The Marauders: Year Seven Part Two

Damn the Chimera

"Come," Kettleburn said in a low voice, his mechanical arm shooting out to grab the crate the bowtruckles had been in. "Merlin's beard, I cannot believe I forgot it was the full moon already." He nudged Regulus along, turning him 'round to head back the way they had come, leaving the bowtruckles behind in the forest, eating the woodlice madly.

Regulus felt a cold chill breeze through the trees he hadn't noticed just moments before, as though the howl had brought about the shift in the temperature. His trainers felt heavy as he clopped along, Kettleburn rushing him forward, looking back over his shoulder.

Of course Regulus knew who and what that howl had been - he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it either, he'd been so caught up in the idea of staying out on the grounds a bit longer. He wondered where the Marauders were with Remus Lupin, if Sirius was there, and if they had the werewolf under control. Regulus glanced at Kettleburn's uneven legs and he worried if the old man was up to attempting to outrun a nearly full grown werewolf through the dark forrest?

Little did he know, but Kettleburn was rather wondering the same thing. He started patting down his jacket as they moved, looking for the silver whistle that warded werewolves off. It hadn't particularly sounded close enough to use the whistle just yet, but a werewolf travels fast - particularly if it is hungry.

They went crashing through the trees and Regulus thought that they must be nearly back to the castle, when they burst out onto a narrow bank by the edge of the water, about a quarter way about the lake, the castle looming up to their right and to the left, beyond some more trees and brush, was a pebble-strewn beach. The moon light illuminated every crystal of sand among the stones, glistening prettily, the water flickering deepest blue and palest white as it shivered under the wind and moon. Kettleburn was panting, and he stopped, leaning against a tree and shaking the prosthetic leg with a groan. "Bullocks," he muttered, "This bleedin' thing. Damn the chimera who took my leg."

Normally, Regulus would have been quite keen to discuss this and hear the story of the chimera who took Kettleburn's leg, but given the fact that he'd just spotted two dog-sized figures streaking across the pebbly beach, he figured now might not be the time. "Professor!" he exclaimed quietly, pointing.

The canine shapes were coming closer, so Kettleburn set off, urging Regulus along with him. They moved together through the brush, sticking close to the shore of the lake, pressing toward the hopeful sign of the smoke burning from Hagrid's chimney. They'd bang on Hagrid's door, they'd be safe there, with the giant and his dog and his crossbow, thought Kettleburn. "Hurry, hurry," he urged Regulus, and he could hear the boy tramping behind him through the brush... They were getting close, nearly there and --

There came a crashing in the trees behind him, a brief shout, and when he stopped and turned back it was to find the space behind him empty. No wolves, no Regulus.

Regulus landed on his back in the trees, and he'd been about to cry out when a palm covered his mouth and a whispered voice came, "Obscura!" Silence, absolute silence, filled Regulus's ears - even the sounds of the forrest were muted, and though he could see Kettleburn there, looking frantically about, his mouth moving in the shape of Regulus's name, he could not hear the professor.

Regulus's eyes rolled up to peer at the person leaning over him. It was a ragged man whose facial hair was unkempt, and his cheeks were covered with deep gouges and scars. Beside him paced the wolf form of Fenrir Greyback, and another wolf whom Regulus did not recognize. Regulus blanched as Greyback came close, his snout nearly touching Regulus so that all he could smell was the fug of the werewolf's hot maw. He closed his eyes so that he didn't have to look at the long, blood-stained fangs that protruded dangerously close to Regulus. He imagined the werewolf venom that surely was in the wet and glistening saliva, which hung in thick ropes between the upper and lower jaws.