Nox Redux

Chapter Two

At the same moment as Bert squeezed the trigger of his rifle, the dog finished drinking and raised its head. It was this movement which saved its life. Instead of hitting it in the heart, the bullet smashed into its shoulder. With a loud yelp the dog dropped to the ground.

"Gotcha, ya bastard!" Bert exclaimed.

The other man grinned, punching the air with his fist shouting, "Yerss!" Then his face fell, "No wait, Bert, you didn't kill the bugger, it's got up."

To their surprise the dog had scrambled onto three legs and was now trying to run back up the hill to the safety of the woodland.

Quickly Bert took aim again and fired, but this time he missed, the bullet zinging over the dog's head. It didn't waste time looking back at them, but kept on heading for the shelter of the trees.

Bert swore, "Shit! Come on, we can't leave it like that, it'll be even more dangerous to the stock."

Bert turned and leapt for the other bank of the stream. It was only a metre or so wide, easily narrow enough to jump across. But the opposite bank was deceptive, long grass covering it giving the impression that it was narrower than it actually was. Bert jumped short, his foot sliding on the wet grass. He fell backwards, crashing into the other man, and they both landed in the stream filling the air with loud curses.

As they lay there winded, something played a chirpy, electronic tune in Bert's pocket. The two men climbed to their feet, Pete staring at the point where the dog was now disappearing into the trees. Bert pulled his mobile out and answered it. "Yes?" he snapped. He listened for a few moments then said, "We got it, but just winged it. It got away. It went into Hexley wood." He listened again then said, "Right, you do that, we'll see if we can find it. It's wounded - it won't get far." He pressed a button on the phone and it beeped. He put it away.

"That was Jim," he told Pete. "There's some New Age travellers camped down Shingle Lane about a mile the other side of the wood. Reckons it must've come from there." He smirked, "At least we'll know who to deliver the corpse to. Charge 'em for our time and the bloody bullets."

Pete sniggered, and they clambered onto the other bank shaking water off themselves, before walking up the hill towards the wood.

The dog's mind was filled with the smell of its blood and the agonising pain from the bullet wound. It staggered through the woods, fighting against the blackness that threatened to overwhelm it, functioning on canine instinct rather than anything else. It finally went to ground in a patch of thick undergrowth and collapsed, chest heaving and the dark took it.

---

With a loud pop of displaced air, Snape apparated into the garden of a small, ramshackle cottage. The mossy thatch needed replacing, and the windows and door could badly have done with a fresh coat of paint. He grimaced as he realised he was standing in long, wet grass that came half way up his calves, soaking the dark material of his cloak. Distastefully he lifted it away from the ground and walked towards the weed dotted gravel path that led to the door. It looked barely used. However, he could see that the building was inhabited as a thin plume of smoke curled lazily into the damp, evening air; air that was redolent with the smell of lavender and honeysuckle.

He sniffed and marched up to the door. There was a knocker which might have been brass but which was so covered in verdigris it was hard to tell. He pulled the overhanging honeysuckle out of the way and attempted to give the door a smart rap with the knocker. Unfortunately the hinge was corroded up, and wouldn't move, so he satisfied himself instead with giving the door a loud thump with his fist.

After a moment he heard footsteps approach, and the door was pulled open by a tired looking man with a thin face and greying hair. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw who was at the door. "Severus!" he exclaimed. Then he demanded, "What has happened?"

"It's raining out here, Lupin," responded Snape pointedly.

"Oh, of course, come in." Lupin held the door open for Snape and beckoned him down a narrow hall carpeted with worn rush matting, and into a flag-stoned kitchen. A kettle was simmering gently on an old fashioned range and the ceiling beams hung with scores of drying plants and a single ham. An old grandfather clock ticked peacefully in one corner and by the window a book-strewn table showed what Lupin had been doing before the arrival of his visitor.

"Give me your cloak," he said putting up a clotheshorse before the fire.

Snape pulled off his cloak and handed it over, although as he had only been in the garden for a few minutes it was really only wet at the bottom.

"Tea?"

"If you must," Snape responded coldly. "When did you last hear from Dumbledore?" he asked then, as Lupin began to potter with the kettle and tea things.

The other man looked round, "About a month or so ago, I knew he was getting concerned of course…"

"You haven't heard from Black?"

"Sirius? No, not for a couple of months."

"Then you won't know." Snape paused, loath to continue.

"Know what? Severus what has happened?" Lupin demanded. "Is it what Dumbledore thought? Voldemort has returned?"

Snape grimaced and nodded.

Lupin let the kettle fall onto the hotplate with a clang. "Dear God," he breathed. He waved a hand at the table and said, "Sit down and tell me what happened while I finish this."

Sitting down at the table, Snape began to speak. A few minutes later, as Lupin handed him his tea, he finished by saying, "That was when Dumbledore called us all together."

Lupin sat down opposite Snape. "Harry's all right?" he asked.

"Never mind Potter, of course he's all right. More lives than a cat, that one. Worry about your old friend Black instead." Snape sipped his tea. "Dumbledore told him to alert some of the others and then to come here and wait with you for further instructions. Clearly he never arrived. Dumbledore only found that out when your owl arrived this morning."

"Hmm, then we need to find out who else has disappeared and at what point he disappeared." Lupin distractedly picked up a digestive biscuit and bit into it.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Snape sniffed.

But Snape's sarcasm was wasted, as Lupin didn't appear to be listening, but had the faraway look that indicated he was thinking hard. "How was Sirius travelling?" he asked. "After all, I don't suppose he will have been able to apparate without a wand."

"Not unless he's stolen one," responded Snape who thought it entirely likely. He continued, "However, as far as I know he still had that hippogriff."

"Who was he meant to contact?" Lupin asked then. "Arabella, and Mundungus I suppose?"

Snape nodded. "And a few others. I made a list." he handed it over and Lupin quickly scanned it.

"If he was using the hippogriff it would make sense for him to have started with the northernmost and worked his way south," he commented.

"Black and sense in the same sentence, what a novel concept," muttered Snape. But as Lupin's eyes flashed in anger at his remark he continued, "However we might as well start somewhere and it would be sensible for us to follow a logical pattern."

"Finish your tea, we can get started tonight," retorted Lupin.

---

Finn Greenslade was not in a good mood. This probably had something to do with the fact that his girl friend had just chucked him for his best mate. While this is never a happy occasion at the best of times, it's somehow worse when you're seventeen and still unsure about yourself. Self esteem issues and all that. Rather than have him sulk around the house over the holidays, his mum had packed him off to sulk around at his Gran's - once she had tracked down where she was. While she was definitely weird, Finn's Gran was, there was no arguing about it, pretty damn cool. Finn's dad, when he'd been around, had never been able to stand her, calling her an aging hippy or that bloody old witch. Finn thought his dad had secretly been a bit afraid of his Gran.

He was walking through the damp, green gloom of a wood kicking the occasional rotting log as he did so. He was sure he had seen a hamburger stall when they drove past yesterday on the way to their current campsite, and his internal compass told him he was headed in roughly the right direction. It was a bit late for the stall to still be open, but it might be and at least they would have proper food. After only three days with his Gran he was sick to the back teeth with her veggie curries. However, he didn't think it had been quite this far and it would start to get dark soon. Being a city boy he wasn't entirely happy at the prospect of wandering around a dark wood, not that he was scared or anything, of course.

Up ahead, a stick snapped and undergrowth rustled. Finn stopped dead. "Bloody hell, it must be around here somewhere!" someone said, and two men walked out from the trees up ahead of where Finn was standing. They saw him.

"Oy! You! Wotcher doing here? This is private property," one of them yelled and he raised his rifle threateningly.

Finn swallowed, eyes fixed on the gun. "Don't shoot!" he squeaked.

"Give over, Pete. 'S just a kid," said the other man to his companion. He turned to Finn, "That your dog we saw earlier?" he demanded in an angry voice.

Finn shook his head. "Ain't got a dog. Taking a short cut."

The man snorted. "Right. Better not be your dog, 'cos we're going to kill it. That's if it's not already dead. Dogs and stock don't mix." he shook his head. "Bloody New Age travellers. I told you lot, one step out of line and I'll have the police on yer." He jerked his gun at Finn. "Go on, get out of here!"

Finn gulped and ran off through the trees at right angles to way he had come. He had gone about a hundred metres when something tripped him up and he fell, sprawling onto the ground with a loud oof! "Bugger!" he exclaimed, then slowly sat up in disgust, looking down at the mud that was smeared all over his t-shirt. "Yeugh!" he muttered looking back at the branch that had tripped him up. But as he looked more closely, he saw that it wasn't a branch at all. It was a man's leg.

He stared at it rabbit like, for a few minutes, heart thudding frantically in his chest, his muddy t-shirt forgotten. Then as his panic eased, it slowed down. He got to his feet and peered more closely at the leg. He saw that it was attached to the shape of a man's body. He was lying on his side, clutching one arm to his chest. Finn could see he was breathing, and he let out a sigh of relief.

If the man had been asleep, having someone trip over his leg would surely have woken him up, Finn thought. He cautiously lifted up an overhanging branch, so he could see better and his eyes widened. A huge, dark red stain had leached out of a hole in the man's jacket in his shoulder, a hole that was still oozing redly. Finn's stomach heaved but he managed not to be sick. He'd never seen a real bullet wound before.

Dark hair was slicked against the man's forehead, either through damp or sweat, and his eyes were shut. He was shivering slightly, or shaking. Timidly, Finn put out a hand and prodded the man on his uninjured arm. "'Ere, mate, you all right?" Then he said to himself, "And that's a bloody stupid question, Greenslade! Sure, mate, fine. I always lie in the middle of a sodding wood full of bullet holes when I'm fine. Jeez!"

Then he realised. Those men must have shot this guy. By accident, because they thought he was this dog they were after, Finn wondered, or because he was a tramp? From the state of his clothes, he certainly looked like one. But even tramps didn't deserve to get shot. He had to get help - his Gran would know what to do. He pulled his mobile out but then remembered she didn't have one, so he swithered for a few moments, wondering if he should go and fetch her. Maybe the men would come back and finish the man off. He didn't want to leave him, so he would have to try and take him to his Gran instead.

He prodded the man a bit harder. "Come on, mate, wake up."

The man's eyelids flickered which Finn took to be a good sign so he tried again. This time the man groaned. Definitely better. Finn tugged the man's good arm, and tried to pull him up into a sitting position. His eyes opened, but he didn't seem to see Finn. "Wha…?" he muttered, swaying.

The boy's voice was insistent. Sirius really wanted to go back to the dark. He didn't have to think in the dark. That was somehow good. But the needling voice attached to the pale face above him wouldn't let him.

"That's it, up you get," Finn said with an optimism he didn't feel - it was nearly a mile to where his Gran had parked the bus. "Just a little walk then you can lie down again."

Slowly Finn managed to pull the man to his feet. It wasn't easy, but at least he wasn't heavy. He seemed to be just skin and bone. Pulling the man's good arm across his own shoulders he tried to support him, then wondered, as the man's knees seemed about to give way, if they were both going to fall over.

But no, after a moment the man seemed to steady a bit, even if his eyes had closed again. Finn took a step forwards, "Come on, mate here we go, soon be home," he said. To his surprise the man took a step, and then another.

Despite his desire to stay where he was, Sirius suddenly felt he was upright which was odd, as he didn't remember standing up. Might as well go with the voice. The mention of home was attractive. He hadn't been home in a long time. But memory started to leach back and he knew that way led somewhere bad so he shied away from thinking about it, just let the voice guide one foot after another.

With agonising slowness Finn managed to get the man back the way he had come. It was really starting to get dark now, and it was increasingly difficult to see the ground, but he knew he must be getting close to the edge of the woods by the amount of paler sky he could see through the branches of the trees. Once out of the wood, he knew the going would be a bit easier.

As they went, Finn kept talking to the man, even though he thought it was unlikely he was conscious enough to understand what he was saying. But the tone of his voice seemed to be enough. Indeed it seemed to be one of the things that kept him going, taking one step after another.

Finn slowly staggered round the edge of the wood, following the line of the fence separating the woods from the fields beyond. It took some ingenuity to get the man through the fence but eventually he managed it.

It was a bit lighter, out of the wood and Finn could see that the dark stain on the man's shoulder was spreading. He knew he should do something to stop the bleeding, but he didn't know what. He'd always thought first aid was totally useless so had never bothered paying attention when they did it at school. Just goes to show you, he thought.

As time went on, something important floated up through the fog. He had to get to Moony, tell him something. He didn't know what, but he thought he might remember if he found his friend. Perhaps the voice would take him there.

The man was muttering now. He seemed to want to find someone. Finn had a brainwave. "Come on, mate, Moony's this way. I'm taking you to see ole Moony," he said. This seemed to work, either that or it was the easier ground of the pasture, but they made better time.

However, several fields later, the man's legs just gave way, and they both fell over. Finn couldn't get him up again and realised he was going to have to leave him. Shaking him by his good shoulder he tried to make him understand. "You wait here, mate. I'll go and get Moony. I won't be long." And Finn hoped he wasn't lying.

The voice was gone now, and so was the constant motion. Perhaps Moony had gone out. There was something amusing about that thought and he held onto it for a while. But then the dark started creeping up again, like a relentless tide. Was he Canute, he wondered, to try and stop it? But then he no longer wanted to. It would be good in the dark, there would be no more pain, and so he let himself drift off.

TBC...