Chapter Text
The Werewolf Social Assistance Office was located in a quiet corridor of the fourth floor of the Ministry of Magic.
Harry walked past the door of the office twice, needing the extra time to summon the courage to open the door and go inside. The fact that he belonged there now was still a difficult one to accept. Taking that step inside felt like acknowledging the loss of his old life in a way he didn't feel quite ready to do yet.
"Do you have an appointment luv?" asked the receptionist as he entered the small waiting room of the office and closed the door behind him. She was an elderly witch with wispy white curls and large tortoise-shell glasses, sitting behind a large oak desk.
"Er, yes, I'm here to meet my new sponsor," he replied. "My name's Harry Potter."
"Ah, yes, you're Mark's new case," she said with a nod. "Have a seat. I'll go fetch him for you."
She stood and disappeared down a hallway to the right, moving at an admirable speed for a witch of her age.
Harry took a seat in one of the leathery armchairs of the waiting room, grateful that he was the only person in the space. He wasn't in the mood to make small talk with anyone else, particularly in his current setting. A small table beside him held several magazines, all of them of the dull variety frequently found in doctor's offices, with news articles that would offend no one, but also offered little value to the reader. Harry picked one up and flipped through it, more so to give his hands something to do rather than out of any true interest in its contents.
"Harry," said a friendly voice, and he looked up to see a tall man with sandy brown hair approaching him.
For a moment, Harry was reminded of Lupin. Other than his height and hair-color, this man bore no resemblance to Harry's long-gone friend, but the knowledge that he was a werewolf, along with the mild-mannered expression on the man's face, was enough for his mind to make the connection.
Harry set the magazine he was holding back on its table and stood, reaching out to shake the man's hand. "Yes, hi, are you Mark?"
"Yes, I am. It's very nice to meet you. Let's head back to my office for a chat, shall we?"
They walked to the end of the hallway, where Mark opened a door and ushered Harry inside his office. It was a cozy space filled with just enough bookshelves and knick-knacks to give it a homey feel without seeming too cluttered. The only lighting was a lamp glowing yellow on Mark's desk, giving the room a warm atmosphere.
"Have a seat, please," invited Mark, gesturing to one of the chairs arranged in front of his desk. He settled into his own seat behind the desk.
"How are you doing, Harry?"
"Well, truthfully, I've been better," replied Harry. He wasn't one to whinge about his fate, but neither did he feel like pretending things were better than they were.
Mark gave him a sympathetic nod and opened a folder on his desk.
"Bitten two weeks ago, I see," he said, reading from a paper inside the folder. "It's quite early still. I know the first few months can be a very difficult transition. How's your wound healing?"
Harry rubbed a spot on his shoulder, the action instinctual at the mention of the bite mark he had there.
"Surprisingly fast."
"Yes," said Mark. "Your body's healing process will be accelerated going forward. It's the only way we're able to withstand the transformation."
"It says here you were bitten on the job?" probed Mark.
"Yes. I'm an auror. We received reports of a rogue werewolf terrorizing a Wizarding village. Turned out there were two of them. I found out the hard way."
"I'm sorry that happened to you," said Mark. "Most werewolves nowadays are law-abiding citizens, but there's still a few that live on the fringes and don't care to use the systems we've put into place to keep everyone safe."
"Speaking of which, did St. Mungo's set you up on the program to pick up your monthly allotment of Wolfsbane?"
"They did."
"Good. I'll give you a map of the areas we've set aside in certain magically protected forests for werewolves to use during the full moon. They've all been extensively warded to only allow werewolves to enter, but we can only leave the perimeter in our human form. It's very safe. You're welcome to come with me to the one I prefer to use if you like for your first transformation."
Harry nodded somberly. "Alright."
"I know it's a lot to think about, but you can still have a very fulfilling life despite the circumstances," Mark said reassuringly. "The Werewolf Anti-Discrimination Act the Ministry passed after the war has improved our quality of life immensely."
"Yeah, I know. It's just a lot to process," said Harry. "I'll be fine. It's not the worst thing to ever happen to me."
Judging by the sad smile Mark gave him in response, Harry had the feeling the other man knew exactly who he was, even if he hadn't uttered a word about it. Harry appreciated that. He had no interest in fielding questions about his past as he was focused on trying to figure out his future.
"Great. Well, I think there's just one more thing for us to discuss," said Mark. "Do you by chance have a romantic partner, Harry?"
Harry frowned, finding the question completely irrelevant to the matter at hand.
"No, not currently."
Mark seemed relieved by that response. "Good, that sometimes complicates things. Are you aware that werewolves have a sixth sense for discovering our life-mates?"
Harry's brows shot up in alarm. "I didn't even know life-mates were a thing? Do you mean I'm going to be paired up with another werewolf for life?"
"Oh, no, it won't necessarily be a werewolf," explained Mark. "Life-mates—or soulmates as they are more commonly referred to—aren't solely a werewolf thing. Everyone has one. But werewolves are the only creatures I'm aware of that can definitively sense who our life-mate is."
This was all news to Harry, not only the fact that werewolves could sense their soulmates, but the fact that soulmates existed at all.
"How do we sense it?" he asked. "Like we can smell it?"
Harry had already noticed his senses sharpening since being bitten. It was sometimes helpful, such as when determining whether the leftover Chinese takeaway in his fridge had turned. At other times, however, it was more of a nuisance. The stench of the rubbish bins on the warm summer day when he'd gone into Muggle London to pick up that very same takeaway had been revoltingly strong.
"I wouldn't say it's scent-based," answered Mark. "That's why I would refer to it as more of a sixth sense. But it's unmistakable. You'll know it when it happens."
Mark's rather vague answer was not very informative, but Harry let it go. He had no intentions on acting upon this "life-mate" sense anyways. He would simply walk on and continue living his life as he saw fit whenever he happened to encounter this mystery woman. Lycanthropy had taken enough of his autonomy as it was.
"Right, yeah, alright," he said. "Is that it then?"
"That's the gist of it," replied Mark. "Let's plan to meet again in another week and a half. I don't want to overwhelm you with information today, but it would be good for us to discuss the change a bit more before the next full moon."
They scheduled a time for their next meeting and Harry rose from his seat, tucking the maps Mark gave him into his robes before saying goodbye.
"If anything comes up before our meeting, don't hesitate to reach out," said Mark as Harry reached the doorway to his office. "I'm always available if you need to see me before then."
"Alright, I will, thanks," said Harry, although he thought it unlikely he'd be back before their next scheduled meeting. A week wasn't so long in the grand scheme of things.
Hermione would be the last of Harry's friends to learn about his recent life change.
His reasons for excluding her were noble. She'd been in Australia for the past month, visiting her parents on holiday, and he'd decided it would be best to wait until she returned from her trip to share the news with her. While they had corresponded a few times during her holiday, Harry had kept his most recent letters deliberately vague when it came to discussing himself, focusing more on responding to the anecdotes she shared about her experiences with her parents. Knowing Hermione, she'd worry about him otherwise. As the resident healer in their friend group, Harry had no doubt she would want to take an active role in his medical treatment.
In all honesty, Harry had to admit he was looking forward to her return. Hermione had always been his go-to person when it came to matters of health and injuries and having her absent during such a life-altering medical incident had been difficult.
Harry offered to come to her flat the day after she returned to London, thinking it would be best for them to speak in private about the matter. Mark had been correct in stating that the public perception of werewolves was gradually changing, but it still wasn't something he was interested in discussing around others.
The day was a hot and sunny one in early July, and Harry donned a pair of jeans and a light gray T-shirt with a pair of trainers before apparating to Hermione's flat at the predetermined time.
Despite having been vacant for the past month, Hermione's flat looked as cozy and inviting as always when he re-materialized in her living room. It always gave Harry a sense of comfort to visit the place. Sitting on her sofa amidst the organized chaos of her bookshelves and knitting projects was oddly soothing.
"Is that you, Harry?" called Hermione, her voice sounding like she was in her kitchen.
"Yeah," he answered.
He began walking in her direction, but didn't make it far. She emerged through the archway of the kitchen before he reached it.
Harry stopped short at the sight of her. A realization slammed into him and his mind grappled with it for a moment, trying to catch up to the visceral reaction he was experiencing.
Hermione was beautiful. So unbelievably beautiful.
She was wearing a light yellow sundress held up by thin straps at her shoulders and ending in a flowing hem mid-thigh. Her dark curls were loose and tumbling around her bare shoulders, and her skin was a shade darker than when he'd seen her last. She was beaming at him, her smile encompassing her entire face and lighting up her hazel eyes.
But it wasn't just her external beauty he was noticing. Harry saw, with startling clarity, how perfect she was for him. She'd always been a source of balance in his life: an unwavering friend, trusted confidante, and insightful advisor. The ideal life-mate.
Wait…what?
Ah, fuck.
Hermione slammed into him, in the physical sense this time, her arms wrapping around him in a tight hug.
"It's so good to see you," she told him. "Your letters didn't share much, and I couldn't help wondering how things were going over here."
She even felt perfect, the ideal blend of a firm, tight hold and soft, feminine curves against him. He thought he could smell the sun on her skin, commingled with traces of her apple-scented shampoo and vanilla body lotion. It was heavenly.
Harry melted into her, savoring the sensation. He only realized how odd his reaction might appear to Hermione when she laughed in perplexed amusement; he was usually a little stiff and awkward when it came to hugs, an unfortunate side effect of not having received many of them growing up.
"Have a seat on the sofa," she said upon pulling away, her warmth and softness retreating with her. "I have something I want you to try."
Harry nodded numbly and did as he was told, dropping onto the plush gray sofa in her living room.
You'll know when it happens, Mark had said. Harry thought he could have provided just a touch more detail than that. It didn't seem right that he'd sent Harry off without explaining how his entire world would shift on its axis upon recognizing his life-mate.
Hermione returned a minute later, holding two tall glasses filled with ice cubes and a light orange-colored beverage.
"It's called Lemon, Lime, and Bitters," she said as she handed Harry one of the glasses. "Very popular in Australia, and it's so refreshing, especially on hot days like this."
"Oh, thanks," he said, taking a drink from the glass and nodding in approval. "Yeah, it's good."
Hermione sat down beside him, her legs coming up to curl alongside her body, and smoothed down the fabric of her dress when it rode up her thighs in the process. Harry swallowed.
"Did anything happen while I was gone?" she asked, taking a sip of her own beverage. "I only received a letter or two from Ron, but that's no surprise. Letter writing has never been his thing. And, as I mentioned, you didn't share much in your latest letters either."
It was his opening. She'd undoubtedly be peeved by the fact that he hadn't informed her sooner. Leaving her in the dark any longer would only earn him a longer lecture when she inevitably learned the truth.
Harry took another sip of his drink, both to give him a moment to compose his thoughts and to wet his mouth, which had suddenly gone dry.
"So," he began. "Something did happen, but I don't want you to be angry with me for not telling you sooner."
The lighthearted expression on Hermione's face vanished, her brow furrowing with concern. She set her drink down on the coffee table beside them.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "Something bad?"
Harry shrugged. "I mean, it's not great."
Blowing out a breath, he said plainly, "I was bitten by a werewolf two weeks ago."
Hermione gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Harry squirmed uncomfortably as tears began to well up in her eyes. It unsettled him to think she was feeling sorry for him.
"It's fine, really," he said. "I've already met with my sponsor at the WSAO, and I'm figuring things out."
Hermione's hand dropped from her mouth. "Oh, Harry, I can't believe you didn't tell me. I would have come back to oversee your care."
"I know. It's why I didn't tell you. There was nothing you could do for me. The healers at St. Mungo's took good care of me. I didn't want you to cut your trip short because of this."
"How did it happen?"
He told her the story, along with the events that had transpired since then. Hermione listened quietly, occasionally nodding her head during certain parts.
"Alright, yes, it sounds like they covered all the bases," she pronounced afterwards, her tone sounding like the one she used when seeing patients at St. Mungo's. Harry had been one of those patients enough times to recognize it.
"Remove your shirt, please," she ordered. "I'd like to see how the wound is healing."
"Er, that won't be necessary," protested Harry, the mere thought of removing his shirt in front of her causing warmth to creep up his neck.
Hermione gave him an amused look. "I'm a medical professional, Harry. I assure you I've seen my fair share of bare chests over the years."
"No, I know," he stammered. "I just don't think it's needed. The wound is healing fine on its own."
Hermione nodded, but she seemed a little hurt by his continued refusal. "You've never minded taking medical advice from me in the past, but if it's making you uncomfortable now, that's fine."
Harry sighed. He'd already neglected to share a monumental piece of information about his life with her until much after the fact, and now he was being cagey about something that had never been a big deal for them before. Hermione's confusion was understandable.
"Fine," he said, reaching down to pull the hem of his shirt up. "But you'll see I'm telling you the truth."
He pulled his shirt over his head, and set it on his lap, trying to keep his expression neutral as Hermione's gaze zeroed in on the marred skin of his shoulder.
It probably would have been fine if Hermione hadn't touched him. He could handle her visual inspection well enough. But when her fingers lightly touched the edge of his scar, Harry shot up from his seat, the sensation feeling unbearably intimate—and stimulating—in a way it never had before.
"Sorry," blurted out Hermione, looking guilty now. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, it's…I'm just a little jumpy now," he said, his shirt bunched up in his hands as he stood next to the couch. "I think all the changes in my body have me on edge."
Hermione's look softened into sympathy. "I'm sorry, Harry. Of course. I shouldn't have pushed. I just want to be here for you as your friend, but it should be on your terms."
Harry gave a terse nod. "No, I know, and I appreciate it. I just need some time to acclimate to all this change."
Hermione gave him a small smile and a nod, and Harry unbunched his t-shirt and slipped it back on, grateful to no longer be physically exposed at least. He felt as though his new emotions were simmering just underneath his skin, so palpable that she would be able to sense them somehow.
Harry cleared his throat. "I have to go. I have, er, work tonight."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He was scheduled to work that evening, although his shift wouldn't start until six hours later.
"Oh, ok," she said, and Harry could tell she was doubting the truthfulness of his excuse.
"I'll text you soon," he promised. "We can do something fun. I could use a distraction from…everything."
That earned him a genuine smile from Hermione, who rose from her seat and gave him a parting hug.
The smell of apples and vanilla engulfed him again, and Harry extricated himself and left as soon as it was reasonable to do so, uncertain how much longer he'd be able to conceal the effect she was having on him.
The receptionist at the WSAO seemed surprised to see him again so soon.
"Do you have an appointment, Mr. Potter?" she asked.
"No, but I sent Mark a message, and he said he could fit me in between appointments."
"Ah, I see," she said, rising from her seat. "I'll go and let him know you're here then."
Harry thanked her and took a seat in one of the lobby chairs, his foot tapping nervously against the leg of his chair as he waited.
Mark emerged from the hallway leading to the counselors' offices a few minutes later and greeted Harry with a polite—but slightly concerned—smile.
"Hello, Harry," he said. "Let's head back to my office for a chat."
Harry nodded, bounding up out of his seat before Mark had finished speaking.
"Your patronus sounded urgent," said Mark, once they'd settled into his cozy office. "Is everything alright?"
Harry let out a heavy sigh, leaning forward in his chair and running a hand down his face.
"Unfortunately, no, Mark. Something unexpected has happened, and it's kind of…well…fucking things up for me."
Mark's brows knit together in a frown. "What happened?"
"I found my life-mate."
Mark's look of concern morphed into a blend of confusion and amusement.
"But that's great, Harry," he said. "Congratulations."
"No, it's not great," Harry corrected him. "She's my best friend."
Mark's expression only grew more confused at that. "Even better. You already know each other. Quite well, in fact. There's no need to worry about how to approach her."
"She doesn't see me like that," Harry explained. "We've never been anything more than friends. And now, I don't think I can go back to seeing her that way again. Every time I look at her, I just want to…er…I mean, I have these feelings…"
Mark held up a hand, signaling for Harry to stop talking.
"No need to elaborate," he said with a small smile. "I'm well aware of what kind of feelings you're having, Harry."
"Right," said Harry, with a sigh of relief at not having to explain himself any further. "Ok, so what do I do about it? How do I get rid of it?"
Mark's brows raised. "There no 'getting rid of it' Harry. I'm afraid it's a permanent change."
Harry glanced at the gold band on Mark's left hand.
"You've been through this too?"
"Yes," answered Mark. "And my own case turned out to be quite complicated. I was engaged to someone else when I found my life-mate, so I initially fought the attraction."
"But you gave in eventually?" guessed Harry.
Mark nodded. "There was no other option really. I knew that. I just needed some time to accept it."
"What about your life-mate?" asked Harry. "Were they happy to find out about all this?"
"I didn't tell her at first. I was worried about how it might come across. So I waited until we'd been dating a while, and I was reasonably sure she reciprocated my feelings."
Harry nodded somberly. He couldn't imagine things playing out the same way for Hermione and himself. They weren't dating. He couldn't expect her to reciprocate his feelings.
"It's going to be fine, Harry," Mark assured him. "Really, the two of you will work this out. She's your life-mate for a reason. I know you can sense that."
"Yes," agreed Harry. "But I can never tell her that. I don't want her to feel stuck in a destiny she didn't choose."
Mark gave him a sympathetic look. "I can relate to that. But I will also tell you that in my experience—and the experience of others I know—these situations tend to work out in the end. Just try to keep an open mind."
Mark glanced at the clock on his wall, and Harry stood, mindful that he was encroaching on the other man's schedule.
"I'll see you for our regular appointment next week," Mark told him kindly. "Who knows? Maybe you'll have some good news to share by then."
Harry gave him a weak smile and nodded, almost certain that wouldn't be the case. His best course of action was probably the one he'd originally planned on.
He'd simply ignore his werewolf senses and carry on as before. To do otherwise would inevitably change his relationship with Hermione…and there was no guarantee it would be a good thing.