Stain
--
When Harry is bitten by an unknown werewolf, and Remus is nowhere to be found, he is left to deal the consequences by himself. Well, until a certain Malfoy heir decides to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, that is.
He paced, for not the first time in his long life, he was worried. The press would no doubt catch wind of this in a matter of hours, if not minutes. There had been too many witnesses, not enough time, and no one seemed to know how to keep their mouths shut. He removed his spectacles, cleaning them slowly on his robes, before looking slowly at Minerva. He couldn't force himself to smile, and he was sure the other woman would have found it highly inappropriate, anyway.
If only he hadn't overestimated the boy… if only he had watched over him as closely as he should have.
Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived, and the heir to Gryffindor—the only son of Lily and James Potter, both of whom were known for their antics and mischief in life. He should have known Harry would cause trouble that would make James stop and take a step back.
He could feel the medical staff of St. Mungo's working their hardest to keep the boy alive and stable—and trying in vain to reverse the affects of The Bite. He was starting to wonder if maybe he should have taken Harry to a Veterinarian instead, but quickly dismissed the idea. The boy would change back once the sun rose, and a Vet couldn't do much with a human boy.
It was somewhere around 2AM when the woman peeked her head out hesitantly, eyes wide and unblinking. "U-um… Sir…?"
Dumbledore looked up with a sad smile, "Yes, my dear? Can we see him now?" He asked softly, wanting and not wanting to see Harry at the same time. He would not run from Harry, just as he had not run from Remus, in their darkest hour.
She nodded, and stepped out of the doorway and ushered them in, before closing it with a soft 'click' behind them.
The figure on the bed was hooked up to every imaginable machine, wires and needles sticking in and out everywhere. The window was thrown open as wide as it would go, and the moonlight shone down strongly, filling the room with enough light that Dumbledore switched off the one above them quietly.
He looked more regal than most Werewolves did, that was for sure. He made Remus look like a mangy mutt. Thick, black fur covered his body that was caught somewhere between wolf and man. Hand-like paws twitched and clawed at his sheets, ripping and dirtying them unconsciously. His tail was short and slim, jerking like his hands were, as he fought off whatever nightmare or dream was keeping him from reality. Around his wrists were leather, magically enhanced straps, pinning arms to the bed, as well as several other straps surrounding his legs and torso. His head was thrown back onto the mattress—it didn't go unnoticed by Dumbledore that he didn't have a pillow—and obscured from view. He idly wondered if the lightning shaped scar would show, even in this form. They had placed a muzzle over his snout, effectively covering most of his face anyway. He was covered head to toe in fresh bandages, though some were already sporting bright red spots where it had bled through.
Minerva gasped in horror, and he knew she was fighting the urge to move closer, and felt a swell of affection for her—even in this state, she knew it was still Harry behind all that fur and claws.
"What will we do?" She whispered, never taking her eyes off her student. He said nothing, but heaved a long sigh, and moved to stand next to the bed.
"We do what we can." He said simply.
This is only the prologue. The chapters will get longer, I promise.