|71| I Have a Confession to Make

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One slightly cloudy night, three weeks into the Marauder's fourth school year, a black dog ran, big heavy paws pounding upon the forest floor, path only illuminated by the silvery full moon hanging amongst the stars above. The night was nearly over, but the werewolf was wide awake, and particularly vicious.

The rat had been thrown against a tree, knocked unconscious early in the night; the stag was sporting some nasty scratches; the dog had managed to remain mostly unscathed apart from a large gash along his torso; and the cat? Well, the cat was running full speed on her three good legs just to keep up with the two canines and stag.

The scent of something human, someone human, invaded their senses... again. It had been happening all night. When the Marauders agreed to spend their moonlit night in the woods, they didn't realize that there would be a butter-beer festival in Hogsmead. All night long they tried to lead their bloodthirsty best friend away from the innocent villagers at the edge of the woods, and so far they were successful.

Suddenly the wolf, whom the animals had been chasing, swerved abruptly toward the edge of the forest, lips curled, teeth bared, growling lowly as it stalked its prey. The stag instantly turned on a dime running perpendicular, slamming the wolf into a large tree, trapping it within its antlers.

This only upset the wolf who snarled and bit wildly into the air, aiming for nothing in particular, but teeth ultimately sinking into the stag's chest. The deer made a loud, guttural sound of pain, staggering away from the deranged beast and collapsing against a large exposed tree root.

The white cat rushed towards the stag, trying to see if she could help him, but he made it very clear that he was fine, and that she and the dog needed to control the wolf.

So, she turned abruptly and ran towards the wolf, catching the horribly pungent scent of fire whisky and sweat in the process, then running ever faster.

"Oi! Larry" Slurred a stumbling man only meters away. "Look 's a cat!" he said in his garbled speech, pointing toward the fluffy bright white cat sprinting toward the wolf (eventually jumping onto its back causing it to whimper slightly).

"Wha' are yeh doin' lookin' at cats fer, Bob? 'S Late, we needa be headin' out!" his friend said in a slightly less slurred voice.

As the two tipsy fellows started to stumble away, the wolf, currently ignoring the needle like claws and teeth digging into its neck and back, began to steady itself for a surprise attack.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the dog slammed into the sandy colored werewolf, pinning him against another tree, large jaws securely clamped down on the werewolf's back leg.

The wolf flailed and kicked repeatedly, but the dog wouldn't let go. After 30 seconds of the dog hanging on desperately, being beaten around like a flag in the wind, a bright flash of white fur reflecting in the moonlight obscured the wolf's vision as it latched itself onto his face, growling and hissing as she did so.

Now blinded by a cat clinging painfully to its face, the wolf flailed even more, but was thankfully immobilized for the time being. Two large paws reached up and yanked the cat from its face, sending her tumbling down to the ground with force. She staggered, meeting eyes with the weary grey eyes of the still struggling black dog.

They couldn't hold Moony for much longer, but if they didn't a whole village of people would be massacred. For a moment, Tufts panicked. She had to save the people. She had to save Padfoot, who looked like he was one good thrashing away from passing out. So, with a lift of her paw, and all the focus, energy, and will she possessed, she pointed toward the wolf and thought the word 'Stupefy'.

Nothing happened.

Now she was panicking more than ever. Her wandless magic had failed her.

Without another thought she ran for the the rear leg not currently gripped in the black dog's jaw, and bit down, clinging on for dear life. For the dear lives of her friends and the innocent festival goers.

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