"In a time long ago, there lived a Potions Master named Rue Ashkevron and his small son, Will, named for the Sweet William flower that grew about the dooryard of their little cottage in the woods.  They lived there alone, for Rue's wife had passed the Veil long years before, and since then the Potions Master could not bear to be around people, so he retreated to the woods, where he brewed drafts to sell by owl post and raised his son alone.  Now Will was a bright child, sometimes prone to mischief, but a good lad at heart, and he loved best of all to wander in the woods and gather special potion ingredients and talk with the wild things, for he had the gift of Animal Speech. . . ."

Harry listened, rapt, as Severus began reading  A Wolf in Winter from his big green leather-bound book Scamander's Tales and Legends for Children , a compilation of wizard stories focusing on fantastic animals and extinct creatures.  He thought the Potions Master and his son reminded him a bit of him and his dad, for he too had no mother. 

Severus continued reading, "One day, as he was picking some burdock to use for a salve, in the middle of a wintery day, Will encountered a great white wolf, the biggest wolf he had ever seen.  At first he was frightened, but he greeted the wolf politely, as he had been taught, and the wolf was pleased with the boy's manners and told him he was known as Silverstrike, Prince of wolfkind. "I and mine have seen you and your sire often, roaming the wood, but as you harm none, and practice a goodly craft, we shall permit you to stay, here in Wolf Wood."

"Thank you, Your Grace," said Will, and he bowed to the wolf lord.

Silverstrike bowed back, then told him he might come to visit his pack tomorrow, in a meadow not far from the cottage. 

Will said he would be happy to meet Silverstrike's family, and so a most unusual friendship was formed between the wolf and the wizard's son."

Severus read about how Will cured Silverstrike's young pup of a nasty plague of fleas and worms, giving the pup a healing potion from his father he had helped brew.  Silverstrike told Will that he was the first human who had ever shown such kindness and that he was indebted to the boy.  But Will said there were no debts between friends, yet Silverstrike held fast to his promise and did not forget.

"Does he save Will someday, Dad?" asked Harry eagerly, his eyes shining like precious emeralds in the light of the Lumos-spelled lamp next to his bed. 

"If you'll let me finish the story, you'll find out." Severus said, tweaking his son's nose.  He was lying half on his son's small bed, one long leg dangling off onto the rag rug in front of it, Harry tucked snugly under the moon and stars quilt in the crook of Severus's arm. 

"And so Will grew up and became himself an accredited Potions Master, and he loved and respected all the creatures of the wood, but especially the wolves, and Silverstrike who was his best friend.  Every year he would go to the den and see the new pups and play with the wolves, and dose them if they needed it. But Silverstrike never forgot his promise, and one day he had the chance to repay his debt.

"Young Will had gotten a reputation for being a brilliant if reclusive potion maker and word of his skill had spread far and wide, and certain colleagues of his had become jealous and wanted to ruin his reputation. So they spread rumors and lies about him being a werewolf and sent Werewolf Hunters to find him and kill him, for in those days it was a capital crime to be a werewolf."  Severus's voice deepened here, and he looked at his son.  "Perhaps I'd better finish this story another time, Harry.  Or you might have nightmares."

"No! Oh please, Dad! I can't wait to see what happens! Please read more!" pleaded his son.  "I'll never get to sleep unless I find out."

He fixed his father with his most potent green-eyed Lily-like gaze.

Severus looked away, then back and sighed.  "Very well.  But don't blame me if you get nightmares about Werewolf Hunters." He opened the book and resumed reading.

"And when the Werewolf Hunters came to Will's door on the night of the full moon, one cold winter's night, threatening murder,  with spells of entrapment and swords and silver arrows, Will fled for his life into the forest.  The Hunters came right behind, vowing to slay the werewolf, and chased poor Will until he nearly collapsed.  But in his desperation, Will whistled, a special signal to summon aid from Silverstrike.

"The great white wolf heard and he came and brought the rest of his pack, some twenty strong gray wolves, with him, and they taught the would-be Hunters a grim lesson in harming a friend of the Wolf Wood.  They bit and harried the Hunters all the way through the wood and almost to Hogwarts itself, howling and snarling, and the Hunters were so terrified that they vowed never to hunt wolves again, lest the vengeance of Silverstrike fall upon them."

"Yes!" cheered Harry, applauding.

"And thus thePrince of wolves kept his promise to the young Potions Master, and ever after the descendents of Will Ashkevron are remembered as wolf friends and allies.  And legend  says that if you see a large white wolf while wandering in the woods, remember to speak it fair, for you never know, it could be Silverstrike the wolf lord, who sometimes watches young wizards from afar, to see if one might become a friend like Will long and long ago, who judged a friend not on appearance, but on the heart within." Severus concluded the tale, then shut the book.

"If I ever met a wolf like Silverstrike, I would be his friend," Harry said earnestly, wondering if perhaps he had met the prince of Wolves that day.

 "I don't doubt you would," the Potions Master  agreed, ruffling his son's hair.  "And there you have it, a tale of a good wolf.  Now, I think it's time for a certain little boy to close his eyes and go to sleep."

"Aww, Dad! Do I have to?"

"It's late, son.  And even if you're not tired, I am.  You should be tired, you played all day outside." His father told him firmly. "Would you like me to rub your back?"

"Yes, please." Harry rolled over and Sev gently rubbed his back in small circles, much as he had done ever since Harry was a baby.

Harry found himself yawning and his eyes shutting in spite of himself. It was so warm and comfy and he loved the feel of Severus's hand on his back and the Potions Master began to hum softly and between one blink and the next, Harry drifted off.

In his dreams, he met with the great silver wolf again, and together they played and romped in the woods, and Harry rode upon his back and knew that so long as the silver wolf was there, no harm could come to him.

Severus left the little boy wrapped snuggly in the eiderdown comforter, spelling the lamp to burn until daylight, for Harry hated the dark, and after giving the child one last caress on the head and a kiss on the forehead, departed for his own room right next door.  Pleasant dreams, little one.  He half shut the door, hoping that Harry would sleep without nightmares, he had forgotten there was a scary part to that tale, as it had been many years since he had read it.    

But Harry slept peacefully and so did Severus, waking the next morning full of energy and eager to return to the wood's edge and see if the silver wolf was back, after he ate his bananas and oatmeal with brown sugar, that is.

"Harry, why are you rushing through breakfast like this?" asked Severus, raising an eyebrow at the way his son was shoveling oatmeal into his mouth.  "The snow will still be there in fifteen minutes, it won't melt."

"I know, but . . .eating's not important like playing, Dad," Harry explained with typical seven-year-old logic.  He gulped down the rest of his hot cocoa, nearly burning his tongue. 

Then he ran over and started pulling on his boots, coat, mittens, scarf, and hat.  He wished he were like the silver wolf, and just had a nice furry coat to keep him warm and didn't need to bother with all the nuisance of bundling up to stay warm.  But he knew better than to go out without doing so, his father would never allow it.  Harry had tried that once and Severus had made him stay inside for an entire afternoon and write I will put my winter coat, hat, and boots on before playing outside fifty times.

So he made sure he was all bundled up before dashing out the back door and scampering across the yard, with the snow sparkling in the morning sun like bits of spun sugar icing. As he ran, he recited mentally the rules Severus had drummed into his head-stay within sight of the house, don't go near the pond without Dad, come immediately when called, and no wandering in the woods.  The rules beat out a tempo in his head, in time to his rapid footsteps, as he crunched across the hardened snow, following in his own footprints from yesterday.

When he reached the treeline, Harry halted, gave a guilty glanced over his shoulder, to see if his father was watching, then walked four feet into the trees and stood still, arms wrapped about himself, and waited.

He waited and waited for what seemed like years, there in the chill snowy woods for the silver wolf.

Please come. Please come. Please.  I want to be your friend.  He chanted over and over in his head, stamping his feet so he wouldn't get frozen. 

The wind nipped at his cheeks, turning them a rosy red and he brought up a mitten to rub the snow crystals from his eyes.  When he lowered his hand, the silver wolf was there.

Harry said nothing for a long moment, but he beamed from ear to ear.  Then he said, very softly, "You came back! I'm glad you did.  It's kinda boring being here with nobody to play with, ‘cept Dad. Y'know?"

The wolf did not respond, except to flick an ear and shake his fur slightly. 

Believing it safe to talk, since the wolf hadn't run away yet, Harry said, "I like it here and all, but . . .I'd like a friend even more.  Like the wolf Silverstrike and Will in the story A Wolf in Winter? Ever hear of that one? No? Well, you look kinda like that Silverstrike wolf . . .you aren't, are you?"

Harry could have sworn the wolf's eyes now twinkled in amusement, but then he figured he must just be imagining things.  "Guess not, I think he'd have died, since even magical wolves don't live for hundreds of years.  But maybe you're one of his pups or something? Anyway, can I call you Silver?"

The wolf bobbed his head once, almost in agreement, and Harry grinned even more broadly.

"Okay, Silver it is!" He extended a hand to the big wolf, and Silver lowered his head and sniffed it. 

"My name's Harry and I live just over there . . .well, it's a holiday house. Me and my dad, Severus , rented it for the break.  He's a Potions Master, like Will and Will's Dad Rue in the story.  Can I touch you, Silver? Just once?"

The wolf remained still and Harry hesitated.  Maybe magical wolves like him didn't like being petted like someone's dog.  But oh, how he longed to run his fingers through the deep silvery fur! He inched off his mitten and held out his hand, letting the big wolf make the first move.

Silver sniffed the air, then lowered his head and Harry felt the thick fur brush his fingers.  It was soft like silk and yet the top coat had rougher hairs, and it was warm.  Harry sighed in bliss and combed his whole hand through Silver's ruff, and very gently scratched the patient animal behind the ears. 

"Your fur . . .it's so thick and so . . .soft underneath," the little boy murmured.  "Like cotton, sort of." He continued to stroke the big wolf, marveling that this must have been what it was like for Will in the story, except Harry couldn't talk to animals like the other boy could.

But mindful of the respect the tale preached, Harry drew back and pulled his mitten on.  "Sorry. Didn't mean to keep petting you like you were a dog.  I know you're something special.  Like Silverstrike in the tale."

Once more, amber eyes met emerald and Harry had the strangest feeling that the wolf was trying to tell him something.  He wished he had a special talent like Will and could understand animals.  "It's too bad you can't talk, like in the stories.  I don't have real good control over my magic yet, see? And, by the way, I'm a wizard, case you were wondering.  But that's a secret, Dad says I can't tell anybody at school, since they think wizards and magic aren't real, just made up stories."  He spent most of the year going to a Muggle primary school, and spent the nights and weekends with Severus at Hogwarts if he were teaching and the holidays and summers at their house at Spinner's End. 

To his shock, the big silver wolf lowered his head and butted Harry playfully in the chest.

"Hey! What was that for?"

Silver got down on the ground on his front paws with his tail sticking up and gave a queer half-bark.

Harry was puzzled, till he remembered a neighbor's dog doing that once.  "Oh! I see, you want to play, right?"

The wolf jumped up and nudged Harry again, then turned and ran a few steps and looked over his shoulder. The gesture, plain as day, told Harry he wanted the boy to chase him.

So Harry did, in and out of the trees and around the outskirts of the lawn, though the snow was too deep from him to run quickly, and most times the wolf ran circles around him and knocked him down.

But Harry didn't mind, not even when snow fell down his jacket inside his shirt. At last he had a friend to play in the snow with.  He ran and jumped and even threw snow at the big animal, who would shake it off and  pant in amusement, then bound through the drifts again and knock the boy sprawling.

Though the wolf never checked him hard, and always minded where he put his great paws, each of which were bigger than Harry's whole hand. 

When Harry grew tired, he sat down and rested, and the wolf stood over him, watchful. 

The little boy and the great wolf played all morning and part of the afternoon, Harry chattering to Silver nonstop as they did so, telling him all about the legend of Silverstrike and his life with Severus.    The running kept Harry warm and he wasn't cold, but all too soon, he heard his father calling and regretfully turned to Silver and said, "That's Dad, must be supper or something.  Bye, Silver.  See you tomorrow! We'll be here for two weeks."

Then Harry rose from the ground, brushed himself off and went back towards the cottage, yelling, "Comin,' Dad!"