Harry Potter: Raised by Wolves.

If he thought the visit from Cedric was weird, he was utterly bewildered by the person who crept into the hospital wing shortly after curfew. "Malfoy?"

"Shut up, Potter! I don't want to get caught," the Slytherin hissed, glaring. The moonlight bounced off his hair, making it practically glow in the darkness. He looked almost ethereal.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "If you didn't want to get caught, why are you here?" There was a long, pregnant silence. "You were worried about me, weren't you?"

"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy bit out again. Harry grinned. He was! Malfoy was actually concerned about him. "Maybe I'm here for Pomfrey. My arm hurts." "We both know that's not true. Your arm is fine."

"Yes, well. After the way you fell, I'm surprised they weren't scooping you into a cauldron to get you off the pitch. The girl Weasley is going around acting like you'll never walk again."

Harry grimaced, glancing at Ginny's home-made get well card, wedged firmly shut under his fruit bowl. "I'm fine, really. It's just the dementors…" Harry trailed off. "You heard what Snape said in class. They're worse for people with bad memories."

"Plenty of people have bad memories, Potter. They're not fainting all over the place. Are you sure there's not something else wrong with you?" Malfoy eyed Harry suspiciously, like he was about to announce that he actually was dying. Harry glared at him.

"Those people don't hear their mum begging for mercy as she's murdered, do they?" he snapped in retort, watching Malfoy's already pale face drain of colour. Harry abruptly remembered who he was talking to. "Don't you dare tell anyone I said that."

"I hear my father torturing my mother," Malfoy blurted suddenly, slapping a hand over his mouth and turning red as soon as he'd spoken. Harry gaped.

"Malfoy, I—" "Don't," Malfoy bit out sharply, his eyes flashing. "Goodnight, Potter. Glad you're not in as many pieces as your broom is."

Before Harry could say anything more, the blond was gone, and Harry was alone once more, staring wide-eyed at the back of the door.

"Shit," he breathed into the darkness.

How the hell was he supposed to deal with a revelation like that?

.-.-.-.

He'd never been so glad to go back to classes as he was on Monday, after a whole night of sitting awake thinking about his mother, and the Grim, and Malfoy. He was yawning all through class, and Hermione gave him a concerned look. "Are you sure you're well enough to be up and about, Harry?"

"Yeah, fine," he insisted. "Just didn't sleep well. Too quiet in the hospital wing."

"I suppose you didn't even have Professor Lupin for company. I'm glad he's feeling better, though."

"Yeah," Ron cut in. "No more lessons with Snape."

"Except Potions," Harry pointed out dryly, earning a wounded look. "Don't ruin it, Harry."

Professor Lupin shot them a pointed look across the classroom, and Harry sheepishly turned back to his work.

After class, Harry made an excuse to his friends and lingered at his desk, waiting for the rest of the class to file out. Lupin raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Can I help you, Harry?"

"So, uh. The dementors. You, uh, saw what happens to me when they come near me."

"It's understandable, Harry; there are horrors in your past that others haven't experienced," Lupin soothed. Harry shook his head. "I know, I know, but I still don't want to be fainting every time I see one."

"If it helps, Professor Dumbledore was furious with them — I don't think he's going to let them get close again."

"Why did they come the first time?" Harry asked bitterly.

"They're getting hungry," was Lupin's response. "They're used to being in Azkaban, with all that emotion to keep them going. Being out here, unable to go near anyone, and then feeling all the joy and excitement from the match… they couldn't resist."

"When they come close, I can hear my mum dying," Harry admitted. Lupin froze.

"Lily?" he said eventually, the lines on his facing making him look older than his thirty-three years. "Oh, Harry." He reached out, hesitating for only a moment before squeezing Harry's shoulder.

"I want it to stop," Harry breathed desperately. "When S— when Professor Snape covered for you, he said something about a spell that can be used to ward off dementors. Is that the thing you did on the train?" Lupin nodded. "Can you teach me?"

"Harry, the Patronus charm is an incredibly advanced bit of magic. Many adults can't do one, let alone a third year student."

"Try me," Harry retorted. His magic had been buzzing under his skin since the goblins had removed the block. Maybe some advanced magic was just what he needed.

"I don't want to make any promises…" Harry stared Lupin down, determination in his face, until the man sighed. "Fine. We can work on it over Christmas, if you're staying."

"I am," Harry confirmed. "I always do. The Dursleys don't want me there unless I have to be."

"You live with your muggle relatives in the summer, then, do you?" Lupin asked, an odd tone to his voice. Harry nodded.

"Unfortunately. I usually get to spend some of it at Ron's house, but Dumbledore — Professor Dumbledore, sorry — says I have to be at my aunt's house for most of the summer. I guess it's supposed to be safer." He grimaced, showing exactly what he thought of that. It certainly wasn't going to be safer when he got home in July, and Uncle Vernon decided to teach him a lesson for what he did to Aunt Marge. If only the Ministry had wiped their memories, too.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Lupin said, and he sounded like he truly meant it. "I only met Petunia a few times, and her husband just the once, but they were certainly… difficult people to get along with."