Manticore I hate you More - ScullFather - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: A Deal and a Meal

Chapter Text

A ringing sound sharp as a whistle overwhelmed Harry's hearing.

It split his mind like an ax, cleaving his mind. His thoughts sped as the scene around him seemed to slow. Sounds drawing out like anguished groans. All over, the spell fire entropies into slowly brightening and dulling lights. Like the slow blinks of a broken traffic light. The green cresting the air faded away. Its ghastly color fades like a ghost. The lighting-esk bolt settles into Sirius Black's heart like an arrow. A heavy thunk of magic announcing its hit.

Harry's skin boils, sweat beading to the surface. His eyes widen, but his vision narrows. Harry's focus zeroes in on the face of his Godfather. His eyes don't shine with mirth or determination. No, the man is gone. Before he stumbles, Sirius Black is already dead. His loose limbs fall slack, his wand rolling out of his fingers. When Sirius falls to his knees, the wand touches the rock below their feet. A breath leaves his lips, hoarse and lifeless. A death rattle. His body then rolls to the side, tumbling atop Harry's sneakers. The first thing Harry feels is the warmth. Sirius feels alive, if only for the moment. The chill of death has not yet come.

Harry can only stare downward, knowing. He's seen it before, death. It might as well be his life partner. The glazed eyes, the slack mouth, the uncomfortable way the body lay...

A cackle meets Harry's ears. He knows that, too. Harry knows the voice and its owner. It's the woman who just killed Sirius. Who just took Harry's Godfather from him. Bellatrix. Harry turns to her slow and stiffly, eyes settling on her and nothing else.

She laughs on her perch, shoulders jumping with the sound. Her mouth is ginning a mocking smile, her eyes wild as ever. Harry can tell she doesn't regret her kill for a moment. No, she takes pride in it. Bellatrix is like a hunter who got the prize buck. She's victorious.

Not for the first time, Harry feels rage broil up his throat. It boils behind his eyes as it forces tears into his vision. It churns in his gut and rushes to the back of his tongue with burning weight. Harry bites back the urge to vomit from frustration and sorrow alone. He finally begins to breathe again, hissing in the air between his teeth. It feels cold, filled with the musty air of the cavern they linger inside. Fowl across his tongue, like mold. His lips curl in a snarl as he starts to move. Someone comes to stop him, but he breaks free as his hands meet the ground. Suddenly, Harry is running. His wand tumbled forgotten to the floor.

Bellatrix's smile fades, shock crossing her eyes. Her face drops, skin paling. She turns, scrambling for a set of stairs.

Harry isn't sure how, but he closes the distance with a jump. He's suddenly atop her, digging his nails deep into her skin. His weight hits her hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. The sound that escapes her is hurt and fearful. Heat blooms to Harry's touch, as does Bellatrix's voice. The moment she catches her breath, she screams. She yowls like a wounded animal. She flails, kicking and scratching. Bellatrix even bites at him. The moment her teeth sink into his shoulder, he shares the favor. He bites what he can reach as hard as he can.

It's her throat.

Something cracks and Harry thinks it's her windpipe. Her skin is soft against his tongue. Her flesh tastes salty from her sweat. Something bottomless in Harry's mind is reminded of ham. The sweetness of pork blooms across his tongue.

Harry bites harder. The woman gurgles like a clogged drain.

Heat floods Harry's mouth, along with a taste of copper. It's thick and chunky, accompanied by something frothing and fowl. Part of his mind realizes it's likely vomit. The fowl mixture frothed by the air escaping her lungs. Harry lets her neck go to bite again. He tilts his head for a better angle, and Bellatrix's head rolls limply. Her mouth twitches as her eyes roll up into her skull. Harry sinks his teeth into her throat for a second time, his tongue drawn back to keep the slurry from jumping down his throat. Harry twists as he bites, using all his chest and core to yank Bellatrix's neck from side to side. He earns the sound of cracking bone in his ears. Harry's arms were rooted against a rock to put more power behind his mauling. He moves the hand to her face, pushing away as he tears toward himself with his throat.

His teeth graze bone, but he doesn't stop. No, Harry only moves to another spot. His third bite is the easiest. Some of the slurry slips down his throat. He's so hungry that he swallows it. He hadn't had a proper meal in what felt like years.

First, he'd been starved as usual by the Dursleys. Then, Umbridge had found ways to keep Harry away from the dining area. When he did manage to enter, he was always pulled away or chased off by someone under that woman's thumb. He'd lived off the charitable snacks of others. Then came the night terrors... He hadn't managed to keep anything down. He was starving. Had been starving. Days, weeks... Had it been a month?

Harry locks his teeth into the meat in front of him, and he sucks, siphoning the slurry into his stomach. Harry only stops when he feels satisfied. His tongue lolls to the side as he pants. It's flatter than before, and it keeps catching on his teeth oddly. The cavern echoes with the sound of his panting. His breath catches in his throat each time, his tongue popping off the roof of his mouth. It's an odd hollow sound that sounds too big to be him.

Harry suddenly hears a whisper. He turns to the sound, mouth going still as his breath holds. Harry smells something sour in the air while huffing through his nose. He spots a death eater, backing up until he tumbles over a stone. They fall in front of MadEye, who makes no move to attack. No, he's watching Harry. Harry blinks, turning to look the other way. He sees more people. Death Eater and Order of the Phoenix. All silently watch him, frozen. No, not frozen. Their chests swell and fall with quick breaths, eyes wide, and looks of horror across their faces.

Harry feels the slop of meat and blood slip off his face, and he understands why. At least, Harry thinks he does. He just ate someone's throat. Wandless, with his own teeth. Sucked their life into his gut like a heavy stew.

Harry winces as he blows his breath from his nose. His eyes try to close with the force, but he sees the chunky mess that had clogged his nose splatter out with his breath. It's like shooting snot but so much worse. Death is the only thing he can smell. Blood and something acidic. He sneezes then. A true sneeze. His body jumps with the motion. It's then Harry notices the new weight. He looks down at himself, sniffling as he licks at his lips.

He's gaunt as an Inferi. His ribs are clear to see, as are the bones of his hips. His gut is swollen with bloat, and his legs tremble as he eyes the edges of skeletal musculature. Harry sits as he notices something trailing from his spine... A tail. It's hairy at the base and end but uglyly bare in the middle. But is it hair? As he eyes the strands, he thinks they might be quills. They rattle as Harry moves the new limb. It arches upward skillfully, posing behind his head. Harry ends up batting himself in the face. He confirms that it has quills as the sharp ends jab his face.

Harry jumps with a screech, ripping his new tail away as he grabs the quills stuck in his nose and cheeks.

The second his eyes close, there is a scramble. A mass cracking of apparitions. Left and right, all around, people take the chance to disappear. Some people scream as they go, and others seem to wretch. When Harry pulls out the quills, he meets a smaller crowd with his eyes. His eyes are blurry with tears, and he sniffles at the new stinging pain in his face. He drops the quills as he glances at the people in the room.

Two men remain. Neither looked at the other. Their eyes are only on Harry.

One in silver robes that shimmered with light. A flowing beard the color of freshly burnt ash. It was Dumbledore. He stood with his hands at his front, folded neatly. His head was downcast, solemn. He seemed more regretful than anything. His mouth was in a frown, and his blue eyes were full of sadness.

The other wore black, darker than night. He bore no hair at all, his skin hairless as a snake. It was Voldemort. His hands crawled behind his back, fingers trailing his wand. He had his head tilted up, a wild smile across his face. His teeth bared with a horrible smile. His red eyes were wide and wild.

Fight or flight roared to life inside Harry's mind. Run from Voldemort? Fight with Voldemort? Does he run behind Dumbledore for protection? Before Harry could do a thing:

"I have an offer, Harry Potter," Voldemort spoke, his body turning to look wholly at Harry. He smiled broader, the grin seeming to cut his head in two. "A life for a life."

"There is something you must know now, Harry," Dumbledore called, slightly bowing his head. His frown deepened, his eyes sagging with his lips. "Something of the prophecy's foretelling. From the orb that now lays broken."

Harry can only blink, stumbling atop the body of the woman he'd eaten.

"Come, Harry," Voldemort nearly sings. His tone was sweet and gentle despite the fangs it whispered past. He beckons Harry with an eager nod and a pale hand.

"Here, my boy," Dumbledore drones. His voice is tense as stone. Harsh despite the soft look of the hair that it escapes from behind. He holds out a palm, fingers rosy from the cold.

Harry's legs are weak. They tremble under him as he tries to stand. His face feels heavier than usual. It's like he'd grown a second head. Harry can only move forward with the help of his hands. His palms scrape across the stone as he looks between the two men. Harry's terrified of Voldemort's softness. He's scared of Dumbledore's sudden sadness. Voldemort was meant to be sharp and hateful. Dumbledore was supposed to be soft and joyful. Why were they acting so wrong? Why were they sharing the same air without a fight?

"Your Godfather is freshly dead. He may still yet be saved, thanks to our location..." Voldemort motions to the two obelisks in the center of the cavern. He points his sharp nails to the swirling shrowd between them. "He might not have drank from the forgetting waters, and only the immortal can venture inside without perishing..."

"The prophecy said the Dark Lord and the Chosen One could only die at the hand of the other, no other way." Dumbledore dryly reveals. Harry feels the man was hoping to let Harry learn it on his own. "As long as Voldemort lives, so will you."

Harry tries to speak. The only sound that exits him is a wet cough. His throat feels wrong, broken. His tongue scratches his mouth, and his teeth poke his lips.

"As long as you live, Voldemort is immortal," Dumbledore confirms. The man turns his gaze to the orb Lucius dropped. The mist of the prophecy had long since dispersed. Only shards of glass remain.

"The immortal can venture past the veil. Only the immortal can take people back from the other side... Given they haven't yet forgotten life..." Voldemort casts his eyes downward, looking across the limp body of Sirius Black.

"Sirius..." Harry whimpers. The name comes naturally to his broken throat.

"I'll retrieve him if you offer your life to me." Voldemort turns to him with another smile.

"Unless you kill each other yourselves, you both will remain immortal." Dumbledore suddenly pressed. His eyes turn to Voldemort, his frown turning to a scowl. "And I know you won't pass such an opportunity..."

"Never." Voldemort smiles at the headmaster.

Harry only looks at the limp body of Sirius. He doesn't even have to think about it. "It's yours... Whatever you want," Harry meets Voldemort's gaze. "It's yours."

Voldemort practically beams. He doesn't wait for a moment. He steps into the silver shrowd without hesitation. Voldemort is gone in an instant- as if he was never there at all.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner..." Dumbledore begins.

Harry turns to him, blinking at the man as he lies tiredly across the bloody rock below. His legs splay behind him. Limp, sore, and weak. His breath is slow, labored. He pants like a dog, burning hot despite the cold rock at his underbelly. He tries to talk, but Dumbledore stops him. He needs only to shake his head. It's a slow move, like a disappointed father.

"I thought I was doing good by you, unlike how I failed Tom..." Dumbledore sets his gaze on Sirius, a long sigh escaping his chest. "Now I see I failed you in an entirely new way. I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry wants to tell him it's okay. Wants to say he forgives him. But he's getting tired. His eyes feel heavy as his face lies atop his hands. His fingers feel wrong, thinner. His nails feel sharp on his swelling skin. Was there poison in those quills? Harry's blinked one at a time, mind feeling fuzzy. His eyes fight to stay open as his head starts to spin.

Dumbledore seems to notice, looking at Harry sadly. "It seems you're in no state to speak... We will talk again, Harry. I'll make sure of it."

Harry's mind drifts downward like a sinking stone. He feels like he's falling into a silk void. Harry barely notices the hands that dig into his shoulders.

For one moment, he hears Sirius. He's begging Harry, saying he isn't worth Harry's life. He feels what can only be tears fall into his hair as Sirius starts to sob. Harry is too tired to even open his eyes.

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Harry's mind felt full of sand. A grainy texture that trickled around as if carried by waves. Back and forth, up and down, spiraling and churning. Behind the lids of his closed eyes, he saw a dark expanse like the city at the bottom of Hogwart's Black Lake. The image of towering lengths of kelp reaching upward like wet hair hangs.

In an instant, fear steps into his mind. He looks about, trying to spot his friends. Where were they chained up? Harry had to finish his Tri-Wizard task before they got hurt!

Harry's mind shifted, vertigo flipping him over. Suddenly, Harry was looking up at hanging tendrils. He tried to blink but found himself unable. His eyes stared upward as he felt himself dragged downward. Or was it up? Nothing felt right. Nowhere calling for him to set his feet. The darkness trailing around him turned into a spiral, twisting in the middle like rat tails. A tangle Harry stared down at as he was pulled higher and higher. His arms hung at his ears, hands grasping in the direction of that knot. His chest felt tight, squeezed. It was like he was swimming, struggling for breath.

He tried to whine, the sound leaving his mouth in a silver bubble. The shimmering shape warped and bubbled, turning into an animal. It thrashed in the water, seeming to scream as it drowned. Harry dimly recognized the shape of a lion before the bubble broke. It popped at his nose with a guttural cry.

--__--

Harry woke up in a shot. His eyes tore open wide as that roar echoed in his ears.

Tears blurred his eyes as he blinked at the mess of colors around him. He sniffled his nose, wincing as his mouth drooped open. His mouth was full of splitting pain. Harry tried to blink away the tears. He licked at his sore gums. His body trembled as he pushed up with his arms and legs splaying out under him. His limbs and skull pulled him down like a rope tying down a tent. He managed to plant his plant his palms across a soft surface. It bent to his touch, pillowing as he pushed his body into a sitting position. He turned his hips, legs jutting out by his elbows as his arse sunk into the surface.

Harry pushed a sound from his lungs, earning a droning growl in his ears.
He took a shaking hand to his face, pushing away the wetness in his eyes with his wrist. His skin brushed over thick bandages. As he wiped, Harry caught the scent of salt. Without a thought, Harry began to lick the tears from his arm. His tongue scraped his flesh like a million sharp nails. It made a sound like sandpaper as his skin was roughly pulled clean.

Harry blinked open his eyes as he kept licking, mouth trailing up his arm and over what of his shoulder he could reach. He could see the edge of the bandages on his cheeks and nose.

Harry's eyes discovered that he was inside a room.

There were towering windows, gothic in design. Heavy drapes of velvet texture and midnight green were tied open at the sides. A quick scan with his eyes showed that was a favorite color of whoever made the place. The shade was nearly everywhere.

The windows let in the sunlight, warm and golden. The glass was dusty at the edges, filtering the light in a way that softened its touch. Harry traced the light, finding the light of a fire first. It burns softly, just enough to warm the air. A thin carpet covered the floor about a foot back from the fireplace. Its colors are far warmer than the dark greens and earthy browns the rest of the room is filled with. Even the wooden furniture was dark. The wood was stained a glossy, near black, ebony. Or was it ebony? Harry couldn't be sure. Harry's focus turned to a black leather chair. Its elaborate silhouette was oddly tempting.

Harry blinked.

The black leather was spotless, the form plump. The flight of the fire warmed the thing's aura with an orange hue. Atop the seat cushion was a single red pillow. Harry's body ached for that comfort.

With a grunt, Harry moved to stand. Only his legs failed him. He grunted again, holding himself as he tried to right his legs. They were two short in places and two long in others. Harry looked down, expecting to see them shrunken or broken by magic. Harry hadn't been expecting what he saw. First, he noticed his feet. Or, more like hands. Harry sat on his arse again, feet splaying. Finger-like toes stretched out, sparse black fur the same ebony color as the furniture shiny in the firelight. Harry tried to wiggle his toes. His eyes widened as the paws obeyed the command. Those were his feet... Harry traced the paws, noticing his ankle was different. It was like a monkey's foot! His knee followed the formula. All the way up to the base of his belly belonged to some ape. It wouldn't be so weird if it wasn't for the fact the ape clearly wasn't human. It was close but just wrong enough to make Harry confused. The fur got longer at the back of his legs, like the fringe on the end of a scarf.

He spotted a tail. Harry remembered the cavern... His meal... The deal...

Harry tried to stand again, this time slower. He took the time to learn how his legs worked, soon finding a way to use them. He planted the hand-like paws flat on the floor. His ankle resting on the floor like a typical foot. Harry took a step. His gut curled while his hands pressed on the floor. His head hung between his arms, chin pressed to his bare chest as he watched his legs. He arched his back, his tail curling over his body. The long quills at the tip tickled his neck. Harry shook it off with a grunt, pulling his head from his chest. He shuddered from the tickling sensation, focusing forward. His tail went straight up as he locked in on the leather chair.

Harry was getting on that chair. He was going to sit on it and enjoy it.

Harry strained his legs, pulling himself upward. He stumbled, arms jutting forward as he tried to stand correctly. His body fought him, begging him to return to all fours. But, Harry was nothing if not suborn. Harry refused to act like an animal. Harry chooses to try and walk like a human. He wobbled, tail twapping the floor as his hands stretched over his head. He snapped one paw forward, body twisting with the move. Then, the other paw. He was uneven and wobbling, but he was walking. Soon, his arms hung oddly at his sides as he hobbled along. Harry took it one step at a time, back screaming in searing pain. His skin crawled, and his teeth ground as he tried to ignore the aching in his spine. He hissed between his lips and dropped his hands to the chair's arm. His legs seemed to break. Dull pain screams inside his flesh. The limbs fell to his sides, limp. They sent him crashing down on his ass. He yowled as he landed, eyes breaking out in tears as his brain flashed with splitting pain.

Harry's head fell between his hands as he began to shudder his breaths. He heaved in the air, swallowing around a sour taste on his tongue. His eyes squeezed shut as he trembled where he sat. The rug rubbed at his hairy skin, coarse and unforgiving. He whimpered, pulling his head from his chest. He opened his eyes and-

Harry's gut fell to the floor, and his heart jumped into his throat. His breath failed as his eyes broke open. Fear raced across his skin with a cold jolt, summoning goosebumps. The sparse hair-like fur on his body stood on end. Harry noted he had some quills on his below as he puffed up. The quills stood on end like his hair, ready to jab. Harry felt like a pufferfish!

Voldemort stared down at him, suddenly lounging in the chair. His pale flesh showed dark veins and smooth scales. His red eyes were wide as saucers, starring Harry in the soul. The thin line of his pupil narrowed as Harry looked behind them. Harry saw that twisting void of tangled tails and dancing waves. Had that been Voldemort's? How could Harry see it now? Harry sagged where he sat, suddenly sinking back into those dark waters. It swallowed his body in a crushing depth, cold and choking.
And then Voldemort blinked.

Just like that, Harry was back. He looked into the man's eyes but saw only red and black.

"I must say, not many can manage to move after such a transformation, let alone rebel against their anatomy as you have." Voldemort's cold voice slithers from his lips and into Harry's ears.

Harry wants to pull it out of his head. He settles for rubbing his ears with his hands. It doesn't fix the odd sensation in his mind. But it does calm the slithering feeling. Voldemort calmly waits, watching Harry with apparent curiousness. When Harry stops itching at his still-human ears, Voldemort continues.

"Are you hungry? I imagine you are... After all that effort." Voldemort looks past Harry. To where Harry had come from.

Harry turns to look, spotting a loose blanket on the ground. A bowl is suddenly there, something maroon prodding over the rim. The sight makes his hair and quills settle flat on his skin again. Harry knows for a fact that the bowl wasn't there before. He turns to Voldemort with wide eyes. His gut rolls with a bubbling sound, encouraging his hunger.

Voldemort doesn't comment on it. Instead, he sits back. He steeples his clawed hands across his lap, red eyes keen on Harry. Neither of them moves for a moment. Soon enough, Harry's gut chews at his rips. Harry looks away from the man and back to the bowl.

It's a metal dog bowl. Silver and shiny. The kind made with sloping edges to avoid spilling. Harry isn't sure if it's an insult or a thoughtful message. Harry looks away from its shiny surface and at the stuff inside. It's a slurry of reds, clumpy like stew. Harry sniffs the air, catching the scent of blood. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. It grazes over sharp points as he licks.

Harry takes his hands off the chair, landing them harshly on the floor. Palms flat on the floor. His fingernails scrape the thin carpet as he rolls his hips, feet coming below him. His new tail trails behind him, flagging upward at the idea of food. He ignores the odd urge to flick the limb as he hurries across the floor. He bounds on all fours like an eager dog, landing before the bowl, face-planting into the slurry. Some splatters to the floor, some into his hair. Harry is already slurping it up as his body slaps into the floor. His arms and legs play out as his tail stands tall. The slurry is still hot, almost burning. Harry tastes all sorts of meat inside as his eyes squeeze shut to avoid the slurry from entering them. He has no name for the flavors, and he hasn't the mind to care. Harry's gut churns like a cauldron as he swallows sloppy mouthfuls of gore down his throat. In minutes, Harry is licking the bowl clean. The smooth metal welcomes to his tongue as he laps at the surface. A rattling in his chest begins. It booms as he chases the last drops into his mouth.

"Better?" Voldemort's voice sings from the chair.

Harry nods into his bowl, eyes locking onto a warped image. His mouth hangs open, and he sticks his tongue out. Harry seizes the bowl in his hands. He tilts it upward for a better reflection. A beast looks at him, eyes green as fresh sprouts. Its eyes are wide and round, its nose perfectly human. Its tongue is bristled like a cat. The beast bears three rows of teeth like a shark. The beast's hair is wild, like a lion's mane, spotted with gore. The tan skin of its face was stained with the same red. Above its eyes and between its brows is a mark. A sharp and old scar in the shape of a bolt. The mark splits its forehead in two as it trails partly down its nose.

It's him.

Harry blinks, and the beast blinks back.

Harry closes his mouth, and the beast hides its teeth.

Harry twists the bowl around, sitting up on his paws. He holds the bowl back, using it to see all of himself. He glimpses Voldemort in the chair, red eyes watching calmly. Harry turns to his form again, eyeing his emaciated body and swollen belly. He looks like a starving animal, gut blown up with worms. Finally, Harry sets down the bowl. He does so gently, as if afraid it'll break. It's silver shape solid in his hands as he lays it on the floor.
Harry sets his hands on his hairy knees, blinking at the bowl.

With his hunger lightened, Harry realized what he'd done.

He's sold his soul to the devil.

Even worse, He's become a monster.

What was he to be now? A slave? A toy? A pet?

Harry turned his head, looking over his shoulder to Voldemort. He's still waiting. He's sat in that chair, calm with keen eyes. The red sinks into Harry's skin like a fancy oil. A saturated feeling of knowing. While Harry's wondering, Voldemort knows.

Harry sits, thinking. Voldemort wants him alive. With Harry alive, Voldemort is immortal, and vice versa. If either of them were to die, it would have to be by the hand of the other. Voldemort wanted lasting immortality. He had no reason to kill Harry, not anymore. Not only that, Voldemort had no reason to attack Harry's friends and family. Not to get to Harry, not anymore. Voldemort would be setting his killing spells elsewhere.

Somehow, that was enough.

Harry felt okay.

Maybe it was denial.

Perhaps it had something to do with the beast in his reflection.

But Harry felt okay.

If everyone was safe, Harry was okay.

Chapter 2: Adjusting and a Room

Chapter Text

Harry's time with Voldemort was quiet.

The man seemed set on observing him for the day. Was he letting Harry settle in? Was he observing his anatomy? His behavior? Harry wasn't sure. Red eyes lingered on him constantly, and Harry found he didn't mind. There was no hate or plotting in the gaze. Sometimes, Harry would even sit and stare back. Voldemort would do nothing but watch him. Those red eyes locked with his.

But, whenever Harry's gut growled? Suddenly, the silver bowl would be full-bodied again. When Harry kept licking his lips? Another bowl, this one of water, would appear. Harry could set his lips on the surface and slurp forever, the water level never lowering. It was constantly cold and crisp. A perfect counter to the hot slop in the other bowl. When Harry began to itch his skin- a brush appeared over his back. It would itch his flesh for him, horsehair bristles combing across his body. If Harry got tired? The blanket on the floor would fold into a neat pile, perfect for his body.

Voldemort was somehow guessing his needs like an expert. Not only that, he was providing the solutions to Harry's discomforts. Harry wondered how long it would last. Certainly, Voldemort didn't plan to sit in this room with Harry forever. He had an army of Death Eaters to control and the Wizarding world to try and control. They had to leave this room eventually! But when? The answer came as the sun began to set outside. The retreating light signified something to Voldemort. The solution to Harry's wonderings comes from Voldemort's mouth.

"Are you settled?" Voldemort hissed into the air. It was a harsh sound strangely empty of wrath.

Harry perked from where he lay. He lounged on the folded blanket, testing his teeth across the empty meat bowl. Harry blinked, surprised by the suddenness of the question. He pulled the bowl from his mouth, licking spittle from his face. 'I think so,' Harry tried to say. His throat refused the words, only grumbling.

Still, Voldemort seemed to understand. He nodded with a pleasant smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Good, I expect you won't go flailing about like a wild beast?"

Was that what this was? Was Voldemort seeing if he was 'wild?' Harry guesses he could see the logic there. He probably wanted to make sure Harry wouldn't try to eat another of his Death Eaters.

Harry shook his head, eyes locked with Voldemort's.

Voldemort nodded again. He stood, a smooth motion that resembled smoke more than a man. His hands parted only to fold behind his back. He held his head high and stuck out his chest. "Come along then. It's time we set you into a proper room."

Right, this was a living room of sorts. Not a bedroom. Seriously though, what kind of room has only one chair? Harry moved to stand, only for his back to scream at him. He hissed, falling onto his hands. Voldemort's eyes bore into his skin as Harry shuddered. He puffed, doing his best to shake off the pain. When he raised his head, Voldemort was at a newly appeared door. Had that always been there? Harry didn't remember seeing it... Maybe it had been hidden to avoid him making a run for it. Why would he, though? A promise was a promise. If Harry broke his end of the bargain... Voldemort might kill Sirius. Harry couldn't let that happen.

"I'm sure you won't mind a servant's quarters?" Voldemort suddenly asked. He opened the door without so much as a wave of his hand.

Harry shrugged. 'I've probably lived in worse.' He tried to say. Words failed him, but Voldemort understood anyway.

"Yes. It'll be far larger than that cupboard of yours..." Voldemort droned as Harry approached. Keen red lingered across his form like a silk cloth. "The servants of this manor were rather... Privileged."

'Manor?' Harry looked to Voldemort with a mawing grumble.

Voldemort began to walk, or was he floating? He certainly wasn't bouncing with his steps. The whispy tail of his robes made Voldemort resemble a haunting spirit. Either way, he began to lead Harry from the room. Harry followed with difficulty, sometimes hurrying in front of the man. Voldemort never changed pace, a speed Harry realized was for his sake. Harry eventually found a gait that worked with his arms and legs. An odd hobbling that had to look foolish... but it worked. Voldemort never commented on Harry's movement. Instead, he answered Harry's questioning sound.

"Yes, we are at the Malfoy's Manor." Voldemort drones, eyes drifting to the walls.

Paintings of varying sorts littered what was apparently a gallery. Man, it really must be a manor. Harry could never imagine a house having a hall entirely for paintings. Though, it wasn't JUST paintings. Harry noted that as they passed a curious cabinet. The glass shelves were littered with trinkets. The Malfoy's certainly liked their things... Harry looked up to Voldemort again. The man looked at him, keenly waiting. This time, Harry REALLY tried to speak. He worked his tongue and jaws around, throat taught as he fought to speak.

"Drrrr raww-" Harry's jaw stretched wide enough that his eyes fluttered with pain.

"Draco? The heir?" Voldemort finished for him with a raised brow.
Harry nodded with a puff from his nose.

"What of him?" Voldemort hummed. "I don't recall you two being particularly close."

"Fawwghtt Leeast tim." Harry tried with a wince.

"Fought? Ah, do you worry for his health?" Voldemort assumed with a smile. His voice hissing between sharp fangs.

Harry shuddered, shaking his head.

Voldemort only smiled wider. "You worry he might take revenge, given your weakened state."

Harry nodded, eyes moving to the floor. He eyed the elaborate carpet patterns as Voldemort chuckled.

"I assure you, that will be of no issue... His father has told him what happened by the veil to death." Voldemort informed him with an air of humor. He sighed fondly, apparently finding the Malfoy's terror enjoyable. "The boy is about, but I'd imagine he'll flee before ever raising a wand to you."

Harry let out a humming sound, encouraged. What an odd thing, Voldemort being encouraging.

"Just try not to corner him. Even the sound-minded can do foolish things when feeling trapped," Voldemort spoke into the hall.

Harry let out a knowing grunt, eyes widening at related memories. He nodded mainly to himself. But his reaction did produce another chuckle from Voldemort.

"You'll find a place here in due time, Harry... Just as I have." Voldemort spoke into the empty hall. "The Malfoy family is deceptively adaptive."
Harry wasn't sure what that meant. However... Harry would preferably be confused than Sirius dead.

-
-
-

It feels like they cross a soccer field before they stop. Maybe it just feels like that from so low. Harry's arms and legs are sore from walking, and his back is filled with pain. Even on all fours, he's not used to walking. Harry worries about how long it'll take him to adjust properly... His thoughts are interrupted by the Dark Lord.

Voldemort opens a door with a silent spell. It's a typical door, nothing like the grand doors to a ballroom they had passed earlier. It bears no ornate carving or fancy handles. It looks like a standard bedroom door. It pulls open with a squeak, exposing a dark space. Harry blinks at the dark, his eyes adjusting quickly. Inside, he can see a bed tucked between the walls. The headboard touches the left wall, and the footboard touches the right wall. It made the room feel small and crowded. However, it's a rather long bed. Harry is sure Voldemort himself could comfortably lay across it. It's also a bunk, the top bunk missing a mattress. The spot seemed to have been left open for a servant's storage. It's a scarily high up from Harry's point of view. Harry looks down, spotting an old fur rug. It's nothing more than a wild canine of some sort. It looks like a wolf but is too small. It's also too wildish to be a dog. The fur is ugly and missing patches. The wood floor under it is cracked and ugly. But... It is, in fact, better than many rooms he'd had.

Harry looks up as Voldemort waves his hand. His skeletal fingers resemble a tree branch more than a man's anatomy. A static feeling fills the air as Voldemort's magic flares into activity. Harry scrunches his nose as the sensation tickles at his face and scalp. A flash of color distracts him from the static. He turns, tilting his chin upward. His eyes catch the sight of a blooming sky. The colors bloom outward like a flower, the sky washing across the entire ceiling. The galaxy atop the ceiling breaks out into starlight. The sight makes Harry gasp, and his eyes widen. Is it the same charm from Hogwarts grand hall?

Harry turns to Voldemort with wide eyes.

Voldemort smiles smugly, a single short nod moving his head. The motion confirmed Harry's obvious question. Voldemort resembles a snake swallowing down the last bit of a meal.

Harry beams and steps into the room, looking at the fake sky. His neck strains as he stares upward. With it there, the room feels grander than it really is. It feels wild, too. Like Harry is outside on a summer afternoon. Midnight blue dotted with sparkling stars, swashed with clouds soft as soap foam. But, it is also familiar. It reminds Harry of pleasant memories among friends. Harry sighs fondly, thinking of Hermione pouting as fake snow litters her textbooks.

Harry's mind is torn from the memory by a sound. "Kcreaak!" The angry sound spooks Harry. It's Like the whomping willow winding for a punch.

Harry ducks to the floor on instinct, expecting a whipping branch. He turns to the sound, locking his eyes on the left wall. However, a branch doesn't crack against his skin. Instead, a wood crawls up the wall. It's cracking the plaster as it goes, making the sound. From its length, planks poked into the room. It takes Harry a second to realize they are stairs up to the second bunk. Harry dares to set his hands on a step, using it to pull himself into a stand. It's firm under his weight, even as he hops on his toes to test it. It doesn't even creak! One hand staying on the step, Harry turns to Voldemort.

He's haunting as ever. His dark shape fills the door, casting a cold shadow into the timid room. He's ducking his head down to look inside with his red eyes. The color pierces Harry like a spear. The thin cut of his pupils is caught in Harry's eyes. He's quiet, silent even. Harry wasn't sure he was even breathing.

Despite it all, Harry tries to say: "Thank you." It comes out as a gurgling grunt. Even so, Voldemort closes his eyes with a nod.

"Sleep," Voldemort starts to speak as he opens his eyes again. Voldemort tilts his head to the side like an owl as he talks. "You have to meet the Malfoys tomorrow... I expect it to be tiring."

Harry grunts a note of understanding. He turns to the bed, then to the wolf pelt. The bed looked rather bare... Harry drops his hands to the floor, kneading them into the fur. He shuffles his feet off the pelt before he starts forward. Harry crawls onto the bed with the pelt in his hands. It's a very awkward movement. He's more or less hopping along. Once his nose bumps into the bed, Harry gets to settling in. He lays the pelt out the best he can, then lays atop it. It's scratchy, but the dirty clothes Harry wore protect his skin. Harry looks to Voldemort one last time as he gets comfortable.

"Sleep well, Potter." Voldemort hisses into the air. He doesn't give Harry a chance to respond this time around. The door slips shut with a creak, then a locking click. The only light is the fake moonlight above Harry's bed.

Harry lies his head on his hands, blinking at the door.

He reminds himself this is for the best. It's easy to say when he realizes Voldemort could have shoved him in the cellar. Voldemort could chain him to a wall, but he's not. Despite everything, Voldemort was making him comfortable. Then again, maybe Voldemort was merely tending to the slip of his soul in Harry.

Harry shakes his head at the thoughts, trying to calm down. He needs sleep! Voldemort thought so, too.

Harry hopes he'll have a regular dream this time. Maybe of a flower field or memories turned weird and wacky. Harry closes his eyes, thinking of a dream Ron told him about. Something about having slugs for toes that meowed like kittens.

--__--

Harry was back in the inky void again. He floated calmly this time, recognizing his odd surroundings. This time around, the not-kelp was under him. It moved gently, ghosting at his rump. Harry curled his legs to his chest, peeking over his shoulder. He looked between the inky tendrils, spotting darkness.

Was this Voldemort's dream?

Harry wondered what it meant. Did it mean anything? Was it just Voldemort's calm state?

Harry glanced around. He guessed it was somewhat serene. Now that he wasn't panicking, it was rather pleasant. The water, was it water? Hugged Harry gently like a blanket fresh from the laundry line. The kelp stuff tickled his skin with gentle affection. He wasn't sinking or floating. He was perfectly buoyant at the kelp tips.

A dull sound of movement caught his attention.

Harry turned, spotting a murky shape in the distance. It was at the kelp tips like him. Its blurry shape slowly cleared as it drew closer. Harry soon found himself looking at the familiar face of the basilisk. The spark of fear in his throat had him sinking.

Just like before, Harry suddenly was turned upside down. He was ripped upward by his feet as the kelp tangled before his eyes. Harry saw the shadow of the basilisk swimming past as he vomited a bubble of air.

Again, it popped at his nose with a roar. The sound was loud enough to wake the dead.

__--__

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Harry wakes to himself yawning.

Harry's jaw is open wide with a stiff stretch that twitches his nose and brow. The pull satisfies while waking his form. Harry's eyes water as he blinks them open. The teary blur he opens his gaze to quickly melt away. Harry shuts his mouth with a groan, licking at the backs of his dry teeth. He pushes his palms forward against the fur and blankets of his bed. His limbs shudder as Harry extends them enough to produce a bite of soreness in the musculature. He hears the quills at the base of his back rattle as he arches his spine. The sound is not unlike a rattlesnake. Along Harry's body, a few joints pop and crack while Harry looks at the bedroom door.

He expects someone to be there, having woken him. His expectations don't match reality, however. The door is shut without a sign of life. Not Voldemort or house elf stands there. Harry must have woken up on his own. When was the last time he did that? Usually, he was woken up by a schoolmate or Petunia. How long had he slept? Harry wishes the bedroom had a window or clock. He can't tell if it's day or night. He wouldn't put it past himself to sleep an entire day away...

Harry was sure leaving the bedroom on his own would be stupid. It might even be against the rules. Harry feels himself smirk a little. Look at him, following rules. Then again, the worst punishment he'd get at Hogwarts was detention... Here? Harry had no idea how far Voldemort would go. Harry puffs a sorry laugh as he lays lax on the bed. He'll have to wait and see. Maybe Voldemort will get him before sleep does.

'So... What do I do now?' Harry thinks to himself. His mind's voice just about startles him. He bites his lips carefully with self-pity. 'Scared of your own mind... What a savior.' He mocks himself.

Harry glances up at the spell Voldemort had cast. Harry doesn't trust it as a clock. The moon hadn't moved an inch from last night. Unless Harry somehow managed to wake up at the same time he fell asleep last night... That illusion isn't matched to time.

It doesn't give him an idea for an activity, either. Harry turns his eyes to the stairs Voldemort made for him. He could check the top bunk for anything. That's at least SOMETHING. And who knows? Maybe the last servant of Malfoy's manner left something curious up there. That possibility offers a spark of excitement for him. Harry feels eager as he makes his move. Harry slips from the bed and to the floor, walking on the palms of his hands and feet. He's a touch unsteady, but he manages. His pace is far more constant as he approaches the base of the stairs. Harry turns around to face the ledges, seeing they are no wider than himself.

Does he risk a fall? Before now, Harry would have run up the steps like nothing, but now is Harry's different. The chance only adds to the excitement flickering in his mind. Harry was always a sucker for danger.

Harry stares at the steps for a solid pause. He's tried to plan his movements before he takes them. Snape might be impressed by that... He was always telling Harry to think before he acted. Harry tries to climb the stairs one at a time, but they are too small for his feet and hands to share the level. He backs up with a huff, then tries another approach. Harry sets his hands on the second step up, then walks his feet onto the first step. His whole body is at an odd slant like he's scaling a hill. Then, Harry moves his hands up a stair before doing the same with his feet. It's slow and monotonous, But Harry beams with pride. He holds his head high as he comfortably can with a pleased smirk. He spots his new tail swaying up high with his pride. The quills at the end brush at the ceiling as Harry prances into the top buck's empty platform.

Harry lays down right away, looking over the edge. He's slightly winded from his climb. The floor seems far enough of a fall to hurt. Somehow, that makes Harry all the prouder. Harry feels like he just climbed a cliff, not a set of stairs. A grand achievement and not a simple task.

Harry's slowly figuring out his new body... Quite literally, one step at a time.

'Would Sirius be proud of me?' Harry blinks as his mind thinks the phrase. Instantly, his triumphant mood sours. Harry's tail falls to the platform with a smack as he sighs.

'At least he's alive,' Harry reminds himself. Not only that, Harry's friends should be out of Voldemort's crosshairs. 'They'll be okay without me...' Harry says in his mind.

Harry sighs a deep sound as he sets his head at the edge of the bunk. Lonely weight settles around his chest. A pressure like lead in his heart. Has Dumbledore told them what happened? Or is it a secret? Dumbledore promised he'd talk to Harry soon. Maybe he'll let someone else chat with Harry too? Harry blinked as his mind drifted.

'I could ask Voldemort.' Harry realizes. The scary man is... Daunting. But Voldemort has been fulfilling Harry's needs. Certainly, socializing was a need! Harry lifts his head as the lead dread in his chest turns to hopeful flutters. He might not be the best at speaking, but even seeing his friends and family surely would help his sour mood!

Harry stands, tail dragging along the ceiling as he hobbles back to the stairs. 'Maybe he has a mirror I could use? Or a Floo!' Harry chirps in his mind.

"Muuuahhh!" Harry voices as he hurries down the stairs. He bounces as he goes, but he makes the trek safely. Harry hurries to the door next, jumping up on his legs. He sets his hands on the door, giving the knob a try.

To his surprise, the door opens with a "Shunt!" sound. His weight pushes it forward, swinging open so fast Harry as to run on his feet to keep up. He flinches as the door meets the end of its range with a jerking "Thunk!" Harry jumps away from the door, looking back to avoid it hitting him in the rear. It sways, shuddering before stilling. Harry glances at the hall before kicking the door shut with a foot. It "Click!"s closed with ease.

Harry looks down the hall from where Voldemort had led him the night before. The path was quiet, the painting on the wall still as stone. Would the Voldemort be in that private room again? Harry didn't think he would.

'He's probably in some kind of office doing important leader things.' Harry figured. 'But where would that be?' Harry wondered more. 'Maybe by the front hall?'

Harry turned away from the gallery hall, starting to paw down the carpeted path. He looked about as he traveled through Malfoy's manor. The fancy woodwork kept his eyes, and the ornate wallpaper earned his focus. There were just so many little details to see! Now and then, a painted bird would flutter behind the detailed art of blooming flowers. How much did that cost? Or did the family enchant the wallpaper? They must have been a powerful magic user...

Harry slowed to a stop as his mind noticed something. A quiet prodding in his mind called for his attention. Harry pulled his eyes off the walls as his ears caught a sound. The faint sound of voices filtered through the air like smoke. Harry perked at the audio, trying to recognize the tones. He began to walk their way as he considered the voices mingling in the air.

"-he's bound to wake soon-" A voice barely audible to Harry spoke. Was it talking about him? Harry strained to remember the notes of that tone. A man? It sounded deep but far from rough. Was that Lucius Malfoy? It wasn't nosey enough to be the man's son.

"-ake care of him, don't-" Another voice spoke in response. Its cold depth was certainly Voldemort. Harry shuddered as he recalled Voldemort's shared dream. Cold water, smooth but stabbing with icy pain... Yes, that had to be Voldemort.

Harry picked up his pace, hurrying to the source. The suddenly quiet voices fell silent while Harry's hands and feet thumped across the thick hall carpet. He knew they heard his approach as he found himself at a large door.

"Mellow?" Harry called to the dark wood. Its silver door knob was a bit high for his liking. He was about to jump to open it when it started to turn. He eagerly hurries forward as the thick wood opens to let him in.

"Well rested, I trust?" Voldemort's cold voice soaked the air like a heavy mist.

"Myeah." Harry said as he set his eyes on the man.

Voldemort was a sight to see. A towering gothic window at his back let in stark sunlight. Thin curtains were tied at each side of the window, framing the looming shadow that was Voldemort. His pale face rested its chin atop the interlaced claws Voldemort called hands. The man's elbows rested on a near-midnight black desk littered with papers. A feather scarlet as blood poked from behind a stack perched inside an ink pot. Voldemort's eyes narrowed as Harry met his gaze. The blood-colored sight bore into Harry's mind. A faint scratching bothered the back of Harry's eyes... Legilimency?

Voldemort's lipless mouth pulled into a smile. A knowing glint in his eyes. "Well, why don't you greet your host?" The haunting figure motioned with a hand to Harry's right. Harry followed the move with his eyes, catching sight of Lucius Malfoy. "He's terribly curious..." Voldemort chuckled coldly.

Harry owlishly blinked as he met the eyes of Lucius Malfoy. Surprisingly, he didn't seem afraid. His eyes were wide but attentive, tracing Harry's shape for details. Harry felt his skin bristle, the feeling of exposure crawling up his spine. The sensation matched the rattling of his quills. This earned a shaky smile from Lucius.

"My, you certainly are a sight to see..." Lucius Malfoy smiled with one side of his face. Harry narrowed his eyes, unnerved by the odd smirk. Malfoy moved one hand behind his back as the other pressed across his chest. The white glove hugging his hand stretched with the press. The man bowed his back, locking eyes with Harry with a widening smile. "Welcome to my home, Harry Potter..."

Harry winced, backing a step away from Lucius. 'What is he smiling like that for?' Harry worried his lips as he did his best to be respectful. He bowed his head, ducking his chest to the floor as he set a hand on his chest. Harry was a bit shaky, but he managed. Quickly enough, Lucius stood. This let Harry break out of his bow.

"And what polite manners!" Lucius beamed. He dryly laughed as he turned his eyes to the Dark Lord. "It seems he'd had a bit of an attitude adjustment..."

Voldemort chuckled, teeth showing as he laughed. "Yes, what a wonder a change of perspective does..."

Harry's mouth soured at the direct jab at his altered anatomy. 'I could bite you apart if I wanted...' Harry thought as he looked Lucius over. He wouldn't dare, at least not so soon. Not while he's still learning what Voldemort will and won't tolerate from him.

"Well, Lucius..." Voldemort changed the subject with a sigh. He uncurled his hands, setting them across the desk. One spindly hand plucks the feather from its ink pot. "As you know, I have much to attend to here... Why don't you take Harry to the kitchen? I imagine he's starving."

"Of course," Lucius bowed his head toward the Dark Lord. The smile across his face softened into his ever-prideful expression. "I had a delivery made with his hunger in mind..."

"Attentive as always, Lucius," Voldemort hummed with a hiss. "Well done."

"Thank you, my lord..." Lucius finished, turning heel. He looked at Harry before pulling his hands to his sides. The one from behind his back was wielding a cane, a tool Lucius then tapped at Harry's feet.

"Gnn!" Harry grunted angrily. He hurried forward, avoiding the swatting wood. He ended up at pace with Lucius as the man began to lead the way. Harry huffed a growl, glareing at the cane. 'I'm so going to break that thing...' Harry promised himself.

'... After breakfast.' He continued as he walked. He WAS starving. Harry licked his lips as he started to march faster than Lucius walked. 'I wonder what it'll be!'

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Harry paid no mind to Lucius's eager chatting. Lucius's high and mighty tone was pushed to the back of Harry's mind. The man bragged about every 'treasure' they passed as if it were godly. The man was apparently an avid collector, but Harry didn't care.

Harry's mind was set on the ideas twisting in his skull. Lucius said it was a fresh delivery, right? Where did the meat come from? Did the Malfoy's own farmland? The idea felt strange, alien even. The elegant people never seemed the sort to even look at a live cow or pig. Maybe it was some fancy bird? Harry wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. He'd been hearing peafowl squawks since his arrival. Did peafowl taste like chicken? Harry's mind continued to consider a hundred possibilities as they marched along. His sorrow was quickly being replaced with curiosity and excitement. Maybe living with Voldemort wouldn't be so miserable...

Harry raised his head as a smell trickled into his nose. He huffed his breath, catching a better whiff. It didn't smell like chicken at all. No, Harry was smelling something like pork. It was a touch sweeter and had a faint aroma of a flavor Harry had no name for. Whatever it was, it made Harry's mouth water. He wanted that! Harry hurried ahead of Lucius as he left the fancy carpeted hallway. The man's voice yowled as he hurried to follow Harry's new speed.

"Potter!" Lucius called with a hint of urgency. His voice came in pants, his breath wheezing. "Thie dining hall is further down here!"

"Graaa!" Harry yowled back without a care. His nose knew more than him, promising his hungry mind fresh meat.

Harry discovered a hallway that branched from the one he was already inside. It looked dark and bland, but the smell of meat came from within. Harry kept his pace as he hobbled down the dim hallway, licking his bared tongue across his sharp teeth in anticipation. The hurried clack of Lucius's shoes behind him didn't distract him for a second. The man spoke, trying to urge him out of the pathway, but Harry followed his nose. The wood flooring creaked and corked as Harry laid his eyes on a ratty wooden door. Clearly, these were halls and doors for servants, not the lords and ladies of the home. No color graced the plaster and wood. It was all ugly and bland compared to the grand shades and hues of the public areas. It was dark, and there was a slight stink of rotting wood. Harry felt a touch of excitement in his veins. He felt like he was behind the stage of a play! It was like an entirely different home back here...

Harry came before the ratty door, noting the iron ring that was its door handle. It looked like a shack door, not an entrance to a kitchen. Harry stood on his feet, pressing his palms into the door. The wood growled like a woken dog as Harry's weight pushed it open. It moved slowly, the door swollen in the frame. Harry's eyes slowly graced the area behind the door, from left to right.

Harry first noticed a rack on the ceiling, bundles of herbs hanging from it to dry. A sack of garlic and another of onions hung from nails roughly tacked into the wall. Below was a crooked shelf of jars filled with many things. Some were labeled with the names of spices, while others were labeled as food scraps. Harry could smell the variety like an aura of magic. Harsh and deep inside his nose. Below the rack was a stone countertop. It was littered with scratches on its bland grey surface. The slab balanced on a cupboard that was missing a cupboard door, and the other hung loose. Inside, Harry could see more jars and even a basket of potatoes. The floor was stained many colors, the old wood barely looking like wood anymore.

As the door opened more, Harry realized a massive counter centered the room. It stood tall, meeting the chest of- a man?

Harry paused his curious scanning as he looked at the back of a man's head. His hair was long and tangled at the ends. It seemed black at the roots only to turn an ashy grey at the length. Oil seemed to grease the locks, the oil leaving clear marks on the butcher's robes the man wore. Harry's eyes trailed down a set of massive shoulders to hairy arms. Thick shirt sleeves were rolled up at the man's elbows. The exposure let Harry spot the strength hiding below the skin's surface. Scars littered the man's hand from elbow to knuckles. Harry leaned to one side. His movement allowed Harry to see what the man was working on. In one hand, a butcher's cleaver, and in the other-

Harry flinched, spine chilling as the man slammed the cleaver clean through a human ankle. His flinch had the quills on his rump and tail rattle like a rattlesnake's tail.

The man raised his head, shifting one heavy leg as he turned his body toward the door. The slight movement was enough to earn a groan from the wooden flooring. Harry was able to notice a crooked nose and a shine of golden eyes before-

SLAM! The door screamed. Harry jumped high as Lucius yanked the door shut. Harry stumbled to the side as Lucius looked down at him with a sweaty brow and wobbly smile.

"Don't worry. You're eating pheasant today..." Lucius nervously laughed, shoulders near his ears. His breath was quick as if he'd just run a mile. Had Harry left the man in his dust?

Harry blinked, eyes glancing at the shut door. 'Who was that?' Harry wondered that both for the man and the leg on the counter. In the end, Harry swallowed roughly, turning around in the cramped hallway. Was it human meat that was that delicious smell? Harry's heart squeezed at the idea. He really had turned into a monster...

This time, when Lucius walked, Harry stuck close to his side.

"Don't worry yourself, my dear guest." Lucius began to speak as he led Harry out of the dark hall. The man smiled down at him with a prideful glint in his eyes. "You will be eating something prepared by proper hands... Not the hands of that dog..." Lucius sneered.

Harry stared at the floor, skin crawling with Lucius's choice of words. Did Lucius see him the same way? As a 'dog' because he ate human meat? Harry resisted the urge to throw an insult back. He didn't see it ending well for him... Not that Lucius would understand his growls and snarls anyway. Harry kept quiet despite the scratching in his skull to say something, anything.

--

Lucius stopped before a large door, looking down at Harry with a smirk. Harry came to his side, casting wary eyes between the man and the door.

"Now, I have told Draco to play nice," Lucius began as he set his hand on the door.

Harry swallowed over a sour taste in his mouth. Draco? That brat was in there? Voldemort might have said he wouldn't do anything, but did Voldemort know just how nuts Draco could be? Harry worried his lips as Lucius began to push the door open.

"However, he might have a few things to say..." Lucius winced his eyes as he stepped into the opening door. "I ask you to forgive my son's foolishness, my dear guest."

Harry followed Lucius as the man entered the dining room entirely. A glint of light made Harry pause, drawing his eyes upward. He narrowed his eyes as he spotted a crystal light shimmering over the table. Harry snarled his lips as the light cut at his eyes. The sound of Lucius tapping his cane was met with a dimming of the light. Harry opened his eyes, blinking as the crystal seemed to fold inward, lessening its bright aura.

"Apologies, Draco was studying in here earlier..." Lucius dryly chuckled. "The extra light helps with the older tomes I have him reading."

"Urr," Harry groaned. He wasn't sure why Lucius felt the need to say that. It was his house, not Harry's. Harry dropped his gaze, spotting a long table. His focus went from the dark wood and green tablecloth to the two people at the table.

Narcissa Malfoy sat at the middle of the table's long length. She had a book hovering at her side while she ate. A bowl half ate at her front as she prodded a fork into a thick salad topped with what must be pheasant meat.

Across from her was Draco. The boy is momentarily completely entrapped in a book. A page flipped, letting Harry spot something about humanoid beasts. His normally prideful expression was broken as he stuffed his face with a salad like his mother's.

"My dearest family," Lucius spoke with volume.

Instantly, Narcissa looked up from her meal, kindly smiling at her husband. Draco turned quickly, a leaf hanging from his mouth as he turned eager-eyed to his father. The boy roughly chewed as Lucius continued.

"Our newest guest has woken for breakfast..." Lucius spoke as he motioned a slim hand to Harry.

As two sets of eyes set on him, Harry felt even more naked than he was. He harshly swallowed as he tried to step behind Lucius's legs.

Narcissa's eyes creased as she smiled. She swallowed the food in her mouth before speaking. "Good morning, Harry, I do hope you like salad."

Her son wasn't as graceful. Draco spoke with a full mouth, addressing Lucius instead of Harry. "Is he really going to eat at the table with us like that?" The boy asked his father.

Lucius 'tsked' his tongue with a shake of his head. "Now, now... Draco, we talked about this." Lucius walked to his son's seat, patting the boy's shoulders as he continued. "Harry is an honored guest! You must treat him how you would our lord."

Draco narrowed his eyes, untrusting at his father. Still, the son nodded, turning back to his meal and book. "Alright, Father." The boy relented softly.

Lucius smiled as he patted the boy's shoulder. "That's my boy," The Lucisu praised.

Draco noticeably postured at the praise. Looking far less solemn than moments before.

Lucius turned to Harry, still wearing his smile. "Come sit. And do help yourself..." The man nodded toward a plater with a cooked bird and a large salad serving bowl sitting between Narssisa and Draco on the table.

Harry... Just stood there. He looked at the trio that was the Malfoy family. They were so homely and loving... It was just a meal. And yet? They seemed to be the perfect image of family. Harry's chest ached as his mouth soured. He didn't feel right stepping into the picture. He would ruin the image...

His hesitance was quickly noticed by the family. Narcissa looked at her husband with soft worry. Lucius looked back at her, confused. Both parents look to each other for guidance. Draco was the one to speak.

"He's a Man-Eater, Father... Not a bird and plant eater." Draco interrupted the awkward quiet.

Suddenly, the air felt tense. Lucius snapped his eyes to Harry, bracing an arm on his son protectively. Narcissa stood, leaning over the table to set a palm on Lucius. A tickle of magic met Harry's nose... Were they about to apparate? Why? Harry tilted his head to better see their expressions. They looked... Scared?

... Oh.

Harry blinked, shame swelling in his body.

They thought he'd attack Draco for saying that...

Harry wondered what to do. He couldn't say it was okay. He couldn't talk. In fact, his voice might startle the family further. So-

Harry nodded with as friendly of a 'merp' as he could.

Narcissa blinked, lowering her hand to the table. Lucius sighed in relief, sharing a look with his wife. Draco dumbly chewed his salad like a cow.

"I see..." Lucius spoke slowly. He turned to Harry with an apologetic smile. "My, how foolish of me! I suppose your new... Form-" The man worked carefully. He was tip-toeing around the topic. "-Doesn't exactly have the same appetite as us?"

Harry shook his head gently, trying his best to stay slow. He wasn't sure what punishment Voldemort might enact on him or the Malfoy's over an innocent misunderstanding. Draco smirked pridefully at his 'correct' deduction.

"See? Creature studies do have merit!" The young man proudly declared.

Narcissa softy scoffed, shaking her head as she looked at her son. "We never said it didn't, just that you should prioritize runes."

Just like that, Narcissa and Draco were enveloped in a homely conversation about the studies Draco needed to do. Lucius was quickly dragged in, but he pulled out to speak to Harry.

"Shall I have the butcher bring you something human, then?" Lucius asked with a genuine tone. No hint of mocking or fear in his voice. "I'm sure you are plenty hungry..."

Harry timidly nodded and approached the table, eyeing up a chair. He pulled it out with a hand before climbing onto the seat, sitting on his rump and the balls of his feet, tail awkwardly sticking out to the side. He had to set his hands on the table with the odd posture the seat forced him into. Still, it felt nice to sit at a table. It felt even better when Lucius moved to sit beside his wife, serving himself some food.

"It'll arrive in just a moment, my dear guest," Lucius assured him before returning to the conversation with Narcissa and Draco.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Harry fidgeted with his hands, patting the tablecloth gently as he waited. Draco was at his side and would mistakenly bump him now and then. Despite Lucius's worried glances, Harry wasn't offended. For once, it seemed Draco wasn't trying to mess with him. Was it because of what Lucius said? Did Draco not see him as a rival anymore? Harry didn't dare question it further, afraid to destroy the odd peace. So, Harry turned his eyes to the dining room's decor.

Of course, the table was mounted by the salad bowl and pheasant platter. The tablecloth had silver-colored trim that complemented its ever-green base. Directly above was the crystal light. Harry would call it a chandelier... if not for the fact it balanced no candles. The shards themselves seemed to shimmer and gleam. The ceiling was bracketed by square panels. Each panel bears the image of a flower. Roses, Harry thinks. They were plain silver, reflecting the crystal light. There was a trim between the wall and ceiling, also carrying rose imagery. Man... The Malfoys must really like roses. The wallpaper, surprisingly enough, wasn't decorated with roses. The smooth surface was covered with the imagery of a vast forest with a sky close to the ceiling. Like the hallway wallpaper, these walls also seemed alive. Trees swayed in the wind, and birds jumped between trees. No paintings broke up the imagery. Only the large windows did. There were three, each floor to ceiling in height. They gave a grand view of the Malfoy's gardens. Atop the shrubbery, Harry could see white peafowl flirting and forageing.

Harry spotted a fountain just as a door opened. Harry turned to the sound in an instant. He was expecting Voldemort or maybe a house elf. However, both expectations were wrong. Instead of Voldemort's towering elegance, a lumbering strength entered the room.

Harry paled, sinking in his seat as heavy footsteps thumped closer to his spot. Harry recognized the scared arms and hands that held either side of a platter. The man from the kitchen...

"Ah, about time, Greyback?" Lucius smugly chuckled out of Harry's field of view. "Only took you ages." The father laughed.

"Oh dear, give him some slack. He wasn't aware he'd be cooking today..." Narcissa scolded her husband.

Greyback... Where had Harry heard that before? Harry looked up at the arms of the man, getting a good look at his face at last. The first thing Harry noticed was the harsh gold of the man's eyes. A predatory gaze glared toward Lucius below a heavy brow. The man snarled his lips, showing yellowed, uneven teeth. His nose was scared across the bridge, where it also seemed to lean to one side. Obvious evidence it was once broken and then healed incorrectly. The man had the wrinkles one got from a life of hard work, not age. A reasonable tan showed he often worded outside. Harry's eyes noticed the man was also rather hairy... from the back of his hands to the peak of his chest exposed by the ratty shirt he wore under a gardener's coat. Greyback was a robust and rough-looking man.

As Greyback stopped at his side, Harry's nose caught a smell. Of course, Harry smelled the food, but he also smelled... Harry paused, considering the scent. What was that? Dog? No, it felt to... Strong? Like a musky sweat with an undertone of something utterly wild.

Werewolf.

Harry's eyes widened as he looked up at the man. Greyback paid him no focus, roughly setting down a platter before turning to leave-

"Ah, ah!" Lucius suddenly scolded.

Harry saw Greyback clench his fists and his shoulders rise as he turned to look at Lucius.

"Now, now! you don't expect him to eat THAT, do you?" Lucius continued as Harry turned to his meal.

Harry laid his eyes on a slab of meat atop a naken plater of silver. It was roughly grilled with sparse seasoning and a single orange slice on top. Harry didn't see a single thing wrong with it. He licked the back of his teeth, patting around for a fork and knife.

"It's much too large! He'll never stomach it all. That is just plain wasteful-" Lucius quieted as Harry sized up the meat.

'I can manage this.' Harry thinks to himself. 'It's not all that big, and I'm starving!'

Harry turns to Greyback with a wide smile. "Meyaaaahh~" Is the best 'thank you' Harry can manage.

Greyback's brow never softens, but his lips twitch. He looks confused and conflicted. Still, he waits and watches as Harry does his best to eat the meal. Why he felt required to watch, Harry wasn't sure. Harry doesn't chase him off, expecting he's trying to see if Harry is as snobbish as Lucius. Harry is more than happy to prove his politeness. So he eats. Harry has trouble with the knife and fork, considering the new anatomy of his shoulders. Still, he manages to cut chunk by chunk off the slab. He eats bite by bite while licking his lips.

'Tastes great!' Harry tried to say. It comes out with an odd bark. However, Harry's tone seems to get the message across.

Greyback stiffly nods, still watching. His fists loosen when Harry's about halfway, his shoulders slacking with appears as surprised relief. Lucius is stubbornly quiet, stabbing at his salad without a word. Narcissa keeps giving her husband looks that say: 'I told you so.' Draco is surprisingly unbothered, his focus trapped in his book again.

Harry Isn't ashamed as he uses his fork to scrape up the last puddles of meat onto his waiting tongue. The sweat-porky flavor with the touch of citrus and salty garlic is more than perfect to his taste. As Harry finishes, he realizes he's purring. The rattling emitted from his throat with comfortable pulses like a pleased cat.

Finally, Harry sets down his cutlery, turning to Greyback with a smile stained by food.

'Thank you.' Harry tries with a grunt. Again, his tone does the heavy lifting, and Greyback nods with an appreciative look.

Greyback takes the plater away without a word, leaving out the same door he entered. Despite his silence, Harry swears he looks happier than when he entered. He must not get much appreciation around here...

"Well," Lucius begins to speak as Greyback escapes the room. Harry's focus turns to the lithe man to listen. He's tense in his seat, salad barely eaten. He smiles awkwardly, grey eyes lingering on the door. "I'm impressed by your appetite, my dear guest."

Harry swallows around the lingering flavor in his throat. Lucius's left eye twitches at the gulp.

"I suppose Greyback's cooking isn't useless..." Lucius says as if he's admitting a horrible defeat.

Harry turns a raised brow to Narcissa, confused.

The woman snickers to herself for a moment before speaking. "My dear husband simply isn't a fan of more 'rough' men..." The wife casts her husband a playful gaze. "He finds them 'brutish' and 'dirty' despite Voldemort's assurances of their value." Narcissa finishes while she stands from the table.

"Greyback did manage to lift that tree that blocked the road, Father," Draco notes without raising his eyes off his book. An unspoken 'unlike you' hangs in the air.

Lucius scoffs and looks away from everyone. Harry is surprised to see a scarcely embarrassed blush on his lean face. "I just don't see the advantage of having such a beast in our home... At least Dobby had manners."

Narcissa passes behind Lucius on her way to the door, empty bowl in hand. "Oh, don't say that... He's been plenty of help, and you know it." The woman softly scolded with a shake of her head. Her grey-streaked hair bounces with the movement, an oddly elegant note. Really, everything about the woman was Elegant, even the stern look she turned to Draco with next. "Watch your books, dear. I'm not cleaning food out of them again for you..." The mother drones deeply.

Harry watched Draco sit back in his chair with a nod, unafraid. He does move his food further from his books, at least.

What family...

Harry only thinks of his own for a second. He doesn't want to compare, as he knows he'll come up lacking. He didn't feel like dealing with the extra weight of his past on top of his current problem, at least at the moment. Something in the back of his mind, what sounded a lot like Hermione, told him that hiding his feelings would only make things worse. Harry decided to ignore that voice like the idiot he tended to be.

"So, what might you like to do today?" Lucius Malfoy abruptly asked.

Harry looked to Draco, expecting him to respond. Draco didn't, swallowed in his book. 'Was Lucius talking to me?' Harry thinks. He turns to the man, locking his gaze with grey eyes and a tight smile. 'Oh, he is... He knows I can't talk, right?' Harry lets out a dull groan to try and prove his mental point. Unless Lucius could read minds like Voldemort, they had to stick to yes or no questions.

The man stiffly smiled until his mind put two and two together. Finally, he laughed at himself with a shake of his head. "Sorry, sorry, I'm far too used to your snide remarks, I'm afraid." Lucius excused. The man smiled fondly. Lucius looked away in thought as he continued. "You were always so quick-witted... It's a true shame you can't speak anymore..."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man. Was that an insult?

Lucius reacted to Harry's change of face. "Truly! A silver tongue is to be admired! Why, what do you think got ME so far, hm?" Lucius chuckled as he posed a gloved hand at his chest, accenting his smug look. "The battle of wits is a man's best weapon! The pen is mightier than the sword and all that..."

"He's being honest, he just sounds like that." Draco helpfully added.

Lucius's left eye twitched again, but he smiled wider. "Honest." He echoed.

"You could teach him sign language. His hands work fine." Draco supplied to his father with a roll of his eyes. The young man picked up his now empty bowl and books and stood. He waved his hand loosely at Harry in a dismissing manner. "Your turn to deal with Father, Potter."

"Deal with it," Lucius echoed with a scoff. "I swear, the moment you enter exam season, you're full of sass." The father chased after his son with his voice.

Draco shrugged as he slipped out of the room. "I don't have time for much, and you'd hate for my grades to fail."

Like that, Draco was gone. Harry realized the family might not be picture-perfect after all... Somehow, that made him feel a little better about himself.

"Oh, my boy..." Lucius quietly sighed. He shook his head as Harry met his gaze. "Why can't he see I just want the best for him? Hm?"

'Why are you asking me that?' Harry tried to growl.

"Is it my tone? Am I too harsh? Are my expectations too high?" Lucius continued, clueless to Harry's displeasure.

'How would I know!?' Harry yowled, slapping his hands to the table. He flinched instantly, glancing at the door. Would Voldemort come to scold him now? Break the deal? Kill Sirius-

"Oh, Harry, you are far wiser than most give you credit for!" Lucius dumbly heard what he wanted to hear. The man stood, patting Harry's hands with appreciation. "I'll go tell my boy he can skip on the studying a bit..." Lucius smiled sweetly, much too sweetly if you asked Harry.

'Idiot...' Harry sighed as he sat back in his seat. He puffed his lips and tried not to roll his eyes as Lucius paraded out of the room like a prideful peaco*ck. And Harry thought Voldemort would be the most tiring person he'd meet... At least Narcissa and Draco seemed sane. Greyback, too... if only a bit grumpy.

Lucius was an entirely different pack of worms!

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Harry managed to find his way back to Voldemort's office without help. A good thing, considering the entire Malfoy family seemed to vanish. As Harry approached the door, the Dark Lord spoke from inside.

"Come in." His cold voice hissed.

Harry felt a chill run up his spine. He hadn't even knocked yet! Harry forced the unease out of his chest with a tense sigh. Voldemort probably just heard him coming... Harry wasn't exactly quiet. Harry stood on his feet only long enough to open the door for himself. He winced as he did, being much happier once he could walk on all fours again. Harry slipped inside the office while pushing the door closed with a foot. It shut with a solid 'shunt' behind him. Harry half expected to hear the click of a lock, but none came.

"How was breakfast?" Voldemort asked from his mound of paperwork. His red eyes dropped to Harry. He looked as scary as ever. Not even the homely atmosphere of Malfoy Manor could change that. Voldemort was like a rainstorm raging in a calm valley. Alien and full of power. Ready to strike at any moment...

Harry let his eyes lock with Voldemorts. He did his best to summon up the images of his breakfast while the itch of magic scratched behind his eyes.

Lucky for everyone, Voldemort seemed to like what he saw. His lipless mouth pulled into a fanged smile. His eyes curved upward by the grin. "Ah, you ate well then?" The man's voice slithered.

Harry nodded despite knowing Voldemort already had the answer. He came before the desk, pausing as he noticed a chair. He only had to glance at Voldemort to ask. The man nodded, motioning with his writing hand toward the furniture. Harry eagerly hopped atop the seat, finding himself feeling far less small. When Harry was on the floor, he felt like an ant looking up at a hungry bird. At least now he was more like a person... Looking up at a giant. Still, an improvement.

"I'm sure you have much to think about," Voldemort's voice pulled Harry out of his thoughts. Voldemort tapped the feather in his hand into an ink pot before bringing it to a page. He scratched words into the parchment as he spoke to Harry. "Many questions, too. Would you like some answers?" The Dark Lord offered.

Harry dumbly nodded, the quills in his hair rattling with the jerking motion. He shuffled where he sat, pointedly locking eyes with Voldemort. The itching returned as Harry caught sight of that dreamscape behind the man's eyes. The cold depths washed gently back and forth as Voldemort searched his mind.

"Yes, young Draco is growing rather calmer, isn't he?" Voldemort pulled free with a smile. As Voldemort blinked, Harry was back in the office, far from those cold waters.

'It's weird! it's like he's another person!' Harry agreed with a wordless snarl.

Voldemort gently nodded, resting his head on the back of his propped-up arm. "Yes, exam season seems to do that to him... He's an excellent pupil. He puts his grades before childish drama."

'Am I the drama?' Harry tried to ask with a warble.

Voldemort chuckled with a delighted smile. One of the ones that split his face in two. It would be a terrifying look if not for the feather-soft laughter it came with. "Oh yes! Beast or not, you are always causing quite the stir!"

Harry shifted, moving a hand to his arms to itch at his skin. He worried his lips as he whined a sour note. 'I'd like NOT to be the drama for once..." He admitted to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's laughter ended with a calm hum. He cast a surprisingly understanding look into Harry's eyes. "Yes, I can see that... Perhaps in good time, things will calm around you."

'Can that be soon?' Harry found himself scoffing. A pang of worry sparked in his heart. Will Voldemort be upset?

Voldemort only smiled, shoulders bouncing with another chuckle. "Oh, Potter... It's nice to see your spirits returning... For a time, I was worried you'd turned into an obedient animal."

Harry paused, his itching hand going still and his mind going quiet. Then, like a starting train, Harry's mind gradually started to turn its gears. 'I thought you'd want me to behave...'

Voldemort hummed a considering note. "Behave, yes, but not turn to stone. Your attitude is a great attribute of yours... it makes you who you are... Among other things, of course." Voldemort smiled with his fangs at the end.

Harry carefully nodded, glancing about before meeting Voldemort's gaze again. 'So I won't get in trouble for being... Sassy?'

"Not at all, in fact..." Voldemort's smile worsened as his laugh turned into a growl. "I encourage it."

Harry blinked wide-eyed at the Dark Lord before stiffy nodding. 'Good to know.' He loudly thought into Voldemort's eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure it is... Now!" Voldemort chirped as he looked back to his paperwork. "I'm still busy, as you see," The man waved a hand like one might do to chase off a cat. "Go entertain yourself somewhere, explore... Malfoy manor is yours to enjoy, the same way it would be mine. No limits." Voldemort dryly encouraged.

Harry hopped off the chair with a nod, mind starting to wander. No limits? None at all? Clearly, he had to stay at the manor... But was that really the only rule? No out-of-bounds secret lair or forbidden place? Harry trotted out the door as it opened and closed on its own. Just like that, he was set loose.

Harry looked down the hall left and right, considering. He could explore it all...

Harry chose to go left. He marched in the opposite direction of the dining room. Harry passed by his bedroom and a few doors. Even past a ballroom and the room he'd arrived in. Officially in new territory, Harry slowed his pace. He walked closer to the walls, daring to take a sniff because no one was looking. Harry wondered if it would smell like Grimuald, like home. To his surprise, he smelled something more than just homely aromas. The wood and plaster aroma of the home matched with something musky canine... Greyback. There was also a scent of green apples along the floor... Draco. A soft perfume... Narcissa. A sharp colone like roses... Lucius. There were two other smells that Harry had to guess. Something cold and like a lake... Voldemort? A similar scent but far warmer... Was that a snake? Harry thinks he's heard rumors about Voldemort having a snake. Nagini? Was that its name?

Harry stopped walking altogether to sniff more. His nose brushed at the floorboards as he sniffled in the scent. It was like a warm river bed, muddy. There was also the faint aroma of egg yolk. A girl snake, then. Harry's head stayed hung low as he sniffed along the floor. He caught Draco's smell again. The crispy, fresh apple aroma tickled his nose like a fresh mist. A hint of sourness had Harry thinking. Harry's eyes wandered as his nose considered the aroma. It felt...

Angry.

Harry lifted his head, blinked, and thought. Angry. Harry smelled anger? Harry dropped his head to the floor again, huffing up the smell. Angry. Angry. Angry- It was like reading the word on paper. Clear and concise. Harry could smell anger... Could he smell something else?

Harry hurried to where he'd smelt someone else.

Harry found his nose along the floor, finding the perfume of Narcissa. He pressed his nose closer to the smell, nose itching for the emotions he knew must be there. Sweetness like peaches, something like cinnamon-

Worry.

Narcissa was worried about something, and her son was angry. What about Lucius?

Harry hurried to the spot, digging his nose against the floor, finding the colon and rose smell. He licked at his nose, chasing after the aroma. Salty and dry. Lucius was...

Harry froze as he heard a creak. His nose was still pressed to the floor, and his breath was still. His eyes darted upward, catching sight of a looming shape.

Draco blinked down at him with a look of utter befuddlement. The young man blinked, eyes darting to the floor before locking with Harry's eyes. He sneered his lips as his brows twisted up in confusion.

Harry didn't have anything to explain himself with... Even if he could speak.

Draco and Harry stood at a stalemate for what felt like an hour. In reality, it was probably only a few seconds. Draco was the first to move. He closed his eyes with a shake of his head, a scoff escaping his sneering lips. When he opened his eyes again, he took a step toward Harry. The young man smoothly pulled a book out of his arms.

"I found a book in the library you might be interested in..." Draco sighed as he crouched closer to Harry's height. "I took the liberty to bookmark a page on Manticores..."

Instantly, Harry perked up. He sat back on his legs, eagerly taking the book from Draco. With eager eyes, he flipped the book open, quickly arriving at the bookmarked page. Harry's eyes were met with an anatomical diagram of a man-faced baboon thing with porcupine quills. There was some resemblance... But the beast on the page was far more... Hairy. It had a body of fur across its entire body. Its coat looked almost like a black lion, with a thick mane around its shoulders... Harry had none of that. Why? Harry narrowed his eyes at the page. Then, Harry remembered where he was.

Shaking off his confusion, Harry looked up to Draco. 'Thank you,' Harry tried to say with a growl.

Draco blinked at him before his mind got the hint. "Ah," Draco said as he stood up again. He nodded, brushing off his clothes despite them not being dirty. "You're welcome... Potter." Harry could nearly hear the confusion in Draco's voice.

Harry closed the book in his hands, carefully holding it to his chest with one arm as he stood again. He offered Draco a nod, one that stiffly echoed back to him.

Again, they stood silently. The awkward feeling in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Draco was the first to move again. He offered Harry another stiff nod before walking off with a tense back.

That left Harry alone again. Harry felt at the book in his arms with his fingers, considering what to do next. Explore more? Or go to his room and read? Harry's mind itched with questions, so he chose to read. He turned tail, trotting to his bedroom with a snort of laughter. Hermione would be so smug if she ever learned Harry chose reading over exploring! Harry hoped Dumbledore would let him talk to his friends... Whenever he called. Why hadn't Dumbledore called yet? He hadn't sent a letter either, as far as Harry knew. Was Voldemort interrupting Hedwig's deliveries? Was Dumbledore not trying at all? Maybe he was giving Harry time to settle in... That had to be it. Dumbledore was a strange but good man, after all. He must not want to interrupt anything important.

Harry slowed his thinking as he found his door. He entered his room and walked up to the second bunk without a thought. Harry sat with his back to the wall before he laid the book across the floor. The book was no different when Harry opened it again. The image of a manticore smiled back at him with three rows of teeth. Its face was in a violent snarl as it seemed to swipe a clawed hand at the artist.

Again, Harry was struck by the detail of its flowing fur. It looked stunning with a wash of earthy browns. The colors made the black and white striped quills stand out even more. It was beautiful! The same way a lion was beautiful, terrifying, and built to kill.

... So why didn't Harry look like that? He was like a naked cat compared to a fluffy cat! Not only that, it looked far more muscular than him, its arms flexed like a model. Harry lifted an arm, looking at his own musculature. It looked pitiful, thin. Harry was nothing compared to the beast on the page.

What was wrong with him?

Harry set his arm down, resting his fingers across the page. Maybe the paragraphs would have an answer...

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

"Not eating enough?" Lucius questioned with a light note. He bent over Harry, looking at the open book in Harry's clawed hands. Lucius practically folded in half in his seat for a better look. The man tapped a gloved hand to his chin as he read. Lucius's grey eyes skimmed the page over again. "My, my..." Lucius gaped with widening eyes. "Twice their weight in a day? What veracious beasts...." The man sat back to his full height, fidgeting with the cane across his lap.

Harry nodded to Lucius, shutting the book Draco had lent him. He tucked it under his arm with gentle care. The heavy tomb offered as many answers as it did questions... But one thing at a time! Harry had a possible solution to why he was so gaunt and naked! Food. Wild Manticore ate a lot of food, unlike Harry. Food might be the leading factor in Harry's ungainly appearance and broken anatomy. Leaving his mind, Harry returned to the moment. This was Lucius's home. Harry would have to go through him to get more food.Harry set his eyes on Lucius with a dull growl. The wordless sound earned Harry a thoughtful nod from the man.

"I'll see if I can set something up, Britain is lucky you can eat more than men!" The man coldly joked to himself. Lucius shook his head with his laugh, adjusting in his chair.

The furniture softly creaked, the sound unmistakable in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. The space was nearly silent aside from the bird song filtering through the windows. The room was far more cozy than the other rooms, the ceiling far lower. The walls were coated in decore as well. The clutter fills in the space. It felt like one item away from a hoard. A ratty dog bed sat beside Lucius's chair, a pair of deerhounds curiously watching Harry from the seat. They kept glancing at Lucius as he and Harry tried to communicate.

"Anyways..." Lucius brushed off his chest as if sweeping away the crummy joke he'd belted. He posed as he spoke, seeming to show off for a camera Harry couldn't see. Or was Lucius showing off for Harry? Why on earth would he do that, though? Harry's not someone to impress... He was a hostage at best.

"I'm sure Greyback can manage something, I'll notify him before lunch... In the meantime," Lucius purred his voice. A sly look in his grey eyes.

Harry cast an untrusting eye toward the man as he curled his gloved hand in the air, beckoning Harry with a gloved finger. Harry shuffled where he sat, tightening his hold on the book. He wasn't a cat! Lucius could ask-

'GRRRUNNN!!!'

A grunting wood sound made him turn with quiet worry. A chair opposite Lucius pulled itself across the floor, bending its wooden legs as it came closer. Harry jumped with a yelp as it scooped him atop its soft seat, pulling him before Lucius atop its cushion. Harry scrambled for balance, glaring at Lucius as he almost fell.

"Now, now, Draco mentioned something on sign language... Didn't he? I think he might be on to something... Might you want to try?" Lucius purred with that sickeningly sweet look across his face. It makes his fancy clothing look like a doll's clothing. Appearing all fake and perfect. No way this man was looking at Harry like that genuinely! Lucius must be forcing it! What was he planning?

Harry sneered his lips as he adjusted on the seat, sitting with his feet planted on the cushion. It was like sitting in a fetal position, but different. The closest thing Harry could think of to compare his sitting was a cat. His tail hung off the side as he tucked the book behind him, freeing his hands. He held them together as he nodded toward Lucius. As unnerving as the man was, sign language would be a godsend. For the moment, Harry could only 'talk' with Voldemort. Everyone else? Harry was playing an odd form of charades to communicate. Pointing and grunting would only take him so far.

The man beamed a smile, an odd shine in his eyes. "Delightful, allow me the honor of teaching you..." Lucius purred as he set his cane aside, gloved hands folding across his lap.

'I don't believe you...' Harry thought to himself. He tried to copy as Lucius started to motion something with his hands.

The man did so too quickly and was horrible at explaining. Harry glared at the man's hands as he tried to follow. Lucius would 'tsk' his tongue and shake his head at Harry with gentle scolding. Harry forgot to track time as he failed, again and again, to mimic what Lucius signed. The man was going too quick! The least he could do was stop and explain until Harry got it... But no! Lucius would try to teach him something... Harry would get it wrong, and Lucius would move on! Harry's frustrated growls slowly grew in volume as Lucius continued to scold him like a naughty child for his lack of understanding. Harry pinched his fingers and motioned downwards. Lucius shook his head with a chuckle. The man made him stop before showing him yet another motion too fast to see. Was this fun for Lucius? Was he enjoying making Harry feel and look stupid? Harry snarled his lips with a growl as he tried to copy the new motion. Again, he was scolded. Harry squeezed his fists tightly, grinding his teeth as he glared at Lucius's gloved hands. This wasn't funny! He was trying his best! If Lucius wasn't such an awful teacher, he'd be fine! It only took one more scolding laugh from Lucius for Harry to snap.

Harry screamed with frustration, slamming his hands down on the seat, head thrown back as he bellowed. He hissed as he jumped from the chair, yanking the book off the seat. He snarled as he hurried toward the door. Completely ignoring the whimpering of the dogs and Lucius's voice. He nearly tackled the door open, checking it with his shoulder. It swung open with a rattle, shaking on its joints. Harry didn't bother closing it behind him as his skin prickled, a feeling of anger racing under his flesh. Quills on his tail and back rattled and shook, making a horrible sound. He was no less than pissed off as he marched away from Lucius and his useless lessons.

'There must be a library somewhere...' Harry hissed in his mind. He glared at doors as he marched past. 'I'll just teach myself sign language,' He resolved. 'Self-taught has to be easier than learning from that Git...'

Harry kept his head high. Trying to catch the paper and glue scents of a library. He'd been able to smell them before all this, so he had to be even better now. If not, it'd be terribly ironic... Able to smell emotions but not books. What a stupid idea. Harry slowed his pace as he came around a corner.

A quiet sound caught his ears, catching a hook into his curiosity. Harry paced toward the sound, trying to identify it as he went.

'brusss'
'brusss'
'brusss'

The sound scratched. It sounded almost like wood... Was someone sweeping the floor? The mundane task seemed logical. After all, homes, even the fancy sort, needed cleaning. It didn't sound right, though. The stroke is too small to be a broom cleaning the floor. Harry sniffed the air as he approached a door, the sound on the other side. Quickly, the musky canine scent of a werewolf invaded his nose. The intense smell was unmistakable in Harry's mind. Greyback?

'What's he doing now?' Harry considered as he eyed the door. Was Greyback always out of sight like this? Was he allowed to be in the halls? Harry hoped so... The memories of a sulking Lupin were fresh in his mind. No werewolf should be forced to hide. Especially not when Harry was allowed to roam. He didn't have pants on, for god's sake! The only thing protecting his modesty was his tail and fur hips to ankle. A clothed adult shouldn't be forced to hide at all.

"Murrraa?" Harry tried to speak.

'brusss'
'brusss'
'bruss-'

The sound stopped.

Harry blinked at the door as he heard the floor creaking. Then, silence.

"Murrraa?" Harry tried again, shuffling closer to the door.

He didn't want to barge in unannounced... Greyback might be doing something private! He might even want to tell Harry to leave... And Harry wanted him to have that. The man seemed far more reasonable than the Git that was Lucius... So Harry would be polite.

The floor creaked louder this time. Harry could tell Greyback had stood up, likely dismounting a chair. The man's weight creaked the floor as he lumbered toward the door. For some reason, Harry noticed it sounded like he was limping. One footfall seemed to fall far heavier than the other and drag on the floor a bit before lifting. Was he hurt?

Harry's thoughts were stopped as the metal door knob began to turn. Harry tilted his head as it opened just a crack. A sliver, even. Golden eyes peeked out at him. The room was too dark inside to see anything else.

"Yes?" Greyback groaned. It wasn't an angry sound, more tired.

"mare myyor urt?" Harry tried to ask the man if he was hurt.

As expected, Greyback blinked at him without understanding. The attempt at words failed to hit the mark.

Harry pouted his lips, looking to the floor as he thought. His eyes darted about the carpet as he considered how to get his point across. Eventually, he decided. Harry sat on his rump, pointing to where Greyback's legs probably were.

"Ow." Harry more or less barked. He then tilted his head pointedly, exaggerating a confused face.

This made Greyback glance down at himself. A short pause later, the man spoke. "I'm alright."

"Murrr." Harry nodded, standing again. "Whaa murr do in?" He asked next. His tongue itched at his teeth as he tried to speak.

"On break," Greyback answered quicker this time. "Need something?" The man tiredly asked from the dark room.

Harry looked toward where he came from with a scoff. Somehow, Greyback was getting the hang of their guessing game.

"Mr Malfoy bothering you?" Greyback smartly guessed. Then again, maybe he just knew how annoying Lucius could be.

Harry nodded with another puff, squeezing the book in his arms. The motion caught Greyback's focus. The man stood quietly for a moment. His eyes wandered as he seemed to think. Soon enough, he stepped back. Harry perked as Greyback opened the door as he did, making room for Harry to enter.

"He won't bother you here. He hates my guts too much to visit," Greyback grumbled out of sight. He said something under his breath, but Harry didn't hear it.

"Morr roooom?" Harry yowled softly. Harry hesitated to enter, feeling as if he was intruding. He paused at the doorway, looking around for Greyback. Before his eyes found the man, they found a table.

"The break room, if you want to call it that... I don't live in the manor." Greyback spoke from somewhere out of view.

Harry eyed the table before him, quickly noticing a littering of wood shavings on the floor. The door hung loose behind him. Offering exit as Harry walked in for a closer look. Sniffing the air, Harry caught the scent of wood everywhere. There were different notes to it, some smokey, others sweet. All wood, yet so different at the same time. Stepping around some shavings, Harry stained to stand. He set his hands on the table edge. Managing to get a view of what was atop. The surface was littered with tools. They all seemed to be for wood carving and working. Some rubber-ended hammers and lots of different sharp tools. If not for the context of the wood littered around the place, Harry would have mistaken them for torture tools.

"Careful." A scarred hand moved over Harry's head.

Harry flinched. Watching as the brutish limb grabbed a razor close to Harry's. Harry relaxed as Greyback moved the razor away from his hands, setting it down in a bowl of similar blades. Harry distantly noticed how rough the man's hands looked. They were callus and ungainly, like Hagrid's. His nails were an ugly yellow despite clearly being freshly washed... Harry hadn't heard a sink. Does Greyback have a bucket of water in here or something?

"If you get hurt here, Mr Malfoy will have my head." Greyback groaned with a huff. There was a hint of something angry in his tone... However, Greyback seemed to be fighting it. Was he not allowed to speak his mind?

"Mmr..." Harry let out a guilty sound.

"There is a bench in the corner you can sit on. It's lumpy, but it works." Greyback noted instead of acknowledging Harry's guilt. The man gestured loosely in the direction he spoke of with a rag before he dried his hands.

Harry turned to look. As promised, he noticed the bench. It was missing one of its four needed legs. It was obscured partly by half-caved blocks of wood. Harry blinked, recalling a seat in the Weasley home. They had a seat just like that in the kitchen...

Harry smiled and jumped away from the table. He hurried toward the seat, eagerly hopping on and settling down. It was hard and unwelcoming, just like the one at the Weasley's. Harry felt a purr escape at the memory of sitting by the wood stove with Ron. He sighed fondly, shutting his eyes as he let the memory settle in his mind. Mr Weasley had been stoking the fire for them on a cold day, asking them to hand him logs as he worked. Harry recalls beaming with a smile as Mr Weasley praised him for something as simple as picking a good piece of wood from the pile.

"Not a fan of the soft seats?" Greyback questioned. His rough voice was a touch softer than before.

Harry opened his eyes with a shrug. He noticed Greyback just in time to see the man close the door, letting the room fall dark. It took Harry's eyes a moment to adjust to the shadow. Once he saw again, Greyback was at the table. Harry adjusted on the bench as Greyback picked up a tool from the table. Harry swallowed as Greyback gripped the tool harshly, looking like a killer with a blade. His nerves were eased as Greyback banished the sharp tool toward the wood.

'brusss'

The sound returned as Greyback carded through the wood. The blade went through smoothly. It's like the hardness of the wood was soft soap.

'brusss'
'brusss'
'brusss'

Greyback worked without a word, seemingly unbothered by Harry's presence. Harry found himself watching the man work instead of reading. The man looked strong enough to break the wood in his hands with a clench of a fist... But he instead held it firmly to cut away at its form. His scared face was relaxed as his focus lay solely on the blade and wood in his hands. Glancing at the unkept clothing Greyback wore, Harry again wondered if Greyback was treated fairly. The Malfoy family could afford to pay their worker enough to afford clothes that weren't damaged. So why were Greyback's clothes so torn and stained? While eyeing ratty sleeves, Harry noticed what it was Greyback was making. With clever strokes, Greyback was shaping a totem of some sort. Harry recalls seeing similar totems in his rune studies class. Wild magic... That's what the book said. Harry wasn't a fan of the book's wording... Especially not now. There was nothing wild about this totem's origin except the wood it was carved from... Same as a wand.

Despite growing curiosity, Harry kept his mouth shut. He watched quietly, oddly fascinated by a totem being crafted. It's like it was in the wood all along, and Greyback was setting it free.

"It's for the new moon tomorrow." Greyback suddenly growled into the dim room.

Harry blinked, surprised by the sudden explanation. He meekly nodded, embarrassed for being caught staring. He moved to pull out his book when Greyback spoke again.

"The Big Man says you'll turn..." Greyback slowed to a stop, adjusting the forming wood in the light.

It's then Harry recognized the shape of a wild Manticore. Greyback's style and the fact it wasn't finished had hidden its meaning before... But now he saw the thick fur and humanlike face. 'The Big Man' must mean Voldemort...

"Myeah?" Harry prompted from the bench.

"Humph..." Greyback nodded, returning to his cutting. "He asked me to make a charm to trap your spirit."

Harry paled as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He hadn't heard a thing about a new moon or possible death! Greyback raised a brow at Harry before huffing with a scowl.

"Hunting spirit... Not your soul." Greyback corrected him gruffly.

Harry sighed with relief, tense body relaxing.

"I don't know why he'd want that..." Greyback growled into the air. His eyes returned to the totem with a glare. "Nothing good comes from repressing beastly urges..."

Harry squeezed his book, glancing between the totem and Greyback. That sounded like the words of a man who knew what he was talking about... Harry worried about how Greyback knew that. He worried more about what might happen to him if he did repress his 'beastly urges.'

Greyback moved to speak but stopped himself. He snarled his lips as he bit back his words. His brow glared harshly. What was Greyback avoiding? Harry eyed the man as he considered the possibilities. He knew he'd heard of the man before... But where? Definitely not a book, maybe the newspaper? From a friend? Just who was this werewolf?

"Murrr?" Harry tried to prompt.

Greyback held his silence, turning to Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry watched back as the man seemed to eye him in return.

"Did you know moonlight is sunlight reflected off stone?" Greyback suddenly asked with an odd tone.

Harry blinked, then gently nodded.

"It's the shine of the rock that turns people like me wolf... Not the light itself." Greyback's tone laid heavy in Harry's mind. Was this a threat? An info dump? What was this man getting at? Why was he telling Harry this?

"The Big Man has some moonstone. Before humans, the moon and the earth were one rock. They broke after something else hit them." Greyback stroked his thumb across the totem as he continued. "He offered me a chunk for this... Why would he do that?"

Harry blinked. Greyback was asking him something? Harry was gobstruck. Harry shifted in his seat, gaping before shaking off his surprise. Why would Voldemort do that? As payment? But why would Greyback need moonstone? Why would a werewolf want it? Harry chewed his lips as he itched at the book in his hands. Why... Why? Why-

Harry blinked, recalling what he held. Oh, OH! That's why Greyback asked him... Harry is holding a book on magical beasts! Harry puffed his nose as he lifted the book, opening it to the guide. He quickly sourced the page number for werewolves before flipping to that section. Moonstone, moonstone... Harry traced his fingers across the pages as he skimmed for the word. Finally, he found it. He barked with a smile as he waved his free hand to Greyback. The brute of a man left his chair, coming before Harry's seat to read with him.

"-managed to find moonstone in a clearing. I planned to harvest the bolder before I noticed pawprints far too large for a wolf. I considered a bear might be around. Before long, I found werewolf trail markers at the clearing's edge. The prints in the area seemed fresh. Far too fresh. The time was approaching for dinner! No werewolf should be in form... That is when I came upon a theory. Was the moonstone turning them? If the sunlight relfecting off the moon could turn a wolf, what's stopping this bolder's reflection from doing the same? I ran from the place-"

"Daylight shifting..." Greyback growled close enough to feel. The man's breath puffed across Harry's face, prompting him to look up from the book. Greyback turned, looking at nothing as he got lost in thought. Harry watched on as the man's gold eyes focused on nothing. His brow shifted from emotion to emotion too quickly for Harry to identify. Finally, the man escaped his head.

A wild smile broke across his face, showing his uneven yellow teeth. Fangs were sharp as the carving tools gleamed with saliva in the dim lighting. A look of glee shone in the gold of Greyback's eyes. A deep chuckle escaped his chest with a rumble. "A fair trade indeed... Looks like that old snake didn't lie..."

Harry carefully closed the book in his hands. His body turned cold with the feeling of dread in his throat. He suddenly remembered he was inside the home of a Deatheater, under the care of a Dark Lord. Why on earth would Greyback be a good person? Harry shouldn't have given him the answer to his question-

Harry flinched as Greyback shifted, crouching down to his level. The wild glint in his eyes shone as he locked eyes with Harry. "I hope you won't mind losing that hunting spirit..." Harry had a feeling he wasn't being truthful. "I must admit, I want that rock more than you'll probably care for."

Harry really shouldn't have expected Greyback to be like Lupin...

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Harry was lost in burning gold, a color that seemed to saturate his lips like thick syrup. A sinking feeling swelled in his chest as his gut fell to his feet. Prey, Greyback's eyes made Harry feel like prey. The sensation was drowning him! Harry's breath caught in his throat with tight pain. The sight of wet fangs echoed in the front of his mind like the flashing of an emergency light. As those fangs began to part between the smile that surrounded them-

Knock! Knock! Knock! It was the sound of a cane tapping on the wood of the room's door. Sharp and precise... Lucius?

The knock on the door was like a blessing from God. The sudden sound split the tension like a blaring horn. It makes Harry flinch and Greyback's mind wander. His gold eyes slipped off Harry's skin in favor of the unmoving wood. Greyback's smile falls into a frown as his brow glowers. His hair seems to bristle like a dog's. An angry smell rushed into Harry's nose, making his eyes water and his tongue lap at his teeth.

Distantly, something in Harry's mind enjoys the flavor his scenes discover.

"Greyback!" The voice of Lucius cooed with a sickly sweet pride. "It's almost lunch. You positively MUST make something for our dearest guest! Something that will impress!" Somehow, Lucius sounded more excited than ever. It's as if the topic was planning for a party, not lunch.

Despite Lucius's chipper mood, Greyback didn't get any happier. Instead, irritation boiled up in the massive man's form. Harry got a terrifying front-row seat to Greyback's rising anger. The older man grinds his teeth with restrained rage, a vein bulging in his throat. Greyback growled deep in his chest, visibly holding back the urge for violence. Still, through gritted teeth, Greyback responded to Lucius:

"On it." Greyback snarled tightly, a forced smile plastered on his face.

"Fantastic! Be quick this time, would you?" Lucius calls as he leaves. Greyback sighed a snarl as Lucius departed, cane tapping away with his shoes.

Harry clung to the book against his chest. His breath was stuck in his throat as he glanced between Greyback and the door. The taste of anger filtered into Harry's lungs and flavored his tongue.

"Prat..." Greyback quietly snarls. He rises from his looming over Harry, snarling his lips as he turns away.

Harry blinks his blurry eyes, glancing between the shape of Greyback and his escape. The man loosely starts to clean, forgetting all about his guest. Harry counts it as a blessing as he sneaks off the bench. He tip-toes quietly across the littered ground, eyes worriedly watching Greyback's looming figure. It's once he's close to the door that Harry dares hurry.

'Everyone here is nuts!' Harry thinks with bitten-back panic. He hops to his feet to open the door, ignoring the pain in his spine at the posture. As the door swings open against his leaning weight, Harry lands his hands on the floor before scooping up the book Draco lent him. He hurries on two feet and one hand down the hall, breathing in quick panting huffs. Harry rushes mindlessly away from the intimidating Greyback. He feels like a rabbit fleeing from a hound. A haunting feeling that makes his quills rattle.

'Don't be alone with Greyback, noted.' Harry declares to himself as he finally finds a quiet hallway. He can feel it as his fur stops standing on end. It smooths down as his mind clams from its sharp panic.

In the quiet hall, Harry can finally feel safe enough to sit. As he does, the carpet offers much-needed comfort. His limbs are sore from his sprint from danger. Harry sounds a long sigh as he turns his eyes to his surroundings.

Familiar colors are in unfamiliar patterns. New decore hangs on the walls, showing Harry he was in new territory. Harry notes a change from a rose theme to a flower he has no name for.

'Alright, is this another wing of the manor?' Harry questions inside his head. He raises a brow as he scans the walls. He notes several closed doorways close by. Further ahead is a bend in the hall leading into the unknown. 'I guess it's neat they are labeled with flowers... Is the rose wing where everyone hangs out?'

Harry slowly stands, sniffing the air. He begins to walk, eyeing the surroundings with restrained unease. The decore in this hall is far less... Fancy? It's much more homely. Things hang on the wall in messy patterns, nothing like the perfection in the gallery. It's nothing like the burrow and the Weasley family, but it's not nearly as showy as the rose wing. He can catch the smell of the Malfoy family more potent than before. Maybe they stayed over here more? Harry then recalls his room was for a servant. His room is likely closer to the kitchen than the Malfoy's rooms are. Come to think of it, Lucius's private room is closer to this area than the kitchen. It's all so... Weird. At least to Harry. Cutting a home into different sections like this is so odd... It must be a rich person thing.

"Harry? What are you doing so far from the dining hall?" Lucius's voice suddenly chirps.

Harry flinches, snapping his head toward the man's voice. Did he like appearing suddenly? He might have saved Harry from Greyback's... Whatever that was... But did he have to appear suddenly all the time?! What happened to calmly walking past? Or quietly minding his business? Did Lucius have to give Harry his utmost attention all the time? It felt patronizing.

Lucius's head tilts slightly to the right as he comes down the hall. He raised his cane from the floor to grasp it in both hands. "Are you lost? I assure you, the dining hall isn't down here."

"Murrraa," Harry tries to speak, then growls as he recalls he can't. Harry glares at nothing, but Lucius takes it as a response.

"Oh, I meant nothing by it!" Lucius apologizes with a slim smile. He bows ever so slightly as he does so.

"You are free to explore... but aren't you hungry? You did make a rather big show pointing out how much manticores eat in that book of yours..." Lucius hummed as he loosely gestured toward the book with his cane.

Harry resists the urge to try and correct Lucius's assumptions. He has a feeling it'd be pointless. So, instead, Harry huffs a sigh and nods, turning away from the unexplored hallway. He can always explore later.

"Ah, I thought so!" Lucius beams, correcting his posture. He lets his cane meet the ground while motioning an arm toward the hall Harry had run down. "Let's get you fed, hm?"

"Murm." Harry wordlessly agrees. He starts his way back, thinking he knows the way. Once he gets close to the 'break room.' He'll remember the way then, at least.

"Excellent!" Lucius chirps as he begins to follow. However, the man's chirping doesn't end there. "So, find anything you like?" The man lightly presses.

"Murr." Harry puffs without a word. He rolls his eyes as he does, knowing Lucius can't see the gesture. When will he realize Harry can't speak?

Honestly, it was frustrating... It made Harry's chest cramp with something close to self-pity. Some hero he was... Resigned to be an animal at the feet of the Dark Lord and his herd. So what if he wasn't unto the hero title before? He'd certainly like to be seen as human again... Even if it came with the unwanted attention of the wizarding world. Harry'd take camera flashes and interviews over this. God, he'd even do an interview with Rita Skeeter. At least then he could TELL her to bugger off.

"What did you think of the lounge room?" Lucius dumbly asks more.

"Purff." Harry puffs.

"And the sunroom?" Lucius continues with prideful tones.

"Meff." Harry murmurs.

"Oh! What did you think of the-" Lucius starts.

"Pafff!" Harry snarls, whipping around.

He cuts Lucius off sharply, making the man stop with wide eyes. Lucius's face drops, shock plastered across his features. He raises his cane from the floor to fidget it in his gloved hands.

"Oh, have I upset you?" The man's prideful tone softens just a fraction. His annoying, pompous look turns into weak worry. His grey eyes seem to turn to puppy eyes... That must be a Malfoy thing. Harry can recall many times Draco used that same look to earn favor with Snape. Was it genuine or a mask?

Harry's eyes twitch, his lip snarling for a moment. Miss Weasley would scold him for being so rude... But Lucius couldn't catch a hint either. He paused with the conflict twisting in his mind. Be polite or be stern? In the end, Harry turned away with a scoff.

Harry began his pace again, leaving for the dining area. After a pause, Lucius followed, all be it quietly. The only sounds he made were the tapping of his shoes and the thumping of his cane.

After much walking... The dining room comes into view as plainly as ever. Harry stops at the door, shooting a glance over his shoulder. Lucius freezes for a moment. His pose was stiff, and his eyes wide. He stays that way until Harry nods toward the door. He blinks with realization, hurrying to the door. Harry stands bored as Lucius opens the heavy door for him. He knows he can open it himself, but it hurts. The least Lucius can do is save him from pain after talking his ear off.

The man stands close to the wall as the door swings open.

"Murp." Harry thanks dimly as he moves forward. Harry can see Lucius preen at the sound as if it were praise from the corner of his eye. Harry opts to let the man think what he wants for the moment.

Harry enters the dining room quickly, eyes set on the table. It's when he notices a dark shape that he freezes.

Sat at the tablehead like a king is the Dark Lord himself. He must have finished all that paperwork... He sits calmly with his hands steepled before him on the table. His body doesn't move a whisper as his red eyes turn toward Harry. When their eyes lock, the serpentine lord smiles, a touch of fang peaking from his lipless mouth.

"Ah," Voldemort begins.

His voice breaks the tension that made Harry freeze. Harry hurries to a seat, placing himself at the Dark Lord's left. This might be Voldemort, but this was also the one person he could talk fluently with. For the moment, the need to be understood overwhelmed any fear Harry harbored.

"Explore well?" Voldemort asks with a voice light as feathers. His scaled chin comes to rest atop his interlacing fingers.

The movement reminds Harry of crawling maggots... A memory Harry stifles. Instead, he makes a point to lock eyes with the Dark Lord and summon the images of Greyback in the break room. The itching behind his eyes is worth the look of understanding that crosses Voldemort's face.

"Ah, yes... The amulet..." Voldemort croons into the room. They barely notice as the Malfoy family starts to take their seats. Voldemort hums a smile before he continues. "A 'just in case' thing, I assure you... After all, I'm afraid even I don't know what tomorrow night will bring."

Harry swallows harshly, eyes dropping to the table. That isn't good, not good at all. Voldemort not knowing something? That felt so... Haunting. The familiar weight of dread sinks into Harry's body. What was going to happen to him?

"You might be unaffected, but that is the least likely thing... Even muggles are drawn out by the moon... They play in its glow without a clue of its properties... Its light brings out the instincts of everything, I fear." Voldemort continues on with his slow speech.

"What are the more likely options?" Harry asks with his thoughts, catching Voldemort's eyes again.

Voldemort smiles softly, a tender look in his eyes. "You will either become more manticore or more man."

Harry swallows harshly, not liking the first idea at all. "More manticore?"

"Yes, as you can guess... That is what the amulet is for." Voldemort slowly nods, pacing like a slithering snake. It's like he had all the time in the world. Voldemort had no need to rush. "If you turn feral, I'll trap the more violent part of you into the amulet... At least until you learn to control it yourself."

"Right, a just-in-case thing..." Harry nods weakly.

"Correct. I rather have it and not need it... Then need it and not have it." Voldemort declares firmly.

"The rock, the moonstone?" Harry dares approach. "Do you really plan on giving that to Greyback?"

Voldemort's smile sharpens, his red eyes curling at the edges. "But of course. What better way to keep the peace than to make a weapon to threaten with?"

Harry swallowed. He tried to stop his mind, but his thoughts got ahead of him. "Won't that make them want to fight you?"

"Only if they wish to lose their sons and daughters to the moonlight." Voldemort purred without a second thought. "And is it really such a terrible thing? To dance under the moon's light?"

"Doesn't it hurt?" Harry asks nervously.

"Only if one fights," Voldemort notes calmly.

Harry broke his contact with Voldemort, turning to the table. He stared at the pace before him, mind racing. Harry thought of Lupin mostly, of his shame and fear. But he also thought of Greyback. He might be proud of his power, but he was still seen as lesser. Who would ever wish for that life on someone's children?

"You are missing a vital point, Harry," Voldemort speaks, somehow knowing what Harry was thinking without magic. He pulls Harry's focus back to him as he speaks. "Werewolves and other beings will be lifted up under my rule... People like your Lupin will no longer hunger and fight for a life in the light."

"How can you do that? People already hate him so much." Harry lets himself think into Voldemort's mind.

"By proving even the worst werewolf to ever live can control himself under Snape's wolfsbane brew." Voldemort sneered a smile.

Harry's eyes went wide, making Voldemort chuckle.

"Yes, And I'm afraid the government doesn't exactly hold a council at night, much less during a full moon." Voldemort hums with humor.

"Oh..." Harry calms, dread lifting into fluttering hope. His lips start to smile as his fear disappears. Lupin could have a better life?

Sure, Harry wasn't sold on the whole 'scaring the sh*t out of the government' part... But even he knew it was impossible to get through their thick skulls sometimes. After all, how many times did he try to warn them about Voldemort's return? Each and every time Harry was treated as crazy or trying to cause panic. Sometimes, the only way to make them understand WAS to scare them... Even if it felt wrong.

"I hope it goes well." Harry genuinely thinks looking back to Voldemort.

"I do as well, Harry." Voldemort smiles fondly.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Their talk ends just in time. Plans for the future ahead are forgotten under the idea of lunch.

The sound of the Malfoys settling in for lunch is met with a door's groan. Everyone, barring Voldemort, turns to look at the new entry. The dining room's door opens to let in one last person. Harry spots Greyback without much surprise. However, what he brings with him does give Harry pause.

The Pork-like smell of human meat calls from the covered platter riding atop a food trolly. Greyback gruffly brings the trolly to the table, giving Lucius a violent smile as he removes the platter's cover. Lucius begins to chat with Greyback, the words lost to Harry for the moment. His focus lies on the blooming aroma in the room. The smell increases tenfold once the cover lifts. This makes Harry's mouth water. He lays his eyes on several plates. Oddly, they look to all bear the same type of meat. That can't be right. Harry must not be seeing correctly! Harry narrows his eyes as he looks between the plates. There is a plate for everyone except Greyback himself. Many look like Harry's breakfast in quality, except two that look even fancier.

The two unique plates are set before Voldemort and Harry with surprising care from Greyback. They are given more meat than the Malfoy family combined. Cleary Voldemort has a large appetite like Harry. Then again, perhaps he's just making up for a skipped breakfast. Their food was cut into even cubes for enjoyment and seared nicely on each side. Had Greyback been a chef before? The appealing garnish of cherries on Harry and Voldemort's plates far outshine the plain plate Lucius earns.

After receiving his meal, the Dark Lord takes a taste. Harry and Greyback both watch as Voldemort considers the taste. After a pause, Greyback earns an appreciative nod from Voldemort. The motion seems to be taken as the 'okay' to continue.

Harry turns to watch Greyback serve the Malfoy family their plates. They seem unbothered by what must be human flesh atop their plates. Lucius is a little too eager if you ask Harry. Are the Malfoy's cannibals? Harry knows he isn't one to speak, considering his own situation. However, Harry still pales as he watches the 'perfect family' begin to dine on the meaty meal.

Harry watches juicy slices of meat disappear behind rich lips. The family eats happily without pause. It's just like their breakfast of pheasant salad. It is devoured with smiles and family chatter. Harry's eyes linger on Lucius's mouth as he uses a tissue to clean a drip of meat that dirties his lips. He chuckles at something Draco says, grey eyes closing with his glee. It's like something from a family magazine AND a horror movie!

Harry looks at his plate of meat, knowing it is human. He can smell the same flavor that he'd tasted from Bellatrix's throat. It's the same aroma the Malfoys comments on with praise, making Greyback momentarily preen. He offers them no smiles but puffs his chest with transparent pride.

Harry turns his eyes to Voldemort. He locks his eyes with the Dark Lord, questions clear in his mind. "Do they always eat humans? Do they know they are?" Harry wonders into Voldemort's eyes with a hint of urgency.

Voldemort smiles wide as he nods a small smile. "Family tradition from before my time." He speaks calmly.

Before Voldemort's time? As in decades ago? Definitely, before Lucius's birth, at least... Maybe before Lucius's father even!

Harry turns to look at the family again. Instead of grey, Harry sees gold. He ended up meeting the gaze of Greyback. The man's eyes make Harry shrink in his seat. Abruptly, Harry has the man's full attention. His golden gaze was heavy as a chain around Harry's throat. A tight sensation he tried to swallow down to no success. An expectation laid openly in the air despite no words being said between them.

Eat. Greyback wanted to watch him eat again... He was silently waiting, a sharp, toothy smile on his lips. Why? Harry thought he did it earlier to see if Harry was polite before... But now? Harry wondered if Greyback got a kick watching people eat human meat. Did he get off on it? Harry swallowed as he turned his shakey gaze back to his plate.

It looked amazing... He hated to admit it. Still, it really did. Perfectly seared meat sat atop a bed of roasted vegetables. Herbs clung to it all, offering a divine smell to Harry's nose. He swore there was a hint of wine somewhere in the dish. It's the sort of meal Harry expected to see at a pricey restaurant. Despite his awkward feelings, Harry couldn't deny his urge to eat. His gut scratched at his insides as he picked up a fork.

He didn't need to cut a thing, thanks to Greyback. It was all in bite-sized pieces already for his convenience. Harry wondered if Greyback did that because he struggled earlier... How nice? Harry licked his lips as he pierced a cube of meat and a roasted carrot in one go. The sweet smell encouraged him as he lifted the fork to his mouth.

The moment the flesh met his tongue, Harry forgot about his worries. Harry sighed as he melted in his seat. He eagerly chewed, licking at the meal in his mouth as he looked at Voldemort again.

"Tell him it's amazing," Harry demanded with his thoughts.

Voldemort huffed a humored sound before swallowing his own food. The Dark Lord beckoned Greyback's attention with a finger as Harry turned to the werewolf with a smile.

"Harry is pleased with your cooking, Greyback." Voldemort translates for Harry.

Greyback smirks with yellowed fangs as he meets Harry's eyes. Harry smiles back with his teeth, not thinking. Luckily, it only increases Greyback's smile.

"Good to hear," Greyback growls for Harry to hear. "I'd hate to disappoint my little Man-Eater friend."

Harry finds himself snorting a laugh. He smacks a hand over his mouth to avoid spitting the chewed meat in his mouth. He laughs behind his hands, earning a chuckle from Greyback.

Lucius suddenly tried to join in with a laugh, leaning in his seat to pry into the conversation. "Certainly! Our guest deserves your best, Greyback." Lucius smiles with a smug tone.

Greyback doesn't turn to the man, rolling his eyes while his smile falls. "Yes, Sir." Greyback seems to mock. He steps away from the table, roughly grabbing the pushing handle of the food cart. Greyback drags it behind him as he walks off, the cart jostling around with the rough treatment. He exits with a slab of a door, a sound that makes everyone except Voldemort flinch.

Harry blinks. He stares, surprised, at the door before turning to Lucius with a glare.

Lucius innocently looks at Harry despite the human flesh in his gut. "What did I say?"

Harry puffs his lips with a shake of his head. He has MANY words he wants to say... But he was too hungry to bother trying. Harry delves into his meal, savoring the sweet flavors and hearty meat.

"Do try and be politer, dear," Narcissa speaks her mind to her husband.

"But I was!" Lucius all but pouts. "I'm merely stating my expectations for our employee." He defends himself.

"You can do that without interrupting him while he speaks to our Lord and guest, dear." Narcissa doubles down.

"He stole my nickname for Harry," Draco grunts grumpily from his seat, prodding his food with a fork as he props his head up with his other hand.

Narcissa sighs with a shake of her head. "Oh, you two... What am I ever to do with you both?" Despite her disappointment, a fond smile stays on her face.

Draco had a nickname for him? Harry wonders as he eats. He thought the whole 'man-eater' thing was a one-off... Was it not? Come to think of it, Harry had been avoiding everyone. Who was to say they weren't calling him that when he wasn't around? Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that.

At least Greyback seems to say it as a term of endearment.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Harry couldn't think of much other than his growing hunger until the dreaded night came. However, his growling stomach didn't offer much distraction. If anything, it made him more nervous. Would he maul someone? Would he attack Draco as his parents had feared? Careful sign language lessons with Draco had been tense at best. Harry was always aware at least one of Draco's parents was in the room, sitting with thinly veiled worry. Their eyes lingered on his claws and teeth... They did their best to hide their stares. But Harry couldn't help but notice. It made him feel so... Wild. Like a feral animal that might snap at any moment! It hurt, as much as he hated to admit. It hurt to be looked at like that...

Tonight was the night. Harry would either become a man or a wild beast. The teetering balance he'd been holding would be flipped. What way? Man or beast? Friend or foe?

Harry sat on a chair, worrying his claws in his tail quills. The mindless motion helped to soothe his mind a fraction. As he toyed with his quills, his eyes caught movement. Harry's watch fell to the lumbering form of Greyback. The man was leaving the manor, retreating into a thick forest beyond the hedges. Harry stiffens at the sight, anxious. Was there a place for him in the trees? A shed? A cage? Or would Greyback be running wild under the moon? Harry hoped it wasn't the latter. Harry prayed Voldemort had a plan to keep him contained. A muzzle, at least... Wolvesbane maybe?

Harry was shaken from his thoughts as a door opened behind him. He didn't need to look to know who had entered. The tapping of a cane was plenty of identification.

"My, worried are we?" Lucius spoke into the room. His voice broke the uneasy peace Harry tried to nurture. The man let himself in, closing the door behind him.

Harry kept his gaze on the woods as Lucius approached him. The unease in his skin prickled as the man stopped at his side.

"It's a nice evening, all things considered." Lucius elegantly spoke.

Nice? Oh, he must mean the weather. Harry shrugged as he noted the lack of rain or whipping wind. It was rather pleasant out... The kind of night that would have him and his friends walking down to Hagrid's for tea. Honestly, he wasn't sure why Lucius brought it up. Just small talk? Or was it crucial for the ritual tonight?

"Draco tells me this sort of night is your favorite?" Lucius said plainly.

Oh, that's why he brought it up. Harry blinks, eyes focusing on the window's glass. In the reflection, he can see Lucius, the man's grey eyes watching him back. "Meh." This time, Harry shakes his head, correcting the man.

"No?" Lucius guesses. "Hm, I suppose he wasn't exactly in your company..." The father's eyes wander to the floor as he considers his son. His gloved hand stoked the snake head on his cane. Then, with abrupt interest. "Do you have a favorite type of night?"

A brief surprise washed into consideration. Harry purses his lips as he hums a considering tone. Did he? It's nothing he really considered. Favorite night? Winter nights were rather cozy when he had a blanket and fire- Wait, why did Lucius even care? Harry finally turns to the man, raising a brow.

Lucius's curiosity falls. He seems to smile almost timidly as he nods. "Ah, my apologies... I suppose that sort of thing isn't exactly on your mind right now..." He avoids Harry's gaze, staring out the window.

Harry watches him for a moment longer before looking out the window himself. There is nothing new to note. The darkening sky is cloudy, and the wind is weak. The scene was best described as boring. Quiet, calm, and tired. Another silent moment passes between them...

"Nervous for tonight?" Lucius speaks with abrupt precision.

Harry shudders a groan, nodding as his eyes wince shut. Dread crawls in his skin at the topic. He was more than nervous! Harry was outright terrified of the next few hours.

The father lets out a nervous chuckle at his side. "I didn't intend to worsen your worry..." He seems to apologize.

Harry hisses his teeth, wishing he could speak for the hundredth time. He loosely motions some words, gesturing in a feeble attempt at sign language. Harry was far from fluent, much to his own dismay. Lucius watches him, eyes serious as he tries to catch Harry's meaning. He's just as lost as Harry expected him to be. With a huff, Harry stops trying at all. Draco might be a better teacher than his father, but Harry wasn't catching on quick. Harry felt useless.

Lucius waits for Harry to try again, only looking away when a second attempt doesn't come. "It's difficult learning a new language-"

Harry snarls. Turning and glaring at the man, shutting him up. Below a glare, Harry wishes he could speak with his mind. The things he had to say to this man... First of all, sign language wasn't a new language. It was a new way of speaking English. It's like learning to write after learning to talk first. It should be easier than this... right? Was he just stupid now? Was he turning into a dumb animal? Harry ground his teeth as he dreaded the idea. What if he lost everything? His memories? His feelings?

Harry swallowed as heat bloomed behind his eyes. No, no, he's not going to cry. Harry's not going to sniffle and sob in front of Lucius f*cking Malfoy! He's not a child anymore, dam it! Harry sucked his breath between grit teeth, gagging as his chest sputtered a hiccup. Oh no, no! Harry's eyes burned as he squeezed them shut. He felt hot tears run down his face as he began to sob. He tried to hide his face in his hands, wiping the wetness of his eyes away with his palms.

"My... Oh my..." Lucius spoke above him. Harry was too upset to tell what tone the words were spoken in.

Harry buried himself in his arms, avoiding his sight. He knew it was useless. Harry was plain to see where he sat. Should Harry flee? No, wouldn't that be worse? What if Voldemort saw? Draco? Narcissa? God forbid some random visitor. Why did Lucius have to be here? Why did he have to see!?

Harry's back flinched as a gloved hand met his skin. It felt hot on his skin, feeling like a burn. It made Harry gasp another hiccup, eyes popping open. He dared peek from under his messed hair. Managing to see the hand's owner.

Lucius had lowered himself to Harry's level, setting his cane aside to stroke a hand over Harry's shoulders. His grey eyes were worried as he softly smiled. "It's quite alright, I'm sure you've been holding a lot in..."

Harry's eyes watered tenfold, vision blurring as his lip trembled. Thats right... This was a father. Lucius has seen plenty of tears in his time. If anyone here would understand his tears, it would be the father and mother who'd raised a brat of a boy. Harry found himself moving, crawling off the chair he'd sat in. He slipped into the man's lap, tightly curling into his comforting warmth. The soft feeling of gloved hands stroked his back, robed arms hugging his sides. Harry felt Lucius hug around him, soothing him.

"You must be so upset... And with no way to say what's on your mind? Oh, it must be terrible, I'm sorry I didn't see your misery sooner, Harry." Lucius spoke quietly. Harry could feel the man's voice as he laid his head on Lucius's chest. "Let's hope tonight brings you your voice, hm?" Lucius encourages.

Harry nodded with sniffles, wishing the same.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

The basem*nt is hot from the candles littering the stone walls. Their wax drips to the floor, audible in the tense silence that filled the space. The air feels thick with magic and the presence of Voldemort. The weighty pressure feels slick on Harry's skin. Harry is barely a step in before his skin begins to sweat. His sweat feels like ice as it slips down his body. The heat and unease twisted in his gut like worms. His spit foams in his throat, feeling like slime. Harry wants to vomit as he descends, cheeks barely dried of tears. He knows his prayer that Voldemort wouldn't notice was useless. Voldemort knew everything. He would know this. He'd Know Harry was scared... Vulnerable. Weak. Worthless... Harry keeps his head hung as he walks into the musty depth.

He's left the stairs now. He's following the heels of Lucius. The man's shiny shoes gleamed in the candlelight. His sturdy steps offer Harry little comfort from far ahead. Instead, Harry feels like a beast led to the butcher. A willing sheep for slaughter.

Lucius stops.

Harry stops behind him.

Harry only hears the dripping wax.

The quiet is broken as Lucius gingerly moves behind him. It's then that Lucius gives him a light poke. The touch of his cane makes Harry walk forward. Under his warped hands, Harry watches himself step into a circle of salt. He's careful to leave the line unblemished.

"Do not fear," Voldemort's voice thunders in the small expanse. "I am right here."

The voice makes Harry jump, tears bubbling into his vision. Harry shudders as he lifts his sore eyes up. They sting worse than ever as Voldemort's weighty presence sinks deep into his mind. It presses Harry down, making him stumble to the floor like a wounded animal. Harry raises his head as he falls, begging with his mind to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's face looked cleaved in two, his mouth like an open wound. His fangs are wet as his lipless mouth expands, making his soulless eyes crease with a vile smile. The Dark Lord stands, arms raised. He looks like a devil mocking the heavens. His shadow looms behind him, making him look larger than life.

"You shall not suffer under my watch, dear Harry."

The white-hot pain that envelops him says otherwise. He has only a millisecond to see that everything inside the salt circle explodes upward in a flash of white Feindfyre. Harry, oddly enough, felt cold for that single moment. Then... Everything went white.

Harry felt nothingness transform into crushing pressure.

The blinding white vanished into a calm, dimming green.

Harry felt himself float before he began to sink. His arms drifted up, bubbles dancing across his skin. Rays of sun scanned down like searchlights, blessing his skin with light. He looked... Human. Harry stretched his fingers, eyes widening at the sight of natural nails.

His mind is pulled down, his eyes falling with it. He finds his gaze forward, looking into the near distance. A dark form swims toward him, twisting through long lengths reaching upward...

Voldemort's dream?

Harry stays limp in the water, clothes billowing around him as his glasses try to float off his nose. Still, he doesn't thrash or panic. He feels... Safe?

Harry watches as the basilisk comes close. She is as intimidating as Harry remembered. Giant and with eyes the color of spilled blood. She turns last second to pass by. Her eyes were oddly free of rage or hunger. Harry winces as he feels the serpent's current pulling him. He thinks of fighting but decides against it. Instead, Harry reaches out. His hands find the leathery skin of the serpent. Then, his fingers find a grasp. Harry grunts out a bubble of air as he's tugged along. His glasses do little to prevent the rushing sensation across his eyes. He holds them almost closed, wincing across the flow. He hugs close for the ride, letting the basilisk carry him through the water.

The dark water is tight around him, threatening to drown him. Harry clenches his jaw while pressing his nose to the basilisk's hide. He wonders where she will go. Where will they end up?

"Look, child." A woman's voice echoes as if they are on dry land.

Harry blinks, raising his head again. He looks up to the basilisk, meeting her red gaze. At his glance, she focuses ahead again, falling quiet.

"Are you showing me something?" Harry tries to ask. His voice comes out in bubbles. He gets no answer to his question. Instead, he's left to hold on.

Then- Harry snorts in water with a gurgle as the basilisk suddenly dives deeper. Harry feels his instincts scream at him to surface. He fights the urge, biting his lips as they try to open.

"Where are we going?" Harry can't even hear himself speak over the sound of rushing water. It drowns out his thoughts, growing louder and louder. The sound grows enough to make his mind split open in pain. Harry snarls his teeth as the taste of blood blooms across his tongue. He winces one eye shut as a stream of blood trails quickly from his nose. He claws into the skin of the basilisk, growling into the water. His ribs feel like they crack as they are enveloped in darkness. Bubbles splatter from behind his teeth as he strains his head forward. With a growing urge to survive, Harry fights. He raises an arm only for it to shoot back with the pressure of the water. But, he roars bubbles into the water as he claws his arm forward. He stretches before clawing in. He does the same with his other arm, pulling himself forward. He crawls up and up the form of the serpent.

The basilisk seems to notice, suddenly twisting as she swims onwards. The corkscrew they now move in further punishes Harry for trying to survive. Harry continues anyway, fighting his way up her form. The sensation of her body under his is alien. She burns like fire as she swims with what must be all of her might. Her skin is firm like rubber. Only by prying his fingers between leathery folds does he get a grip.

"I can't die like this! Please stop!" Harry tries to yell at her. She says nothing, only twists the other way. Harry yelps as his body yanks to the other side. He yowls with pain as his joints strain. It feels like he's being pulled apart! Harry crawls forward with his trembling arms. He soon discovers the texture of the basilisk's crown. The horns offer plenty of holds as he crawls onto her head.

"Stop! Please!" Harry yowls into the space between her eyes.

His eyes snap open as he is flashed a rush of colors. He's riding atop the basilisk as she seems to dive into a melting mix of hues. He doesn't know where to look as his eyes strain from the light. He can't hear a thing as images twist out of the colors. Rabbits dance across the backs of snakes while the serpents curl and die. Spiders crawl from the throats of faceless men. Harry sees more and more things that make bile rise in his throat. The colors and images twist and dance in his eyes as he feels a twitch start in his fingers. As he watches the image of a stature bleeding from its chest, the twitch crawls up his arms. The twitch invades his chest as the eyes of a rabbit roll out of its head and into someone's mouth.

"Make it stop."

It's not a question.

It's not even a request.

Harry orders it like law.

It's only then that-

Harry opens his eyes, and his vision meets the basem*nt ceiling. After he blinks, a cautious Lucius peers over him.

"He is fine, Lucius," Voldemort speaks, earning a flinch from Lucius. "Just give him a moment to realize his place."

Lucius nods, quieting down. Still, he watches nervously as Harry's thoughts slowly congregate. He's not drowning? The colors are gone... The scary pictures are nowhere to be seen. He feels warm, a far contrast to the cold water. No basilisk is there for him to cling to. He...

Harry is awake.

Harry slowly sits up, eyeing the basem*nt as he does. It's just as musty as before. He looks higher, seeing the only change. A soot circle has been burned into the ceiling. The feindfyre...

"You burned me," Harry says. He then flinches at the sound of his own voice. Harry gasps, hands jumping to his face. He fumbles his fingers across his skin. Harry traces his nose, finding it no longer furry. He runs his fingers through his hair, finding no quills.

"I'm back. I'm human again..." Harry can't believe his own words. Not even as he looks down at his very human legs and belly. His... naked... belly. It's only thanks to a bit of pudge that his decency is covered. Harry smacks his hands over his crotch as his face burns with embarrassment.

"Don't look!" Harry nearly yowls as he looks at Lucius wide-eyed.

Lucius obeyed with a flinch, covering his eyes with a gloved hand. He even turns around, further shielding Hary from his sight. "Sorry, sorry..." Harry hears him meekly apologize as he faces a wall.

Harry feels his face is on fire as he turns back to Voldemort, mortified. The Dark Lord only smirks, folding his hands behind his back. They both know Harry doesn't have the guts to order HIM around. So Harry sinks in on himself with embarrassment.

"I forgot I was naked..." Harry whines with shame.

"Oh, no matter." Voldemort rolls his eyes. "You did have fur covering your... Modesty." He seems to tease.

Harry suffers a whine, curling his legs to his chest. He faceplants into his knees, covering himself the best he can. "Is there anything I can wear? Please?"

Harry peers over his knees as a fabric 'thwump' hits the floor. He quickly spots a robe. Harry gets it on even faster. Once his skin is covered, he dares stand before Voldemort without adverting his eyes.

"Is this permanent? Am I cured?" Harry wishes to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort tilts his head to the side with a smile. "Cured? Of what?" The terrifying man chuckles as he steps closer to Harry. "You were not cursed, Harry... You were blessed!"

Harry grits his teeth. "It didn't feel like a blessing." He retorts.

"No, I imagine not," Voldemort nods knowingly. "First transformations like that rarely go well-"

"First!?" Harry yelps. He clings to his new robes and looks at Voldemort in horror.

"Now," Voldemort's voice hardens.

Harry's eyes go wide as his mouth snaps shut.

Voldemort watches him for a moment, ensuring he's quiet. "Not even Animagus have easy transformations the first time around... However, much like them, YOU will be in control now." Voldemort clasps his hands before his chest as he continues, head high and looking down at Harry. "What you went through is a far more... Natural way of gaining the form of a beast. Traumatic, perhaps, but natural."

Harry swallows heavily, nodding to prompt Voldemort further.

"Before the ritual of Animagus was perfected, wizards could still turn to beasts. Through trauma or terror... The beastly emotions have a chance to bring out the most wild parts of one's soul." Voldemort speaks clearly, like a teacher. He nods to Harry, encouraging him to listen closely. Harry nods back as the Dark Lord continues. "It will be a hard skill to master, But I'm sure you will do fine, Harry."

An awkward silence fills the basem*nt as Harry thinks. Like an Animagus? He supposes the idea of the ritual had to come from somewhere. Wouldn't there be more people like him then? Harry opens his mouth. The eye contact he makes with Voldemort next is all that is needed.

"One must have great magical potential to transform naturally... However, it is rarely survivable. Your life continues to fight all odds, Harry." Voldemort sneers with his fangs. "Chosen by fate... To suffer and save... What a horrible honor it must be."