lomonaaeren

Chapter Eight.

Title: Wolf’s Choice (9/60)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Main story is gen, a few GoF canon pairings mentioned
Content Notes: AU of GoF, angst, gore, violence, torture, present tense, minor character death
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU of GoF. Harry begins his summer with horrific visions that come true much faster than he was expecting. He’ll have to rely on his circle of friends, both his guardians, and all his allies to cope with the results.
Author’s Notes: This is a long fic that is a sequel to my fic Other People’s Choices. Make sure you read that first before you start this one.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Nine—Lion

“Why did you speak to Dumbledore like that in front of Mrs. Malfoy?”

The question is not the first one that Severus expected, but it makes sense from Harry’s point-of-view. He sits down in front of Harry on a low stool and reaches for another dish of the salve he is spreading on Harry’s scars. Blaise makes a small motion as if he is going to leave his own bedroom. Severus glances at him and bids him stay with that glance.

“Her being an audience was useful in several ways.” Severus beckons, and Harry reluctantly steps up to him. Severus knows why, but doesn’t plan to call attention to the boy’s difficulty with having an adult touch him. He simply spreads on the salve. “For one thing, it limited some of the threats Albus might have made. It also foiled his attempt to get you alone before I arrived.”

“I know. That’s why I Flooed her. But when he was there?”

“Someone besides ourselves should know certain truths about Albus.” Severus met Harry’s eyes and held them until Harry blinked. “I would not put it past Albus to use Obliviate.”

“What?” Blaise blurts, and then wilts before Severus can even turn to look at him. “I mean, I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I never imagined the Headmaster would do that.”

“I do not think he has reached that level of desperation yet.” The salve is fully on. Severus places the dish back on the table next to him and lays the back of his hand on Harry’s forehead. No fever. Yes, the sickness has lasted a much shorter time than it would usually for someone scarred by a werewolf, and Severus attributes that entirely to his potions and the careful way he has been treating Harry. “But I also think that he is heading there.”

“I never thought of that.” Harry’s face is pale as he stands there for a second, his hands twitching behind his back. “But, sir, isn’t she just going to go home and tell Mr. Malfoy that you’re not loyal to Voldemort anymore?”

“My caring for you has been in the papers, Harry. I consider that a secret no longer.”

“Okay. But—I don’t want you in any danger.”

“I have taken on a position fraught with danger, and done so willingly. Do you remember what Healer Lyndell has said about attempts not to take care of everyone else, to your own detriment?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry sags back a little. “Okay. So what do we do now?”

“I wish to know your reasoning for Flooing Mrs. Malfoy, instead of someone else. But Harry?” Severus waits until the boy’s wary eyes are fixed on his face again, and then reaches out and grips Harry’s shoulder, holding him still. He doesn’t want Harry to make any mistake about this. “I am incredibly proud of you. You did what needed to be done, and you should never doubt that.”

Harry’s eyes slip closed for a second as if absorbing a blow. Then again, how many times have adults spoken words of praise to him? Not enough.

“Everyone else I could think of either doesn’t have a Floo, or isn’t loyal to me, or is loyal to Dumbledore. I didn’t want someone who would think it was fine to go off and make tea and leave me alone with him.”

“The way the Weasleys might have, and Black.” Severus nods. In truth, he is no longer as sure about Black as he was, but he trusts Lupin more.

I trust the werewolf who nearly killed me more than I trust the human one.

But life has twisted in enough strange ways since Harry was Sorted into Slytherin that Severus no longer spends much time brooding on those twists. Instead, he says, “I think that you will need to keep your wavering faith in Albus concealed.”

“Even from Sirius and Remus?”

“Yes, until we can be sure of them. It is a positive sign that they have not told you that Albus is the one you should trust and live with, which I somewhat expected after the werewolf attack. They could easily say that Hogwarts is safer than any house, and you should go there. But they did not.”

Severus does have a growing hope that those two might put loyalty to Harry above loyalty to Albus, but he will not yet use that hope as a plank over an abyss. Wait, and see what they do when they have the choice. And what they do not do.

“All right,” Harry says. He turns and looks at Blaise. “Can you keep the secret, too?”

Severus snorts. When he looks at Blaise, he already knows what he will see: a glowing face and eyes. Some of his Slytherins find secrets more exciting than the height of battle or any Dark spells. Blaise is one of them.

“Of course I can! It’s mad that the Headmaster thinks he can control you anyway, and that he might use a Memory Charm on you! But I don’t have that much contact with him. I can keep it behind my shields.”

“We will increase the work on your Occlumency, Mr. Zabini.”

Blaise doesn’t cower, but looks up proudly. “Of course, sir. I don’t want to betray Harry, but I know that I might not have a choice if my shields are weak and the Headmaster can read something from my head. So the only choice is not to be weak.”

The only choice any of us have, Severus thinks, and lays a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I am proud of you,” he says again.

Harry’s eyes are brilliant for a different reason than Blaise’s.

*

“I do not like the claiming mark of the wolf on your face.”

Harry rolls his eyes. He had no idea how the Speakers would react to his werewolf scars, but he knows they were displeased when Professor Snape canceled his lessons in serpent magic last week. And he ought to have known it would be like this. The Speakers are possessive, and already unhappy that Harry wouldn’t come to their world to learn from them.

“In our world, we would have kept you safe from the wolf attack,” Asheren says, on cue.

“But there are lots of reasons that I couldn’t go to your world, and I don’t want you to bring them up again,” Harry says, which he hopes will stop that nonsense. “Now, are the scars going to get in the way when I cast serpent spells?”

Asheren darts his head back and forth as if someone has tried to slap him. “Why would they?”

Harry relaxes. Snape did try to tell him that werewolf wounds don’t have an effect on someone’s ability to cast spells, but Harry found a stupid book in the library that said they did. At least he knows serpent magic won’t be affected. “All right.” He turns to face the conjured golden krait that has been waiting in a corner of the library since he and Asheren started this conversation. “Come to me.”

The krait moves towards him in an undulating, graceful motion. “You are supposed to be doing more than simply commanding it,” Asheren notes.

Harry ignores him, because he knows that, but he wanted to try something else with this snake. “Stop there,” he says, when the krait is about a meter from him, and the krait halts and waits. Then Harry swallows and moves his wand in a complicated, careful tracing, while he thinks the spell he wants in Parseltongue as hard as he can.

He doesn’t want to say it aloud, in case it doesn’t work and Asheren teases him about it.

“What are you doing?”

The magic seems to hesitate in Harry’s throat for an instant, blocked, and then it races out and through his wand. The shapes in the air become real as the krait rears in surprise, and then golden, scaled wings burst from its back. The krait stares at Harry, but when Harry holds out his hand and tells it to come to him again, it beats its wings and rises into the air. The next second, it’s wrapped around his wrist, waiting.

“You were not supposed to do that.”

“I know. But isn’t he handsome?” Harry smiles at the krait, which seems to understand his intentions even if it doesn’t understand English. It rears up and spreads its wings, showing off. Harry scratches it under the chin.

“You are not supposed to be able to conjure a cloud of winged serpents. No one can do that unless they call a serpent that is already winged.”

“But I am,” Harry answers, and it isn’t until Asheren looks pleased that he realizes he used Parseltongue. He was looking directly at the krait, which is why. He scowls and carefully continues in English. “I can do that, and it’s going to be necessary, if I want to use this kind of magic in battle. Lyassa said it could be useful for foretelling the future and spying. But I need it to be useful for more than that.”

“You are truly determined to destroy this corrupt Parselmouth.”

“Everyone else thinks I have to.”

Asheren only sways thoughtfully instead of answering. Harry snorts. He knows the Speakers well enough by now to know when he won’t get an answer. He puts the krait on the floor and goes back to practicing some of the “ordinary” magic that Asheren tells him to.

But at least it seems that, as far as the Speakers are concerned, the fact that Greyback mauled him isn’t a problem.

*

“Happy birthday, Harry!”

Harry stares with an open mouth at the cake on the table and the presents all around it. Ron watches him in concern. Did he think people wouldn’t want to come over and celebrate his birthday after Greyback clawed him? That’s ridiculous. But it might be the kind of thing Harry would think, Ron realizes, as he catches Hermione’s eye.

But the next instant, Harry grins and bounds down the stairs, rushing over to hug Hermione and clap Ron on the shoulder, then turn around to face the rest of his Slytherin friends. “I’d forgotten it was my birthday. Thanks, you lot.”

Ron frowns at Harry when he can’t see because he has his back turned. Harry has definitely been studying too hard. Ron always knows when his birthday is, even if he doesn’t get to celebrate it with his full family because he’s always at Hogwarts in the last few years.

But Harry gratefully eats the cake and tells Ron to say thanks to his Mum, and opens the presents that Ron and Hermione and Nott and Zabini and Malfoy and Lovegood and Greengrass and Neville got him. That includes the broomstick-servicing kit Ron found for him, a magical planner that Hermione bought and immediately tries to demonstrate, a pair of shining dragonhide gloves from Nott, a gleaming black-silver cloak from Zabini (at least it isn’t green, is all Ron can say for it), an enchanted mirror from Malfoy, a string of—things—that look like half-chewed matchsticks from Lovegood, a new pair of golden glasses-frames from Greengrass that Harry can put his old lenses in, and a small flowering plant from Neville. Neville blushes when Harry opens the little pot the plant is in.

“The plant releases a sweeter scent when you need to sleep,” Neville explains hesitantly. “It can let you relax and go to sleep when you’re worried. About exams, for instance.”

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry says, and puts the plant gently aside. At least its flowers are red and gold, Ron thinks, not pink or something.

Snape and Sirius and Remus all got him books, which seem to be about Defense and Occlumency from what Ron can see. Snape also got Harry some new shirts and trousers and robes, which Harry frowns at before he frowns at Snape.

Snape only raises an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten that it is my prerogative as your guardian to buy clothes for you?” he murmurs, and Harry blushes and apologizes. But it’s a strange thing to forget, Ron thinks.

Then he shakes his head. He isn’t Harry. Harry’s had a really strange life. One that Ron’s glad he doesn’t have, but he’s also glad that he can share some of it.

There’s one more gift sitting near the bottom of the pile when everything else has been opened. Harry slowly undoes the wrapping, which Ron thinks looks like golden scales. And then he leaps back when a winged snake flies out of the wrapping and zooms around the dining room twice before it ties itself around Harry’s arm.

“What variety of serpent is that?” Snape has a calm voice, but his wand is also aimed. Ron is glad that he’s not the only one who’s freaked out by that thing.

“I conjured it the other day in my lessons,” Harry mutters, frowning at the winged snake. “I thought it went away. I mean, that my teacher took it with him.” He reaches out and traces the nearest wing of the snake, then hisses a question at it.

Ron shudders, then stops when he catches Malfoy’s eye. Malfoy behaves politely enough when they’re in a big group like this, but Ron can feel every time Malfoy’s on the verge of making fun of him. He’s not going to give the great git fuel.

The snake hisses back. Harry looks up and frowns at Snape and then Sirius and Remus and then everyone else. “It says that it’s been sent to stay with me. That because I got scarred by a wolf, I wasn’t defended well enough.”

“It was an accident!” Sirius sounds like he’s said that a hundred times before. “It doesn’t mean that anyone else can get through the wards!”

“Harry will still be remaining here for the near future.”

“I know that, Sn—”

“You promised that there would be no arguing on my birthday. That’s why I didn’t ask for more gifts. Remember?”

Snape and Sirius stand glaring at each other for a second, but then, they both nod, and Sirius puts his wand away. Snape doesn’t. “How sure are you that you can trust that creature, Harry?”

“I’m as sure as I can be without being in its mind and reading it,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “I mean, it’ll obey me because I’m a Parselmouth, and the ones who sent it said that it’s to guard me, too. I was just surprised because I thought all the conjured serpents faded away after a while. But maybe they did something to this one so that it can stay with me.”

“I do think that it’s a good idea to have a poisonous creature always with Harry,” Nott says, his face pleasant and bland in that creepy way he has. “I would have got him a pet snake myself, but I was unsure how it would be accepted.” He looks at Sirius and Remus instead of Snape.

“Poisonous?” Hermione looks worried. “Harry, are you sure—”

“I know that the rules say that we can only have a cat or an owl or a toad, but I don’t think it’s coming off.” Harry holds his arm up and shakes it. The snake is gripping it too tightly to be pried off, Ron realizes. “And he’ll obey me. If I tell him not to bite anyone, not even to show that he has venom, then he’ll listen.”

“What kind of snake is it? I mean, when it doesn’t have wings?”

“A krait, Daphne.” Nott sounds like he thinks she’s stupid for having to be told. She bristles at him, and starts a quiet conversation that’s probably an argument. Ron, though, is too busy eyeing the snake warily to listen. He read some about kraits in parts of their Potions book that talked about venom as a Potions ingredient. Krait venom is deadly.

“I can control it,” Harry insists, seeing where Ron is looking. “I promise that they wouldn’t have got me a gift I was incapable of controlling!”

“It’s not that, mate,” Ron says, and then tries to look more apologetic when Harry glares at him harder. “It’s just that it’s a snake. Snakes are kind of creepy.”

“And somehow you maintain your friendship with Harry despite the serpent crest on his robes,” Zabini mutters.

Ron turns around to scowl at Zabini, too. “I’m just uneasy around literal snakes, Zabini. Not around the rest of you. Don’t say anything, Malfoy.”

“Anyway,” Harry says hastily, “I think we should go back to the party. We haven’t even eaten that much of the cake yet.” And he picks up the knife at the same moment as Hermione grabs Ron and drags him into the next room.

“Harry needs us to be friends with his friends,” she tells Ron, hands on her hips and her eyes blazing. “Don’t start up with that sort of thing about slimy snakes, all right?”

“I was being fine. They’re being gits. And they’ll never act like we’re as good as them, admit it, Hermione.”

“Well, I know that none of them have called me a Mudblood since they started spending time with Harry. Even Malfoy. And if they are gits who will act like we’re never as good as them, then we need to be better. Starting with not antagonizing them.”

Ron hesitates. Then he nods. He knows she’s right, and it’s good to realize that Hermione isn’t taking all of this with calm grace, either. She still gives the winged krait on Harry’s arm a worried look as they go back into the dining room.

But the rest of the party goes well, and when Harry announces that he’s naming the krait Lion, there’s more than one sour Slytherin face, which reassures Ron that at least they’re not getting everything their own way. He doesn’t need everything his way, either. Just some things.