AN: Quick note: in this story, Harry does not wear glasses. That will become relevant in time, so just bear with me.

Lessons With The Lycanthrope.

Chapter 1 – Confrontations, Chocolate, and Beginnings.

Aboard the Hogwarts Express, in one particular compartment, sat three returning students in comfortable silence; or to be more accurate, two students sat in comfortable silence while the third slept with his head against the window.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley had very little to say anyway, having met up in Diagon Alley the previous day to buy their school supplies for the year and taking the opportunity to thoroughly catch up. They were content to spend the trip engrossed in their own pursuits; Hermione buried her head in a book while Ronald played chess against the disturbingly violent black king.

This lasted for approximately thirty minutes before Ron (as he preferred to be known) noticed his bookish friend's eyes darting back and forth between whatever she was pretending to read and their comatose travelling companion.

Ron was of the (silent) opinion that Hermione had retained some of the feline traits she had acquired in their disastrous attempt at Polyjuice potion the previous year. The proverbs about cats, curiosity, and a multitude of lives seemed to ring true at least.

When something piqued her interest, she would prod at it until she got a reaction and her curiosity was satisfied. If that something happened to be a giant killer snake, well, it was time to start carrying a small mirror around. Obviously.

Yes, the mirror had probably saved her life, and yes he was exceedingly glad she'd had it, but under normal circumstances she would have died. He considered one of her proverbial nine lives to have been used up stopping the basilisk's gaze from killing her.

Clearly her brush with death had not dampened her curiosity and she was itching to get back to prodding at a new mystery.

Not that Ron thought there was any mystery to Harry Potter. He did okay in class, kept his head down, and didn't really seem to talk to anybody. He'd been excited, initially, to share a dorm with the Boy-Who-Lived, but that enthusiasm had tapered when Potter had reacted to any attempt at starting a friendly conversation by packing up his things and walking away. He didn't look down at anybody, didn't sneer like Malfoy, and was perfectly happy to help a fellow student so long as conversation remained firmly scholastic.

Ron didn't consider Harry Potter a mystery; he considered him a loner and little else.

Ron moved his attention back to his chess game. "Leave him alone, Hermione." he said, eyes firmly fixed on his game.

He heard rather than saw her start of surprise at his breaking of the silence. "What? I wasn't going to-"

"Hermione." he interrupted. "Leave him alone." This time he met her eyes with a small frown.

Ron watched as her shoulders slumped and a disappointed pout grew on her lips. "But I want to know!" she whispered, book abandoned.

"Know what?" he asked with a shrug.

"Who is he really? What is he like? Why is he so quiet? Why won't he talk to anyone? Why does he seem to fall sick so often? How does he know the Headmaster? What's that pendant he wears? Who-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Ron interrupted again. "Sick? I've never noticed that he's been ill before."

Hermione sighed in apparent resignation. "Honestly Ronald, you share a dorm with him! Haven't you noticed that he shows up to class some days looking absolutely awful? Pale and like he hasn't slept in days, sometimes he even limps! It's all he can do to stay awake those days and the professors don't even comment! It's like they don't notice, even Snape says nothing!"

Ron scratched at his nose. "Erm, no. I haven't noticed any of that actually."

Hermione's face promptly buried itself in her hands. If Ron didn't know any better, he'd say she was actually despairing; at what, he had no idea. Good thing he knew better, then. His eyes narrowed as a new thought struck him.

"Where did you find the time to 'notice' Harry Potter anyway?" he asked.

Hermione's head left her hands, though there were traces of confusion in her expression. "Ron, we share classes, a House, and a common room with him, you share a dorm with him. I'm amazed that all of this has escaped you. Besides," she added with a toss of her hair, "he spends a lot of time in the library."

Ron rolled his eyes. Of course, the library explained everything. Still...

"You said something about a pendant too. How'd you see that?"

"Well I noticed that he hangs something around his neck with some twine or something. I can only assume that it's a pendant of some kind. What else could it possibly be?" There was a dangerous glint in Hermione's eye at this point. She was enjoying discussing her new pet project a little too much for Ron's comfort.

Thankfully, a distraction chose that exact moment to make itself known by slamming their compartment door open.

A distraction in the name of Draco Malfoy. It seemed it was time for their Biannual Train Taunting.

"If it isn't the weasel and the mudblood!" he sneered as he welcomed himself into their compartment, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Piss off, Malfoy" was Ron's eloquent reply. If anything, Malfoy's sneer seemed to grow wider.

"Tut tut ,Weasley, mind your language around your betters. I'd heard that your pathetic little family finally came into some money over the summer, but judging from the state of your robes I can't even imagine where it all went. The Janus Thickey Ward for the littlest weasel perhaps?"

Ron immediately stood, fists clenched, face red, and eyes a little wild. "Say that again, Malfoy, see what happens!" he yelled.

"Ron, no!" Hermione appealed, "You'll get us in trouble before the year has even started!"

Malfoy's sneer threatened to split his face before Ron could. "You should listen to your pet mudblood, weasel. Even the mongrel knows her place better than you do."

A low rumbling sound filled the compartment, surprising all of them. They turned to find Harry Potter sitting with his head in his hands, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. The sound seemed to be emanating from somewhere within Potter's throat; the only thing Ron could liken that sound to was a growl, one somewhere between irritation, frustration, and anger.

He wasn't sure where he'd learned to differentiate growls, but he knew he didn't want to annoy it's source right now.

Draco, of course, was all too delighted to oblige.

"Potter!" he crowed. "So sorry to wake you. I didn't realise you were here, you see. It looks like you finally managed to make some friends." Malfoy took a moment to mockingly look over Ron and Hermione, as though inspecting them for the first time.

"A mudblood and a disgrace to the word 'wizard'. Looks like you'll fit in well with these two. You know, I did offer to help you pick the right sorts back in our first year; maybe if you'd taken me up on my offer then, you wouldn't be stuck here now."

Potter sighed quietly, and slowly rose to his feet. Ron heard his spine crack as it settled. He'd never noticed before, maybe it was Hermione's observations worming their way into his head, but there was something fundamentally different about the way Potter moved. It wasn't wrong exactly, but there was an economy of movement that most people lacked, every movement was exact and lacking in the casual exuberance of most thirteen year old boys.

There was something deep inside Ron that told him not to aggravate Potter at this moment. Something that told him to lie low and hope he didn't turn his gaze on you. Something that told him to hide.

He didn't like that feeling and firmly stamped it down as Potter turned to Malfoy and met his eye.

The effect was instantaneous. A barely perceptible hiss was heard as Malfoy drew in air through his teeth. Whatever it was that told Ron to hide was doing the same for Malfoy. Ron was too stubborn to listen, Malfoy too proud.

All the same, Ron did not want to be on the receiving end of that glare. Even without direct contact, he could tell there was an almost unnatural intensity to it, an inherent threat of violence. Ron shuddered involuntarily; the atmosphere felt dangerous.

"Think you're something special, Potter?" Malfoy spat. In any other situation, Ron would have gloated in the slight tremor that ran through Malfoy's voice as he spoke. Not today.

"Malfoy," Potter began, never breaking eye contact, "I didn't get enough sleep last night to want to deal with trash like you. I told you two years ago that your 'help' was neither wanted nor appreciated, and that remains true to this day. Leave, or your cronies will have to find a new body to guard."

He didn't shout, he didn't yell, he didn't clench his fists or get red in the face; he spoke. As though every word were an irrefutable truth. His voice was steady, if a little weary, his tone flat, his posture relaxed as though nothing could conceivably touch him.

Anyone who could talk down to a Malfoy like that was automatically in Ron's good books.

"This isn't over." Malfoy scowled before turning and making a hasty retreat, slamming the compartment door behind him again.

In the silence that followed, Ron noticed that Hermione was hiding behind her book; he hadn't seen when she'd made her retreat, but he had a good idea of when she'd done so.

Harry Potter, meanwhile, returned to his seat, placed his head against the window once more and closed his eyes; apparently willing to completely ignore the other two occupants.

Hermione squeaked. At Ron's inquiring look, she snapped her book closed with a frustrated huff and tried again. "We're sorry for waking you." she said in a much more comprehensible voice.

Harry sighed. "Don't worry about it." he replied, eyes still closed. "Malfoy's an obnoxious arse, it was going to happen one way or another."

"Still, we are sorry."

Harry didn't respond, plunging the compartment into silence once more.

Hours later, when the surrounding countryside was shrouded by dark clouds and heavy rain and when they were assured that Harry was once again sleeping, Ron and Hermione conversed in constrained whispers.

"What was that?" Ron asked.

Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure. I've heard of witches and wizards who could project a magical aura, but only the most powerful magical beings can bring one to bear."

"I've never felt anything like that before," Ron said with a shiver, "but it didn't feel like it came from outside. It was something in me that reacted, not something from him, you know?"

Hermione nodded glumly.

"Still want to interrogate him?" Ron queried with a small smile.

Hermione worried at her bottom lip for a minute before slowly, cautiously nodding. "Carefully." she said. "Very, very carefully."

A few more minutes of contemplative silence passed before they noticed that the train was slowing.

"We can't be at Hogsmead already, can we?" Ron asked, confusion etched on his face.

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's too soon. There's at least another hour of travel before we should start slowing."

When the train rolled to a complete stop, Ron began to worry.

"Why are stopping in the middle of nowhere?" he asked, "You don't think the track's out, do you?"

"I wouldn't imagine so. The Hogwarts Express is the only train to use this track, so there wouldn't be any problems with maintaining it magically."

"So why are we stopping?"

"I have no idea." Hermione insisted, with an expression that could only be called nonplussed.

A few unusually tense minutes passed as the friends found themselves without anything to say and the sleeper remained asleep. A gradual decrease in temperature was noted without comment as they grew ever more despondent, a sourceless feeling of hopelessness overpowering whatever cheer they had previously felt. Indeed, before long, it felt as though they had never felt, nor would they ever again feel, anything positive.

Time found Hermione curled up in a corner, fearful thoughts of imminent rejection cycling endlessly in her mind. She was going to arrive at Hogwarts and be turned away, she was sure, her muggleborn ways no longer tolerated, her contamination swept from the halls as the purebloods laughed at her failure.

Ron sat with his head in his hands as the oppressive weight of his elder siblings' shadows loomed over him. He could never hope to match up to them. Bill's popularity, Charlie's Quidditch skill, Percy's intelligence and work ethic, the twins' unique genius. He'd always be the disappointment, the one who never became his own person.

Harry Potter twitched and mumbled and shivered in his sleep. Whatever force held the other two in misery, keeping him trapped in his own dreams.

None took notice as their compartment door slid open once more, nor did they here the eerie rattling of breath that seemed to echo in the silence, nor did two react as a cloaked figure entered and bent over the third, so wrapped in their own nightmares were they.

A flash of silver in the dark, an unearthly screech as it impacted the shrouded body, a lessening of the despair as it fled in an oddly flowing motion.

Hermione Granger came back to herself to the sight of a block of chocolate being waved in front of her face. She jerked her head up to meet the green, tired looking eyes of a rather shabbily dressed older man with light brown hair flecked through with grey. He smiled indulgently at her apparent confusion – smiled, as though there was absolutely nothing wrong! - and pressed the chocolate into her hands.

"Eat up." he said in a politely insistent voice, "It'll make you feel better."

Hermione, not really in the mood for defiance, obediently took a small bite. This was immediately followed by much larger bite as she did, in fact, feel much better after her first. The man nodded encouragingly at her and left her alone, presumably to see to the others in the compartment. Looking around, she spotted Ron munching morosely on his own chocolate, which left...

The Mysterious Giver of Chocolate, as Hermione had temporarily tagged him, was attempting to shake Harry Potter awake. Looking at him, Hermione could tell he hadn't fared very well in whatever had befallen them. He was pale, or paler than he had been, sweating, and mumbling quietly in his sleep.

The man – because really, her impromptu moniker was a little ridiculous – gently shifted him away from the window and settled him into his seat. Removing his wand from a pocket, he then pointed it at Potter's chest.

"Rennervate." he mumbled, shooting a red light straight at Potter. When Potter failed to react, the man frowned thoughtfully and tapped his wand against his hand.

"Odd, that should have worked." he said. He spent another minute in pensive silence, before turning to the others with a soothing smile on his face. She couldn't really explain why, but Hermione was immediately suspicious. She'd spent two years around the Weasley twins, and expressions like that often preceded mayhem.

"Please refrain from panicking." he cheerfully instructed them. He then raised his empty hand and slapped Harry Potter! - who immediately gasped awake.

Hermione marvelled at the simplicity of it. Sometimes magic didn't have all the answers, she supposed; something she should really know already, having witnessed the various archaisms of magical Britain over the last two years of her education at Hogwarts. Some solid practicality could do some real good among the ancient traditions that seemed to determine how everything worked. Tradition was all well and good, but it could put a real dampener on progress; something the magical population was in desperate need of in her opinion.

Somewhere in the midst of her ruminations on the seemingly timeless nature of magical Britain – and really, this chocolate was doing an excellent job of putting her back to normal – Harry Potter leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, still mumbling to himself.

"Yes, yes, all just a dream." the man agreed good naturedly with the boy. "Now, I have some chocolate here for you. I suggest you eat it, it should chase away the last of the cobwebs and help you get back to normal."

Potter rubbed at his face before raising it to see the proffered chocolate. Something changed in the man's demeanour then. It was almost imperceptible, but Hermione had been watching closely. He seemed to tense slightly, his eyes widened, his jaw clenched, his hand froze until Potter took the chocolate, then went entirely limp as it left his grasp. Hermione was no expert in such things, but she thought she could recognise shock when she saw it, maybe with a little panic mixed in. Potter, apparently still groggy, didn't seem to notice despite his closer proximity.

"Right, well, I should – erm – check on the rest of the train, make sure no one else was badly affected. Eat your chocolate, get well, and have fun!" he rambled off before practically running from the compartment.

Have fun? Oh, there was definitely an element of panic in his retreat. No doubt about it. What exactly about Harry Potter had caused a grown man to panic and flee? For that matter, who was that man and what was he doing on the Hogwarts Express? The only other adults Hermione had ever seen aboard the train were the lady with the cart and the conductor.

What happened and how was he connected with it? Did he drive off whatever had caused it or did he summon it? Why was he conveniently carrying all that chocolate? If he wasn't responsible, did he know beforehand and come prepared? Did Dumbledore know about him? She supposed so, otherwise how would he get aboard? Unless he was an infiltrator who took an opportunity to ingratiate himself with some grateful students.

Hermione sighed internally. So many questions, so many mysteries, and they weren't even at Hogsmead yet. She ignored that little part of herself that was cheerfully looking forward to unravelling it all. She wasn't enjoying herself with all this intrigue. No, certainly not.

Ron was scratching at his nose. "Wait, who was that bloke?" he asked.

Hermione stared at him in absolute silence for several seconds before deciding that she needed a distraction before something bad happened to Ronald that she could not be blamed for.

Her gaze moved to Harry Potter who was gingerly rubbing at his cheek, slightly more awake than before. He looked somewhat confused.

Please don't, she silently pleaded.

"Did something happen while I was asleep?" he asked innocently.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried – really, genuinely tried – not to despair for the male half of the population. She almost managed to convince herself that she was successful. Almost.

The final hour of their journey was spent pretending to be occupied by anything other than their thoughts. Harry leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, though they would occasionally blink open and stare out the window for a minute or two before drifting closed again.

Hermione opened her book and continually scanned the same page as though new words would appear there if she only looked hard enough. She distractedly flipped the page perhaps twice in that hour; it was not a particularly difficult read.

Ron bent his head over his chess set with a frown of concentration. One could be forgiven for assuming he was absorbed in the game had the pieces had returned to, and remained in, their starting places. Not even the most cautious of chess masters spent an hour on the opening move.

As the train slowed once again, three heads turned to the window and were reassured by the lights outside that they were in fact at the end of their journey and were not about to be enveloped in freezing emptiness once again.

Outside the train, the weather battered at anyone not clever enough to stay behind thick walls; which on this particular night, meant the entire student population of Hogwarts. Luckily, Hermione had the foresight to pack an umbrella under which she and Ron huddled. Harry wandered away from them, seemingly unconcerned with the elements' earnest attempts at drowning the land dwellers and washing away their heathen constructs.

The usual shout of "Firs' years, this way!" echoed around the station from the Hogwarts Gamekeeper, Hagrid. The first years were going to have to cross the lake in driving winds and pouring rain, something for which Hermione did not envy them. That first sighting of the castle was a very special memory, it had made it all so immediate and real. There she'd been on a little boat moving without oars, gliding serenely across a lake to a magical castle where she'd learn to fix everything that was wrong with the world. A little girl's dream, but then she had been a little girl at the time.

This years intake of new students would probably miss all that. The lake was likely to be rough, the journey miserable, the view distorted. It was a shame really. She considered it a right of passage of sorts.

Ah well.

Securing a carriage with Ron and a few older Ravenclaws, Hermione turned her mind to the year ahead. Her class schedule was likely to be hectic, assuming Professor McGonagall found a way to make it work; she didn't need to take every class, but it all seemed so interesting. There were so many different ways to apply magic, surely it could only help her to at least explore as many avenues as possible.

If that didn't work out, she had her two new mysteries to investigate. Well, one new mystery and one neglected one. It was odd, she thought, that she had spent two years in relatively close proximity to Harry Potter and knew absolutely nothing about him. She'd spoken with him a time or two, but those interactions could hardly be called personal by any stretch of the imagination. They had discussed school work: classes, assignments, and study patterns; nothing that would tell her anything about him as a person. She was frankly rather amazed that he'd managed to avoid her curiosity for so long. That had all changed today, of course. Seeing him on the train up close had triggered something in her, something that told her there was something different about Harry Potter.

Different was good. Different was interesting. Different was worthy of investigating.

Yes, she thought rather smugly, this year was already shaping up to be very satisfying.