All Hallow’s Eve, 1981.
“Goodbye and good luck…Harry Potter.” Albus Dumbledore said softly, stepping back from the baby basket. His companion, Minerva McGonagall, made sure the note was tucked securely under the blanket where the infant couldn’t reach, and stepped back as well with a faint sob. With a soft pop! they vanished into thin air, secure in the belief that the child’s relatives would find him in the morning and take him in…
Unless someone else found him first. The huge wolf waited until the humans were gone before slinking out of the shadows. Ears pricked and all senses on alert, it padded cautiously over to the bundle of blankets and nudged it with its nose. Annoyed at being roused, Harry grumbled a protest and snuggled deeper into his blankets, shivering slightly as a cool breeze washed over him.
The wolf’s ears pricked as the familiar scent washed over his acute senses. This was the pack’s pup! He growled softly, not at all liking that it was out of the safety of the den.
It took a couple of minutes, but he finally managed to carefully wrap his jaw around the basket’s handle and lift it, although it wobbled terribly. Harry slept on. The wolf took a few steps, getting a feel for how the basket would move, senses on alert for any unknown dangers. Satisfied that there were no other potential threats to stop him, he melted back into the shadows with his precious bundle.
Back at the pup’s den, he was met with fire and devastation. Frantic with worry, the wolf still had the presence of mind to set his charge safely out of the way before leaping in among the ruins. Blood, fear, and death hit his senses like a blow, staggering him back. Vigorously shaking his head to clear his nose of the clogging smells, he nearly tripped over the body of his pack mate. Whining under his breath, he warily moved around it and returned outside. If the male was dead, then so was his mate, for she would’ve fought with every breath in her body to protect her child.
Picking up his young remaining pack mate one more, he settled into a long, mile-eating lope, covering ground with ease. As long as there were no other complications he could make it to the safe den by dawn. The pup was quiet, very little fuss or movement coming from him even as he was prodded and scratched by passing limbs and bushes. Although somewhat concerned at the lack of response, there was nothing he could do about it right now. There wasn’t much time, and he had to reach their destination by dawn. Fuzzy with exhaustion, he only had enough energy to set his bundle down in a nest of blankets, curling protectively around it and nuzzling and licking in an effort to comfort both the pup and himself. The metallic taste of blood hit his senses, and for a moment he concentrated his efforts on his young companion’s forehead, until the baby settled. With one last whine at the loss of his pack-mates, he found sleep.
Remus Lupin woke to the realization of three things: one, he was shirtless, which wasn’t unusual after a full moon. Two, he was curled up around a bundle of blankets that was warm and squirming, and three….whew! Whatever was in said bundle desperately needed airing out.