Divinity Forensis
By: RogueBHS
Chapter 1 - "A Dying, Broken Man"
Author Notes: Well, Prologue got a decent response, so let's get this chapter rolling shall we? Thanks to all my reviewers, and I'm glad you enjoyed it! Also, HUGE thanks to Caryn, a friend from FF.net. Without her help, the accuracy of the locations in this story would be WAY off, and the story would have had a much less interesting title. So thanks Caryn!
Oh…and to anyone who lives in the UK or whatever, sorry about the whole money thing. I'm so used to dollars and cents here in the States, and I swear…the internet search sites were no help at all in getting a good idea of taxi fares or any of that. *frowns*
All locations listed are based on the information at HP Lexicon.com. Just as a warning, I update around once a month. Between working on this and my other story Faith, as well as real life (which is busy for me this summer), it's going to continue on that pattern I'm afraid. So please don't review asking why I take so long. I'm 20 years old and basically running my parent's house, as my mom is sick at this time and waiting on a liver transplant. I work on my two HP stories as much as possible, as I do have a lot of ideas for them. Not to mention some ideas for alternate versions of chapters or one-shots that I have been jotting down so they don't just run rampant and make me loose track of where I'm trying to go with these. Trust me; I have two people that ask me constantly when I'm updating again, so I won't be forgetting about these anytime soon!
Disclaimer: I do not in any way shape or form own any of the ideas or characters from Harry Potter or Underworld. There are original characters involved, in minor rolls, which I do own, as they are my own RPG characters that I created. I'm also borrowing (with permission) a friend of mine's male RPG characters, whom he owns.
Notice: Any songs or spells used in a chapter will be listed at the end of it, just as in "Faith." Numbers in parenthesis indicates a song, letters in parenthesis indicates spells or excerpts from the books.
Full Summary: Harry's summer at the Dursley's has never been worse; Vernon is drinking heavily, Dudley's using him for a punching bag (again), and Petunia is acting like nothing is wrong. And the Order seems to have forgotten him completely, despite their claims at King's Cross Station. Can he survive the summer alone? Or will it take drastic measures to keep him alive?
Main characters: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin. From Underworld: Selene, Kraven, Viktor, Marcus, Amelia, Lucian, and Kahn.
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"Every night
You wrote another line
With a bloody, broken, bottle
And every day
You wish it away
Why don't you pull the pin
On that grenade
You cuddle
I wanted to believe
Bodies swinging from trees
Struggling to stand
With your head in your hands
A stoic last stand
Of a dying man" (1)
Privet Drive, two days after the Dursleys left -
Oww…what on earth? Harry sat up from under the hedgerows, feeling as if every inch of him had been beaten with a beater's bat. Slowly, the memory of being pushed down the stairs and the splitting pain in the back of his skull returned, causing him to nearly cry out. Slowly, he reached back and touched the back of his head, and was glad to find that his skull seemed to be intact. Without his glasses, the world was blurry, and he felt around, finding them laying a few inches away. He slid them on, only to find the glass was broken. Reaching down, he slid his hand inside of his sock, relieved to find his wand still there and in one piece. Deciding that magic would be a bad idea, he sighed, and slid the wand back into his sock. He'd have to make due with them being the way they were. He looked towards the house, only to find that it was closed up tight. Frowning, he made himself stand, and walked to the house, trying the back door. Locked, naturally, Harry thought. Guess I'll have to find another way in.
And with that in mind, he looked around, trying to find a possible point of entry. Naturally, the only possibility was his own bedroom window, which he kept unlocked so he could open it easily for Hedwig or other owls that came and went. So with a sigh, he hoisted a ladder from the shed, ignoring the way his muscles protested the action. Barely four minutes later, he was in his bedroom, looking around. Obviously the Dursleys were gone, but for how long? Well, he wasn't going to stick around and find out. He'd been beaten enough this summer already, thank you. Picking up an old backpack, he stuffed his father's invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map, some clothes, parchment and a pen into the bag. Digging deep into his trunk, he pulled out his bag of money, separating the Wizarding and Muggle forms as quickly as possible. After shoving the Muggle money into a battered wallet that had once been Dudley's, he glanced at his bag of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. And deciding it was better safe than sorry, carefully wrapped a few of each coin into an extra sock, stowing it at the very bottom of the backpack. Setting that down, he glanced at his own clothes, which were covered in dust from lying outside so long. Well…he could at least take a shower before he left, right?
Half an hour later, scrubbed and dressed in clean clothes, he grabbed the backpack and headed down the stairs. The refrigerator caught his eye, and he realized how hungry he was. It was another half an hour before he finished the monstrous sandwich he'd made, and cleaned the plate he'd used. No need for the Dursleys to realize that he'd been inside when they returned, after all.
He was about to step out of the door when he stopped, realizing how reckless this was. Dumbledore would be furious if he left now. Well screw him! Harry thought I won't take this any more. I'm not some dumb kid, after all. But then again…He glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen in indecision. Aww hell…they won't miss it until it's too late anyway, he decided, and headed back to the fridge, and added some fruit and bottled juice to his pack. A quick stop in the pantry added some crackers and a stop in Dudley's room added candy bars. As he envisioned Dudley's response to his candy being gone, Harry had to laugh. The pig is gonna hate me for this…more than he already does, that is.
And with his pack full, Harry snuck out of the back door, locking it back up behind him with the spare key from inside. He dropped the key into the postbox, and then headed off down the street, making sure to go the opposite direction of where Ms. Figg's house was located. No need to get stopped before I even get out of the neighborhood, he reasoned. And despite the rest he'd had over the past few days, his legs were still sore from Vernon's beating and his trip down the stairs, and seriously protested the walking. But there was no way he'd stop until he got far enough away from the house where he never felt safe. He was no stranger to pain, after all.
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"Every night
The questions poured out
Of your wounded eyes
Damn dark things
Every day
You used to pray
Listen to the black raven sing
You wanted to believe
As you were falling to your knees
Struggling to stand
With your life in your hand
The sad last stand
Of a broken man
I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand
That I did not understand…" (1)
Two Days Later, around the time Dumbledore receives Petunia's note -
Well…I guess that's it for the juice…Harry thought, draining the last of a bottle of apple juice in one gulp. Sighing, he set the bottle back in his bag and let his eyes take in the park around him. Only a few feet away was a water fountain, which he'd later use to fill up the empty juice bottles. And behind him, he knew, was the kind family who'd shared a bit of their picnic lunch with him. They hadn't asked any questions about why he was alone, much to his relief. But he was sure that they knew he was a runaway. Speaking of which… Dumbledore probably knows I'm gone too, Harry thought. Granted, the changes of Dumbledore finding him were fairly slim. Despite the weakness in his legs and body, he'd put a reasonable distance between him and Privet Drive.
Glancing at the street, Harry noticed a taxi pulling away from the curb, and frowned. He didn't have a lot of money, but surely he could at least get a ride further away than he was. So after a few more minutes of rest, he pushed himself to his feet and shouldered his bag, then headed towards the road. And while it wasn't the busiest road, he only had to wait ten minutes or so for another cab to pass by. Waving it down, Harry forced himself to jog to the car, and opened the back door, sliding in to the seat. Showing the driver one third of the Muggle money he had, he questioned, "Where can I get to for this?"
The driver took the money from his hand, and counted it twice before looking over his shoulder. "This should be enough to get you to Staines, or round about there. It is really dependin' on the route an' all."
Leaning back in the seat, Harry nodded. "I've got a little extra if it goes over…so…Staines it is, I guess."
"Alright. Be a little while, so hope you got somethin' t' keep yourself occupied."
Sleep sounds like a winner, Harry thought, stretching out on the seat. Shoving his bag under his head for a pillow, he thought briefly of calling Hermione to let her know he was alright when he reached Staines, but barely a second later, his eyes were closed, and he knew no more as he slipped into sleep.
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Hate t' wake 'em, but suppose there isn't no way 'round it, really, the cab driver thought as he put the car into park in front of a bus station. So he tapped the boy on the shoulder, and spoke to him. "C'mon, boy. Time t' get out."
Slowly, Harry roused, lifting his head from the makeshift pillow and looking around blearily. "We're in Staines?"
"Yeah, that's the bus station o'er there," the man pointed out the passenger window. "Reckon they'll be able t' point ya where ever ya need to go."
"Thanks," Harry said, pulling a little extra money from his stash, and pushing it into the cab driver's hands. "Call it a tip," he insisted, when the man started to correct him on the fare, and only nodded when the man thanked him as well. Sliding out of the car, he hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and glanced around. There wasn't a whole lot he was interested in, so he turned back to the bus station, and then headed inside, looking over the list of fares for travel. And while he could have easily just taken the Knight Bus, he didn't trust Stan Shunpike, the conductor of the bus to keep his appearance a secret. In the Muggle world, however, he was just another face without a name and without importance. Stepping up to the window where the tickets were sold, he slid across the money for a trip to London, which nearly emptied his Muggle stash. But he wasn't worried about that just now.
The next bus left in half an hour, so he headed towards where it was parked, currently being unloaded of previous passengers and their luggage. A soda machine sat back away from the main hustle and bustle of people, and the idea of something cool to drink was too tempting to resist. Around 20 minutes later, he boarded the bus, a bottle of grape soda tucked in his bag, and the second one in his hand, half gone already. Harry took a seat near the very back of the bus, tossing his pack into the seat beside him, ignoring the way a few people glanced at him. He was sure they realized he was a runaway, but the bruises on his arms were still not completely faded, and if anyone saw them, surely they wouldn't try and make him go back.
Looking out of the window into the dying sunset, Harry sighed and shifted in the seat, bitterly wishing he'd had the strength to carry a book or something along with the absolutely necessities. I suppose this means I get another nap, he thought, then frowned at his reflection, realizing something he had forgotten. Or rather, someone; Hermione. She had sworn to get him out of the Dursleys' presence soon, and what if she showed up at Privet Drive, only to find him gone? It's too late now…I wouldn't have the money to get back anyhow. I guess maybe I should call her when I get to London…if I had her phone number. Damn it all, this is stupid. She'd insist I write Dumbledore and go back, more than likely…unless I told her what that son of a bitch, Vernon, did. Sighing again, he leaned back into the seat, doing the best he could to stretch out his legs that ached something terrible from the walking the day before. Merlin what I wouldn't give for a pain relieving potion right about now…
But his thoughts turned back to Hermione slowly, and he wondered if she'd look any different by the end of the summer, as she normally did. I wonder if she'll have a slight tan again, he thought, she never did say what she'd be doing for her vacation. Yeah…and you never asked did you? Another voice jeered in his head. And it was true, too. Despite his friendship with her and Ron, he hadn't bothered asking if they were doing anything interesting this summer. For that matter, he hadn't sent Hedwig to them with a note to see how they were. Well, its not like they wrote me either, now is it? I mean, normally Hermione's written me half a dozen letters by the time two weeks have past, or it seems like it anyway. As for Ron, well…surely he'd have some Quidditch stuff to talk about or something. Granted Ginny's around the burrow still and she plays the sport too. Then a thought occurred to him. Perhaps they didn't need him anymore. So long as Ron had someone to talk Quidditch with and play with occasionally, he'd be fine. And Hermione…well, she was ever the bookworm, right? So she'd find comfort in the pages of an old friend, while he was left alone again.
And it wasn't as if he could blame either of them. He had put their lives in danger over nothing but a stupid dream he shouldn't have had anyway. Hermione was right, he thought, I do have a saving people thing. Maybe…maybe its time I give it up. I mean, what's the point? All along I've been saving others, but no one's there to save me when I really need it, are they? Well, aside from my mum, but that shouldn't count. I almost wish she hadn't saved me. Not like I did anything to deserve being saved, is it? Besides…if not for me…she and dad and Sirius…they'd be alive…they'd be happy. Uncle Vernon was right, I am trash. I am worthless…
Despite the lighting on the bus, no one noticed the tears starting to fall down the teenage boy's cheeks. They paid no heed to the bony shoulders shaking, or to the way he huddled into the seat. No one asked him if he was alright. No one cares…he thought. No one cares about the skinny little boy with a scar on his forehead.
'No one but me…'a soft voice answered, familiar and soothing.
But in his state of mind, Harry would later be quite sure he dreamed it. After all, Hermione was far enough away to be safe from whatever harm should befall him. So why couldn't he shake the sound of her voice, so close as if she had whispered in his ear?
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Once the bus arrived in London, Harry spent a few of his remaining pounds on a map of the downtown area, and set off for a marked youth hostel, praying that no one there would ask too many questions. His legs, though thankful for their break on the taxi and bus rides, made clear their disagreement with being worked so harshly again after their beating. It didn't matter, not one whit that it had been nearly three days since the beating occurred, as the pain still radiated through them, making Harry wonder if perhaps Vernon had done more damage than he had originally thought. The idea was enough to have him turning towards a Muggle hospital, and then he paused. Other than the truth, it would be hard to explain his injuries, and the fact that they had gone untreated for days now. And even in the Muggle world, Harry knew that there would be questions he was expected to answer…questions that would inevitably lead to his Uncle's return, even if it was by force.
With that in mind, Harry turned back to the direction he needed to go in to reach the youth hostel, paying attention to the places and people around him. The few trips he had made into London always fascinated him, especially his first trip with Hagrid. But in the light of street lamps, Harry found the city looked very different. He thought that he might have passed the entrance to The Leaky Cauldron a few blocks back, but he wasn't quite sure. Thankfully, if in fact it was the entrance for the Wizarding pub, no one had wandered out and found him there. That would have caused uproar to be sure.
After another mile of walking, Harry slid onto a bench outside of a boutique, giving his legs the rest they demanded. His eyes slid casually over those who passed, while he ignored the mildly surprised looks he received from adults. He was perfectly aware that they likely thought him a miscreant or properly pegged him as a runaway, but it didn't matter. So long as they continued on their way, there was no reason to think hard on the matter. The sky around him grew darker, and high above, a clear, full moon shown down. He felt a brief pang as his thoughts fell to Remus Lupin, the last remaining tie he had to his father. With the moon so full, Remus undoubtedly was experiencing his transformation tonight, and Harry wondered if Snape had brewed a potion for him. He likely didn't, unless Dumbledore asked, of course, Harry thought. Snape hates Remus as much as he did Sirius or my dad, despite the fact that Remus had nothing to do with the teasing as far as I know. Granted, it's not like he did a whole lot to stop it either…
"Pale angel, go away
Come again some other day
The devil has my ear today
I'll never hear a word you say
Promised I would find a little solace
And some piece of mind…" (2)
The lyrics drifted from further down the street, coming from the dimly lit front of a local night club. Curious, Harry pushed to his feet again, heading in the direction of the music, entranced by the harsh music that accompanied the words. Something in the acidity of it touched the part of him that was angry and felt so alone. As he got closer, he spotted a couple not much older than he, walking in his direction, and the girl's appearance caused him to do a double take. If not for the fact that he was quite sure that Hermione would have nothing to do with a club like this, he'd have sworn the girl was Hermione. Not to mention that Hermione wouldn't wear clothes like that, he thought, taking notice of the extremely short black leather mini skirt and red satin halter the girl was wearing. Slowly, a grin fought its way onto his lips as he pictured Hermione in something like that. Granted, she would look damn good in it, I'd imagine…
Before his thoughts could continue down that path, a sharp pain had him gasping in shock, and the surprised shriek of a young woman registered in some part of his brain. Slowly, he realized that the guy whom had been walking with the Hermione look-alike had punched him hard in the face, sending him sprawling onto the pavement. Frowning, he looked up at the guy, fully intending to ask him what was going on, when a kick was delivered to his side, effectively knocking the breath out of him. His ribs were still a touch sore from his more recent experience as a punching bag, and this new injury had him wondering at his luck that his ribs hadn't broken yet. He rolled away from the next kick as best as he could, causing the kick to connect with his tailbone rather than his ribs again. He let out a sound of pain, unable to fully summon up the anger that would cause an episode of wandless magic like he had performed many times in his childhood. This guy was simply defending his girlfriend, or so he thought anyway.
Harry tried to force his mouth to work, but the fresh injuries were making it hard to think about anything but the pain. Slowly, he realized the young man had left, and sighed as he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position. Blearily, he looked up, and was surprised to find a man standing over him, his hand extended. The man seemed odd and slightly out of place, with his long hair and scraggly clothing. But there was an odd resemblance to Remus that had Harry accepting the help up, praying that his knees wouldn't buckle on him again. The man helped him over to the bench he had been sitting on, giving a weak smile; Harry motioned for the man to join him, but was surprised to find that he was alone. Odd…Harry thought, glancing around. I know he was real…so how in the hell did he go so fast?
Then another idea hit him…Was he a wizard? I mean, he disappeared so quickly, I suppose he could have disapparated or something. Oh Merlin…if he was…damn it all. I should have known something like this would happen. There's plenty of squibs and muggleborns around who might be in London this time of night, after all.
But rather than stick around and have a mob of wizards after him, Harry ducked into an alley way, and hid behind a dumpster near the brick wall that forced the alley into a dead end. Leaning into the wall, Harry gingerly lifted up his shirt, wincing at the new bruises already starting to blossom over his side. He could still feel the pain in his face where the man had punched him, but thankfully, it was his cheek and jaw that were hit, not his nose. Merlin, that'd be just what I need on top of everything else…a bloody fucking broken nose. Sighing, he pulled at his bag, and dug deep, looking for the last apple he was sure was in here somewhere. Bloody hell, where is it? I know it was in here…Wait…what's that noise?
Frowning, Harry looked around in the darkness, hearing a deep breathing, rather like that of a wild dog that didn't seem too far away. Oh shit…if there's a dog in here…
Before he could finish the thought, a loud footfall echoed down the alley, and Harry's eyes swiveled around, looking frantically for the source. And once he found it, he wished to every god he could think of that he hadn't. For there, not five feet away was a huge werewolf, its neon blue and pitch black eyes glinting as it sized him up, obviously finding him a decent meal. His previous experience with a werewolf had ended in an escape, but that was in the middle of nowhere, not a bustling city. And leaving the alley meant leading the werewolf into crowds of innocent people.
Bloody fucking hell…He reached for his wand, and then started when he realized it was missing from his sock. Shit…shit…double shit!
Slowly, a clawed hand wrapped around his neck, and Harry's eyes darted up, and he immediately stopped scrambling to find his wand. Those eerie eyes were not a foot from his own, and he could smell the wretched breath of the creature.
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The werewolf bent its head further over the boy, giving the closest thing to a smirk as was possible in this form as the smell of fear increased. He had been right when he sensed an easy kill, the boy barely put up a fight. And while normally he liked a little exercise with his meal, tonight he wouldn't bother much with it. It was too long since his last kill, and unlike his vampire brethren he didn't have the leisure of simply ordering up a glass of blood whenever he felt like it. Not to mention, that took the fun out of it.
Opening his jaws wide to fit around the neck and shoulder area of the boy, he pushed his head to the side, then sank his teeth in deep, enjoying the sudden rush of blood down his throat. He was about to close his eyes two minutes or so and a full two pints of blood later when the boy's hair moved over his forehead, revealing a scar there. Frowning, he lifted his head, paying no heed to the fact that the boy was half dead beneath him, and now bleeding onto the alley floor. The scar was a lightning bolt. And as if dowsed with cold water, the werewolf pulled back, realizing what he'd done. Even in the realm of his kind, this boy was well known for his defeat of the same dark lord that was now asking for the aid of every Lycan den in England. Thankfully, the current wolfish form he was in was fixable, and with a thought, the wolf transformed back into the same man who had helped Harry off of the pavement after his fight. Frowning, Lucian wondered what on earth he was supposed to do with the boy.
I can't leave him here, of course. Those damn mortals will find him if I do, and once it makes their news, the wizards will know their savior was killed by a lycan. Faced with a hard choice, Lucian eyed the boy again. It was obvious that without medical attention this Potter boy would have died anyway. But that would matter little to those in his kind's Ministry of Magic, he knew. So, making a decision, he leaned down again and prepared to do the one thing that, unbeknownst to him, would change more than one life forever.
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((Ok, I totally thought of ending it there, but I'm in a good mood from finding a beta {POTTERGIRLAJG}, so here's some more to this chapter!))
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Next afternoon, around 3 PM -
Harry awoke yet again in a place he wasn't sure of. He expected to feel the aches and pains that come from lying on the ground all night to start to creep back into his body, but was astounded to realize that every ache he had been feeling before was gone. Frowning, he sat up and looked around at the area where he was, only to realize he wasn't still in the alley. He wasn't even sure if he was still in London, actually. The room was dark and cool, but as clean as one can get an old underground station. Slowly, he realized that he shouldn't be able to see this well without his glasses, and reached around for them, only to come up empty handed. There was a movement nearby, and he turned towards the sound immediately, only to find the man from the night before walking in. Before he could stop himself, Harry questioned the man.
"Where am I? For that matter, who are you? And what happened to the werewolf?"
The second it was out of his mouth, he realized how stupid the last question sounded, but to his surprise, the man only smirked. "You're in London still, Harry Potter, so don't worry there. As to my identity and what happened to the werewolf, well…those can be answered in the same way. I am Lucian, and this is the home to me and a good many others like you and me."
"What? Like you and me? How on earth am I…?" Harry trailed off as the man's full sentences sunk in, and his eyes widened. "You're…you're the werewolf?"
"Indeed." Lucian's smirk widened as he took in the boy's expression. "This old station is home to nearly a hundred of my kind, making us the largest den of Lycans in England. And as of last night, our number grew by one."
"Last night?" Harry questioned, then slowly raised his hand to his shoulder where the werewolf he now knew as Lucian had sank his teeth in. "You turned me?"
Harry's voice was soft, but he knew now it wouldn't matter. He could smell his own fear at the mere idea, and it reeked horribly.
"Yes, I turned you. You were nearly dead anyhow, and lets just say you're well known amongst my kind as well." Lucian sank into a hard backed chair not too far away and let his brown eyes focus on the young man in front of him. "Your dark lord, Voldemort, has been after my kind for months, wanting us to pledge our allegiance to him in this war of his. And it doesn't sit well with me. We Lycans have a war of our own to fight, and have no use for the spoils he says he'd give us."
"You on the other hand, Mr. Potter, can offer us much more." This last was said with a finality that surprised Harry, and he frowned.
"What on earth can I offer you?"
"Freedom."
"Freedom?"
"Yes, Freedom."
Lucian seemed bored with the whole thing, but there was a light to his eyes that was somewhat feral, exposing a hint of the wolf within. "We Lycans are hunted by wizard and vampire alike for being what we are. Because of it, we dare not walk the streets in daylight, despite the fact that unlike our Vampire cousins we have no aversion to it." He leaned back into the chair, still staring down the boy on the cot. "We were slaves once…the daylight guardians of the vampires. Yet a good many of us bore them no ill will. I, myself, even took a vampire for my bride. And when I sired a child with her, her own father, a powerful vampire elder, had her burned alive by sunlight."
Harry sat up, surprised at this news. "I've never heard anything about that in my History of Magic classes."
"I'm not surprised. Wizards want little to do with Lycans. They feel we're too violent…uncontrollable. And yet they have more trouble controlling each other than they do us."
"Yeah," Harry admitted. "That I know about."
Frowning, Lucian raised an eyebrow. "And just how would a wizard like you, know of the troubles of a werewolf?"
"Remus Lupin…my former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He's a werewolf. A lot of people wanted him fired from Hogwarts when they found out. But he's a really good guy…an old friend of my dad's."
Harry couldn't understand why he was sharing all of this information with the older man, but something about him still reminded him strongly of Remus. And that, perhaps, was a lot of the reason the two talked for nearly an hour more.
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Harry frowned as he watched Lucian and Reyes transform into their lycan forms before his very eyes, despite the fact that a full week had passed since the full moon. Lucian was insisting on teaching Harry everything he knew, saying simply that if Harry was to use his lycan abilities to the fullest, he would be very strong indeed. So for the past week, he had been trained harder than ever in his life. The lack of need for a lot of rest, and his now more nocturnal body schedule was making things very odd indeed.
That, however, was the least of his changes. Since the night of his turning, Harry had grown to a rather massive six foot three, and gained what would have likely been an otherwise impossible amount of muscle on his frame. His hair was slowly lengthening, and was roughly to his chin all the way around. Though compared to the fact that a good many of the other Lycans had hair to their shoulders or a bit further, his wasn't really that long. His new strength and agility still surprised him, and he amused a good many of the older Lycans with his acrobatics and other tests of his ability. As it turned out, he was the first lycan to be sired by Lucian in nearly a century, and the fact that Lucian's power was greater than that of nearly any other werewolf made his changelings start out with more power as well. Of course, Harry found out as well that his being a wizard to begin with didn't hurt.
Harry was very glad that it was another three weeks to full moon, as that meant more time for him to gain more control over his animalistic side. He already was craving a feeding, and Lucian assured him that if all went right, before the next full moon, he would be able to control the transformation as easily as the older werewolves. There was something about having fresh blood in their midst that was awakening the livelihood of these men, and it showed. Many were taking Harry under their wing already, and teaching him the ways to fight and survive as one of their own.
And perhaps it was this that had Harry slowly forgetting his former involvement in the Wizarding world. Day by day, his memories of that part of his life faded as his feeling of belonging strengthened. Within the den, Harry found a niche that felt comfortable, and with Lucian's backing and protection, none would dare add to the emotional scars they all saw in the boy. But as the week lengthened into two and then a third, Harry's body and mind changed even more. The way he carried himself was more straight backed and proud, and his mentality of being worthless changed into a feeling of power and belonging. Yet to the others he was still known as the pup because of his young age.
There was no denying, however, that Harry Potter was fast becoming a young man…and a serious force to be reckoned with.
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A/N: Ok, I'm ending this here. It's after midnight, and my arms are killing me for being on the computer so much today. So look for a new chapter later. I'll be out of town the weekend of June 9-12th. So it may be after that when I update. Sorry!
(1) - "Suicide Note" by Johnette Napplitano