat, werewolf or no. They were still in danger, given there was a war and Harry's family was in the front lines, but Dumbledore gave James and Lily very few missions, citing them having a child as his reason. (Harry was, admittedly, extremely grateful, given that his only happiness was time spent with his parents.)
Lily became pregnant when Harry was about seven months old, and his brother, William Harrold, was born on the eleventh of November. James took to paying Will a lot of attention, ignoring Harry more often than not when his brother was nearby, and Harry knew he should have been jealous or upset, but he was really just marvelling at the fact that he had a brother. That his whole family had survived long enough to become larger.
"I'm sorry about Daddy, sweet one," Lily murmured to Harry at the beginning of October in 1982, while she was tucking him in, the apology something of a routine, any more. Will was already fast asleep in the crib across the room, and James had left with barely a glance in Harry's direction. "He's just got a very small attention span, and Will requires a lot of attention."
Harry just gave her the look he'd perfected a few months ago in response to the idiocy of his father, Sirius, and Peter. Remus too, sometimes, but he was usually able to at least pretend to be an adult. (He was Harry's favourite, after Lily, because he paid him more attention than he did Will. He was also Harry's godfather, simply because it had made sense to all the adults that the werewolf be godfather of the werechild.)
Lily let out a quiet laugh and gently kissed his forehead. When she pulled back, though, her expression was sad. "I wish he had more attention for you," she admitted before letting out an angry breath. "God! There's nothing wrong with not having magic!"
Will let out a discontent noise at the sound of Lily's raised voice, and she hurried over to soothe him back to sleep while Harry watched silently from within his crib.
"I know you don't understand, baby," Lily continued once she'd returned to Harry, brushing her fingers through his flyaway hair. "You're just hurt, and I completely understand that. I'm glad you're not taking it out on your brother, though."
Harry shook his head and peeked around her towards Will's crib.
Lily sighed and kissed his forehead again before gently pushing him to lay down. "Go to sleep, Harry. Will's safe where he is."
It would prove to be a rather erroneous assurance.
The sounds woke Harry first, decades of battle experience enough to affect him even as a two-year-old: crashes and shouting from downstairs.
Then came the smell of spellfire, sharp enough that his enhanced senses couldn't have helped but notice it, and Harry kicked aside his blanket, then grabbed for the latch of his crib. The panel slid down with a thud, and Harry was jumping down and running towards his brother before he could think any better of it. Where are Mum and Dad? he thought a bit desperately as he jumped up and struggled to pull himself up high enough to unlatch Will's crib; he had to grab his brother and find some place to hide them both.
The door of their room slammed open and Harry looked towards it hopefully, but the figure in the doorway wore a bone white mask, and Harry felt a flare of terror because Death Eaters were attacking.
"Well, well," the man in the doorway said, voice slick with violence. "Look what we have here. A baby out of bed."
Harry didn't need a guide book to recognise Walden Macnair, even though Tom's intervention meant he'd had little to do with the man during his previous life, despite how much he'd hated him. He jumped down from Will's crib and stepped forward until he was between the executioner and his brother. "Leave," he ordered, the first time he'd ever spoken in front of someone other than Will.
Macnair laughed and pointed his wand at Harry. "What a brave little lion!"
Harry snarled, the familiar sensation of a werewolf transformation making his bones tingle. "Not a lion," he informed him before he shifted.
Decades of practise couldn't make the transformation hurt any less, but it had taught him how to make the change near instantaneous, and he was rushing out of his clothing, jaws open wide, before Macnair could realise what had happened.
"Werewolf!" Macnair shouted as Harry got a mouthful of his robes. But he'd misjudged, forgotten how small he was as a pup, and he gave him a great kick to the belly before he could unhook his tiny teeth from his robes and try for something a bit fleshier.
His back hit the wall at the far side of the nursery and Harry moaned as he slumped, everything hurting. His ears were ringing, filled with the sound of someone screaming.
"Wretched creature," Macnair muttered, and Harry realised the screaming was his brother, woken by the noise.
Will, he remembered and forced himself to get up. His left forepaw felt like it was broken, but he ignored it as he hurried forward, growling. Keep him distracted, he told himself. Keep him away from Will. Mum or Dad will come soon.
But Macnair wouldn't allow himself to be distracted from the wailing baby, beyond flicking a blasting curse towards Harry. He howled as he hit the wall again, pouring every ounce of his anger and helplessness into the noise; he couldn't lose his brother!
A dark hole opened up next to Harry and the cloaked form of Death stepped out. "Finally," it said in its genderless voice, as it strode across the room towards where Macnair had frozen over Will's crib. "I thought you'd never call me, Master."
The change was agony, given how broken Harry's body was from hitting the wall twice, and his words were a definite snarl as he replied, "Just kill him before he hurts my brother!"
Death grabbed Macnair around the throat with one skeletal hand and raised him in the air. "It will be my pleasure, Master," it promised before starting back towards Harry and the doorway to the Realm of Death with its passenger, who had begun gurgling and scratching at Death's hand.
"And, Death," Harry added before the other could vanish, "we'll have words about you and Tom dropping me in a reality where I'm a squib."
Death's shadowed hood turned towards him. "Are you?" it asked before both it and the doorway vanished.
Harry stared after it for a bit, disbelieving. Then Will's whimpering registered and he tried to get to his feet, but the agony of his broken bones nearly paralysed him and he cried out as he fell over onto his side, sending another shock of pain through his whole body.
He took a deep breath, then forced himself to change back into his werewolf form, knowing it was far more durable, and staggered across the room and struggled up the side of Will's crib. He had to stop and pant for a moment, once he was on the mattress, but he didn't give himself long before he forced himself up to his paws again and slowly stepped close enough to lick Will's nearest foot.
Will wasn't unused to animals, given the number of animagi they spent time with, as well as Lily's cat, Puss-Puss, so it really didn't surprise Harry that his brother wasted no time in clinging to him once he'd shown he had no intent to harm the younger boy.
Harry had to bite back a whimper when Will's grasp reminded him of some of his pains, but he refused to push his brother away; Will didn't understand what was happening, and Harry could protect him better from higher up, anyway, since he could go after hands pointing wands at them from this height.
He remained stiffly at attention as Will fell asleep next to him and the sounds of battle quieted downstairs.
And then, from in the kitchen, he heard Lily cry, "James! The boys!"
Feet thudded on the stairs and Lily and James burst into the room, both covered with various wounds and the signs of spell damage, but alive. They looked to Harry's crib first, as it was closer to the ruined door, and Lily let out a strangled sound at finding it empty.
"Harry?" Lily cried even as she turned towards Will's crib. "Wi–? James!"
Then they were both standing at the edge of the crib, staring down at where Will was curled against Harry's side, fingers holding loosely to his stump of a tail. Harry cocked his head at them, then leant down and nudged Will's chin with his nose.
Will let out a disgruntled noise and made sort of floppy swat toward Harry's face, which had him jerking out of range before his brother could accidentally connect with something that hurt.
"Harry?" James breathed, sounding somewhere between shocked and awed.
Harry looked up towards them and gave a jerky nod, then looked down and licked the bottom of Will's foot, taking care to avoid the expected kick he got for his troubles.
But that effectively woke Will, and he blinked sleepily a few times before noticing their parents. "Mama!" he shouted, scrambling to get up enough that he could crawl towards their parents. Harry winced as his brother struck him a couple of times, but held still under the unintentional abuse.
Lily picked her youngest up without pause, checking him over for any signs that he was hurt.
That left James with Harry and, for the first time since Will's birth, he was the centre of his father's attention. "Hey, kiddo," he said, voice gentle, as he reached out to touch Harry's head. When Harry nudged into the touch – there was nothing wrong with him wanting some comfort in the form of physical contact – James wasted no time in scratching behind his ears for a moment. "You can change back now, Harry," he offered. "It's okay. There's nothing to be scared of any more."
Harry shook his head, letting his ears droop, and held up his broken front paw carefully; he had no intention in changing back until he'd healed a bit, not with as much pain as he was in.
"James," Lily interrupted, sounding a little panicked, "there's a wand here. And the broken door–"
"Merlin," James breathed, taking a look around the room and very clearly only just then seeing the signs of a scuffle that they'd missed in their panic about Harry's empty crib. He looked back down at Harry, his eyes wide. "You protected your brother?"
Harry nodded.
"Gentle!" Lily ordered as James reached into the crib to pick Harry up. He was gentle, but so much of Harry hurt, he couldn't help but whimper as he was moved.
"I've got you, Harry," James whispered, cradling Harry against his chest. "I've got you. You're safe."
Harry drooped against his father's chest, finally allowing himself to relax.
"St Mungo's," he heard his mother say as he started to drift off, exhausted from the stress of fighting Macnair. "Now."
"Absolutely," James agreed and Harry fell asleep to the gentle rocking motion of his father's careful steps.
"Are you sure we have to send him away?" Lily complained for what seemed like the hundredth time, just before the portkey was due to activate.
James and Remus traded looks over Harry's head, while he caught his brother's eyes and made a face at him, making the younger boy giggle and wriggle in Lily's arms.
The portkey activated then, and Harry bit his lower lip to keep from spitting out some choice curses at the sensation. At least he was being carried by James – who had made a point of paying rather a lot of attention to Harry over the past week since the attack – so he didn't have to worry about falling over when they landed in a forest clearing, because he never had got the hang of portkey travel, not when he had other means.
"He needs to be trained, Lily," Remus insisted once they'd landed. "You don't want him accidentally transforming while he and Will are playing, do you?"
"He's not going to hurt Will," Lily shot back, something none of them could argue after how careful Harry had been with his brother while in wolf form.
"No, but he can't go to a muggle school if he can't control his transformations," James pointed out logically. "And Moony's contact did say it usually only takes four or five months." He snorted and ruffled Harry's hair, distracting him from the sound of people approaching. "Given how ridiculously smart you are, I'm sure you'll manage in less." Because James had decided, over the past week, that Harry's lack of speaking was not a sign of arrested development, but simply of a lack of desire to speak.
Which... Well, sometimes Harry wished his father would pay a little less attention to him, because when he cared, he saw a lot more than Harry was comfortable with.
"I don't like leaving him on his own," Lily muttered.
"What am I, chopped liver?" Remus complained good-naturedly. Then his head jerked up, sensing the approaching group that Harry had already noticed. "Here they come."
The group stepped into view around the trees a moment later. Two women and two men – clearly the elders of the group, though none of them could have been older than fifty – were in the lead, with a couple younger men and women staying under the trees, out of the clearing.
"I am Rolaf," one of the men offered as the other three elders stopped just behind him. He looked at Remus. "You are Loner Remus?"
Remus grimaced at the title, but nodded. "I am."
Rolaf turned to Harry then, golden-brown eyes meeting his unflinching stare. "And this is the were-born, Harry." He frowned. "He is young for the change."
"We were attacked," James said, his voice strained. "Lily and I were downstairs, and one of them got up to the boys' room. Harry transformed and protected Will."
Rolaf's eyes narrowed. "You recognised your brother?" he demanded.
Harry blinked. Was he not supposed to have? He nodded.
Rolaf watched him for another moment, then looked up at James and requested, "Please set him down." Once Harry was on his feet in front of his father, Rolaf ordered, "Transform."
Harry tilted his head to one side and gave the elder a look that he hoped made it clear he wanted to know why he should.
Rolaf looked like he might say something impolite, but one of the women stepped forward, touching his arm to keep him silent. "Harry," she said, her voice quiet and polite, "my name is Andrea. If you are capable of transforming, we would like to see it. Please?"
Harry considered his options: On one hand, he could transform and prove he had perfect control of his curse, which was clearly impossible and would set him apart even more than the fact that he was a were-born with two uncursed parents. On the other hand, if he proved he didn't need any training, he could go home with his family.
He remembered the attack, thought about what could have happened to Will if he hadn't been there, and clenched his jaw against the pain before he shifted form.
"Lycaon," the other female elder breathed as Harry crawled out of his clothing. He glanced up at her, curious – the word sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.
"Harry," Andrea called, and Harry focussed on her, "can you understand me?"
Harry nodded.
"You know who you are? Who everyone here is?"
Harry very pointedly looked towards the other two elders that he hadn't been introduced to, then towards the crowd of onlookers in the trees.
Rolaf let out a loud laugh. "Clever little pup, you know what she meant."
Harry huffed and nodded.
"Harry," Remus called from behind him, tone dry, and Harry peered over his shoulder. "Are you going to speak in this form?"
Harry flashed him a wolfish grin, then shook his head.
"Told you he was smart," James whispered.
"What does all this mean, Mr Rolaf, Ms Andrea?" Lily asked, her voice strained.
"It means your son doesn't need our tutelage," Andrea replied a bit helplessly. "How he's able to control his transformation so easily, I cannot say, but he needs no teacher in this."
"He's made a habit of flummoxing everyone with his werewolf thing," James commented quiet enough that, had they not been surrounded by werefolk, it would have gone unnoticed.
"Excuse me, 'werewolf thing'?" one of the younger weres from the trees snapped, stepping forward. His eyes glinted golden, fingernails too sharp to be human, and Harry realised this was another were-born.
He let out a warning growl at the elder were-born, and he looked down, clearly surprised. "You don't care that he's insulting you? Insulting all of us?"
Harry huffed in disgust, then turned to Remus, trusting in him to explain.
Remus coughed. "Harry is the natural-born child of two uncursed," he offered. "Forgive James' rather undiplomatic way of putting things, but the fact is that Harry shouldn't be were-born."
There followed a long silence, during which everyone stared at Harry.
"Can we take Harry home, then?" Lily asked, breaking the silence and making a few of the werefolk startle.
"You may," Andrea agreed.
"When he starts talking, though," Rolaf added as Harry turned back towards his clothing, intending to get back into his jumper, at least, before he changed back; it was cold out, "I'd appreciate it if you'd bring him back. Maybe he'll have something interesting to say."
"One can only hope," Remus agreed quietly.
Once Harry was dressed again, he walked over to James, and his father wasted no time in picking him up and holding him close. It struck him then, that as much as his father had drawn away in the past year, he'd been as upset about the possibility of Harry leaving as Lily had been. It made him wonder how much of James' distance had been an attempt to keep from getting attached to the child he knew there was no way he could keep.
Harry wondered about Death's parting comment, and how him breaking this rule about his were-born-ness would change things.
Clearly, he needed to speak to his eternal servant again. And soon.
A party followed their return from the werefolk encampment, and Harry fell asleep early in to the festivities, so he didn't get the chance to call Death that night. But the house was absolutely silent the next morning when he woke, the adults clearly dead to the world, so he unlatched his crib, went to the loo – Lily and James were both very clearly waiting for Will to figure that function out, given how ahead of the curve Harry had been – then checked on Will. His brother was awake and quietly chewing on the ear of his stuffed black dog.
"Death?" Harry called, eyeing the latches of his brother's crib, far out of his reach.
Skeletal hands appeared above his head, easily unlatching and lowering the slide so Harry could climb up to sit with his brother. Will immediately cuddled close, eyeing the hooded figure with some upset.
"It's okay, Will," Harry whispered, petting the dark hair covering his head. "This is a friend of mine."
Will curled his hand in Harry's sleep shirt. "Hawwy," he mumbled, still eyeing Death uncertainly, "hungy."
"I know," Harry murmured, looking towards Death. "Dad hid a store of banana mush in the lower cabinet to the left of the refrigerator, so I could reach it if I woke up before him and Mum. Could you be troubled to get me one?"
Death let out a rattling sigh. "Only because you are my master," it insisted before vanishing. It returned a moment later, a small spoon and one of the banana mush cups in one skeletal hand.
"Thank you," Harry said as he accepted the gifts. He popped the cup open and spooned some out to feed Will, which he accepted happily. "Please explain what you meant by my not being a squib," he requested of Death as he kept an eye on Will, refusing to trust his brother to feed himself without making a massive mess.
Death's fingers clicked a rhythm against each other. "There are things you have yet to discover about this reality," it offered, and Harry shot the apparition a dry look before turning back to Will. Death let out a bone-rattle laugh, quiet enough to not chance waking James and Lily down the hall. "The Hallows never existed here."
Harry's hand jerked, splattering banana mush inside the cup and across his forearms and Will's face. Will let out a delighted laugh and wiped at his face while Harry turned to stare at Death. "Excuse me. How can the Hallows not exist? The Peverells clearly existed, given that my family and Tom both exist."
Death's shoulders jerked in a shrug. "Yes. And while they were crafters of magical instruments, certainly, their and my paths never crossed such that the Hallows would have been a part of the mortal realm." It paused, the deep shadows of its hood seeming almost to stare into Harry's soul. "Until you."
Will mumbled nonsense and tugged on Harry's sleeve, reminding him that he was supposed to be feeding his brother. "Until me," he repeated drily, eyes back on Will. "You're saying, what? I'm a Hallow?"
"They are as tied to you as I," Death explained, the patience in its genderless voice at odds with the rhythmic tapping of its fingers against each other. "In whatever reality, they will be drawn to you, to belong to you and be used by you as you please. When you entered a reality where they didn't exist, the power they should have had was drawn from me into you."
Harry assimilated that information as he used the spoon to wipe away a bit of banana mush from Will's chin. "So, I could become invisible at will, or call forth the spirits of the dead?" he asked.
"Yes. And, while it is true that your being born a werewolf ravaged your magical pathways before they finished forming, the Elder Wand will act as a conduit in their stead; you cannot use a wand, but your wandless magic abilities will be unparalleled."
Harry held the banana mush and spoon in one hand, holding out his other hand between himself and Will. "Lumos," he whispered.
Light, as bright as any wand-cast version of the spell, bloomed in his palm. Will let out an amazed sound and reached out to try and grab the light. A silent spell – one Harry never could have dreamed to cast wandless before – had the light transferring to Will's hand, and he squealed in delight.
Harry turned to look up at Death, refusing to be embarrassed by the grateful tears in his eyes. "Thank you," he breathed.
Death bowed. "Master, it was but my pleasure," it promised.
Harry took a deep breath, then asked, "And my access to your magic? That was always wandless."
"Think, Master," Death chided. "How many of your non-human students of my magic were non-magical?"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like an idiot. "Right. I was clearly not thinking."
"You were depressed," Death allowed, and one skeletal hand reached out to cup his cheek, the gesture both familiar and not, after decades with another hand providing the action. "Master, trust that I would never leave you unable to defend yourself, that Tom could never have been so cruel as to leave you to misery in his absence."
Harry let out a quiet laugh and touched the bone fingers covering his skin. "I'm sorry, Death. I've done you a disservice."
"Master, I have already forgiven you," Death promised, and Harry knew it had.
The noise of movement from Lily and James' room reached Harry's ears, and he glanced towards the door.
Death slowly drew away, fingers lingering against Harry's cheek in a way they never would have before Tom had become a part of it. "You know how to reach me, Master, have you need of me."
"I do," Harry agreed. "Thank you."
Death bowed again before vanishing back to the Realm of Death, leaving Harry to, regretfully, vanish the ball of light that Will had been playing with.
Will gave him a broken look, his bottom lip trembling, and Harry sighed and offered him another spoonful of banana mush. "It's a secret, Will," he whispered. It was bad enough he was as much an impossibility as it was, were-born to uncursed parents; if he suddenly started showing magical talent, with no magical pathways, all hell would break loose.
Still, should Death Eaters attack again, none of them would get within ten feet of his brother; Harry could protect Will now.
Stand Against the Moon Chapters:
Pro | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05
06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12
Nose to the Wind Chapters:
4 - Orphan Man || 5 - Using Gentle Words to Shelter Me || 6 - Living on Your Breath
7 - You Just Might Get it All || 8 - Never Want to Come Down || 9 - Only the Silence Remains
10 - Love is a Doing Word || 11 - Nothing Sacred || 12 - The Heart Yearns
13 - Mirrored in Your Stare || 14 - Camouflage Denial || 15 - Precious and Fragile Things
16 - Perfectly Reckless || 17 - Your Arms Feel Like Home || 18 - The Sun Will Set For You
19 - Your Love Has Always Been Enough || 20 - Keep Up This Charade || 21 - Truth Like a Blazing Fire
22 - Give Yourself a Try || 23 - Done Pleading Ignorance || 24 - Your Razorblade Caress of Love
25 - Summer's Scent Still Lingers || 26 - Burn Out the Stain || 27 - Final Masquerade
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