Here Be Monsters II: Psalm of the Wolf

Saturday, 6 July 1996

10:32 GMT

The Dementors are sweeping in from every direction, appearing from alleys that were supposed to be secured by teams of Aurors. Hell's bells! How did things go so very wrong?

Hermione scrambles up from behind me, her face stretched with tension. In the next instant Ron is climbing over the railing, making for a heap of cloth lying nearby on the sidewalk. Ginny! Damnation, I forgot all about her!

"Look after Harry!" I bark at Hermione, forcing myself to my feet.

Another flight of black spheres hurtles through the air, originating from one of the side alleys across the street from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Suddenly, gold-red light flares and a set of much larger orbs appear around the black projectiles just as they explode. The sickly green energy washes against the inside of the containment orbs, held harmlessly away from the Alley. The work of Albus, no doubt

Silver radiance bursts forth from several points in view. Patroni. Unconscious bodies litter the street, but evidently some have managed to keep conscious and oriented. I dash after Ron as a trio of Dementors swoops down on the unconscious Ginny.

"Expecto Patronum!" we both shout at the same instant. My wolf patronus leaps forward and collides with a Dementor, ripping its non-substance to tatters that sweep away on the breeze. A charging silver knight, bearing a marked resemblance to a chess piece, erupts from Ron's wand and impales another Dementor on its lance. Jerking to the right, Ron's Patronus tramples the remaining Dementor under the flailing hooves of its horse.

"Good work!" I exclaim as I draw even with him.

"Bloody Hell!" he exclaims, his jaw slack, "I never got a corporeal before!"

"Necessity often helps," I observe quickly, "Impressive results, too. Quick, get Ginny down the steps!"

Thankfully Ron does not argue. Gathering his little sister in his arms, he hurries down the short flight of stairs as I walk backwards, covering his retreat. The scene is absolute chaos. Small knots of battle have appeared throughout the Alley as still-conscious wizards attempt to protect themselves and their stunned comrades from the Dementors. Across the small square in front of the joke shop I see a familiar heavyset figure standing close to the steps of Gringotts. As a squad of four Dementors approaches Neville raises his wand and issues a silver radiance that quickly forms into a gigantic blossom of some kind on a vine. The flower engulfs one Dementor while the vine wraps itself around another. Unfortunately the other two swing wide to the right, moving to outflank the botanical Patronus.

Then Luna steps up to Neville's side and the strangest Patronus I've ever seen bursts out of her wand. It looks like a cross between a gigantic shaggy dog and a rhinoceros, although the thing's horn is oddly bent and twisted. Twisted or not, however, it works. The thing runs down the first Dementor, then whirls and impales the remaining menace.

But we have no respite. Even as another wave of spheres hurtles out over the square, shafts of stab forth from multiple directions. Several break and refract against the wards of the joke shop, but others seek out wizard defenders with frightening accuracy. Screams fill the air as dozens of curses take effect on the overwhelmed citizens.

"Goddamn it!" I scream, running back up the steps with Ron at my side. A half-dozen Death Eaters are rounding the corner to our left, wands raised. I barely deflect a pair of curses as another one lances between us. In the corner of my eye I see Ron block an aquamarine bolt, but only partially deflect an arc of crimson radiance. The curse grazes his thigh and he goes down with bright blood spurting from his leg. With roars of triumph the Death Eaters charge forward, wands glowing.

"Glacio!" A blue mist snakes from behind us and spreads across the cobblestones at the dark wizards' feet. It solidifies instantly into a sheet of ice, denying their booted feet purchase on the stone. Spells shoot harmlessly in random directions as they sprawl painfully in various inelegant and undignified positions.

I waste no time. With quick, economic motions I stun each of them, then turn to Ron. Fortunately Hermione is already kneeling at his side, pressing her hands against the oozing wound. Ron is propped on his elbows, his skin pale and his lips pressed tightly together against the pain.

It was not Hermione's voice casting the spell. I look to the steps and see Harry leaning heavily on the railing, dark blood still running from one nostril to dribble off his chin. I tighten my grip on my wand as I am almost overwhelmed with fear and anger and relief. Behind Harry I see Ginny struggling up the steps, looking pale and pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes.

"Thanks," I manage to croak to Harry.

Not waiting for his reply, I drop to my knees next to Hermione. "Let me," I say softly. She does not seem to have heard. Her trembling fingers on Ron's leg are bright red with blood. As more gore oozes out around her hands she lets out a soft desperate sound and tightens her grip. Ron hisses and rolls back his head.

"Hermione," I say firmly, reaching out to rest my hands over hers, "let go."

With another soft sigh she unclenches her fingers and leans back, her face a mask of helpless distress. I mutter a soft pain-relieving spell over the wound and Ron relaxes gratefully. Hermione shifts closer and rests her hand on his chest, gently pressing him down so that his head rests in her lap. Lowering my face to hid a grin I gently spread the cloth of his jeans and examine the wound. It is wide but not deep enough to sever muscles or major blood vessels. I utter a basic healing spell and the wound knits together, forming a livid scar.

"There," I announce, "not as good as Madam Pomfrey, but it'll do until somebody more skilled can take a look."

"He isn't so pretty that a little scar will make a difference, Professor."

I look up in surprise as Bill Weasley kneels on Ron's other side. Suddenly the sound and lights of the ongoing battle, which I had blocked out in the midst of our local crisis, suddenly flood back in. Bill is silhouetted in the bright glare of flying spells. The wards of the joke shop are glowing constantly, and several small battles between wizards and Death Eaters are raging across the square. Neville, Luna, and Mrs. Longbottom are holding their own across the square, and I see that the defenses of Gringott's have come alive, the front of the bank laced with swirls of radiance. Near the middle of the square Minerva stands back-to-back with none other than Dung Flether, holding off the Death Eaters who are trying to encircle them. So far it's clear the Death Eaters are taking by far the worst of it.

"Haven't you ever heard that women love scars, Bill?" Ron says in a cocky tone, coming back up one his elbows.

"Hush, you!" Hermione scolds, pressing him down into her lap once again.

"Yeah, no smart remarks from the Junior League!" Bill retorts, pounding his brother playfully on the shoulder. His hand lingers to stroke softly over Ron's hair, even as his eyes harden in anger. "Especially from a Junior League that ought not be here in the first place."

"Bill..."

"Later." His tone brooks no arguments. "Professor, the situation on the ground is coming under control, but we have to stop those spheres. Professor Dumbledore is weakening, and if any of them break through we'll be right back where we started!"

"Okay, what should we do?" That comes from Harry, who settles down between me and Hermione. I feel his warmth against my shoulder. He wipes the blood off his face with the back of his hand and looks around with an expression of fierce anticipation.

The smell of his blood pierces through my nose and sinuses like a white-hot poker. Bleeding. My cub is bleeding!

Howling like a pack of dying jackals another wave of dark spreads over the square. This time two of them avoid Dumbledore's defenses and shower their foul energy over the defenders. Several citizens collapse, although a see a few Death Eaters fall as well. A set of smaller, multicolored spheres sails toward the joke shop, flying close to the ground. They burst in a display like a dozen exploding rainbows. A rectangular area to the right of the shop entrance glows with a storm of red sparks as a peculiar green shimmer spreads across the surface of the square.

"Damn!" Bill exclaims, "The wards are weakening!"

"What do we do?" Harry asks again.

"Professor Lupin and I will apparate into the side alley and try to find the source of those things. You lot will get back down those stairs and stay there!" Bill glares at Ron and Harry in turn.

"But..."

"Down the stairs!" I roar. The smell of his blood is driving me insane. Turning to Bill, I motion at the entrance of the side alley in question and hold up three fingers.

He gives a sharp gesture of assent and lifts his wand to the ready. Three, two, one... I exert my will so.

The familiar tugging seizes me and the world grows hazy. Then my surroundings jump into stark relief as ropes of force twist around my body and jerk me backwards. I land with a sharp explosion of pain in my buttocks, a feeling magnified by Bill's weight as he materializes on top of me.

"Crap!" Bill rolls away, holding his stomach where my knees dug into his abdomen. "One of those last spells must have been an apparation anchor!"

Indeed. Probably the green radiance on the cobblestones. Damn!

"Well, we are going to have to get over there somehow. Hopefully without getting killed in the process."

It won't be easy. The space in front of the alley mouth is wide and empty. Anyone lurking deeper in the alley recesses will have a clear view of us framed against the sunlit square.

"We can use my invisibility cloak." Harry has totally ignored my instructions. I flex my fingers, driving my nails into the heels of my hands. He is already rummaging in his backpack.

Scrambling to my feet, I stalk forward, anger welling through my veins. Bill moves to intercept me, a look of alarm on his face. "Calmly, Professor."

"Yeah," Ron exclaims, trotting up. "That's the ticket, Harry! Let's go."

Bill flushes deep crimson. His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow, making him look like a giant, furious fox.

"Deep breaths, Bill," I growl softly, "deep breaths."

"Are we going or not?" Harry says, shaking out the cloak. "We don't have any time to lose!"

I glare at him. He glares back. Bill and Ron are locked in a staring contest as well.

"We need to get moving!" That comes from Hermione, who moves up behind Harry. Ginny flanks him from the other side.

Bill and I exchange looks and sigh in unison. "They're right," Bill says grimly, "we don't have time to argue."

"No, we don't. But they are in soooo much trouble."

"Oh, yeah." Bill cracks his knuckles menacingly and Ron blanches.

"We won't all fit under the cloak," Ginny observes as she grasps a corner and helps Harry spread the cloth.

"No need," I answer resignedly. Fear is growing within me with every second, and I plow ahead in a mad attempt to keep functioning. "The invisibility effect is bound to the outer surface. If we spread it in front of us we will be invisible from that direction, but not from behind."

"Oh," Ron says, "that works."

"Just be ready," I say grimly.

I grasp one side of the cloak, Bill seizes the other. Harry and Ron squeeze into the space between us, with Hermione and Ginny following close. It is an awkward trip across the square, zigging and zagging amidst the fallen bodies, broken flagstones, and spell remnants. Harry's ice sheet is one obstacle, but several areas of the squares are still red hot from Incendio spells. One large patch has been changed into quicksand, and more than a few battles have left the cobblestones littered with feathers, razors, jungle vines, animate concrete hands, serpents, rabbits, chickens, and numerous other detritus that one finds at the site of a wizard duel.

We close slowly on the dark alley mouth, staying low as more spells and curses shoot forth to shatter against the joke shop. The weakened ward flickers and dies completely just as we reach the alley mouth.

The space leading back between the buildings is dark as the inside of Cornelius Fudge's head, and I thank God fervently for the invisibility cloak. Without it we would be easy targets. My eyes adjust rapidly and I make out a good half-dozen figures grouped around a set of open chests on the alley floor. More surprisingly flashes of light and the sounds of battle are issuing from the further depths of the dark beyond the waiting figures.

"Forward, slowly," I hiss. We move at a steady, gradual pace. I want to groan at the sounds my companions are making. To my lupine hearing they sound like a regiment in full plate armor stomping into battle. But to a human's ears they are silent enough, especially in the massive din surrounding us.

Some of the figures are chanting unfamiliar spells, and as we approach a series of spheres rises from the chests and hurtle through the air toward the square. I hope that Albus can smother most of them. With luck that will be the last volley.

We close efficiently on our quarry, wands at ready. I consider issuing battle instructions but decide against it. Nobody in this crew is likely to listen, anyway. Instead I hold up five spread fingers and begin to lower them one at a time in a silent countdown. As I drop my last digit, we release the invisibility cloak and attack.

It really isn't much of a fight. The Death Eaters are taken completely by surprise, and within two minutes all six of them are on the ground stunned, disabled or both. I run around them, making for the battle in the rear of the alley. As I approach a pair of dark-clad wizards turns and levels curses at me. I fall to the ground, stunning one of them from a prone position. Another stunner races over my head and takes the other Death Eater. Two more who have not turned to engage us are dispensed with before they can swing about to defend themselves.

I rise slowly to my knees, completely unsurprised to see that it was Harry who followed me into the battle. He is leaning against a nearby wall, coughing softly. I bring my wand up at the sound of stirring in the alley, not lowering my wand as Mad Eye Moody and Nymphadora Tonks come around a set of large trash containers. "What are you two doing back here?" I growl, keeping my wand at ready.

"Fighting," Moody replies, his growl as angry as mine. "The recognition code is 'peppermints.'"

"In that case," I lower the wand, "let's all take a breather."

"Sounds good to me!" Tonks says in a heartfelt voice. "Moody and I apparated in here to stop those spheres, but they had a localized anti-apparation ward up."

"Caught us like fly's on sticky paper," Moody explains. "But we got here in time to save Shacklebolt."

"Kingsley?"

"He's still back here." Moody leads me to the rear of the dust bins where Kingsley is laying unconscious. "The Death Eaters were polyjuiced to mimic Aurors." His voice is bitter and I have no doubt that he is remembering his own experience with Barty Crouch, Jr. "It's how they managed to get the drop on us."

"Shit," Harry observes wearily.

"That about sums it up," Tonks agrees.

"Well, I guess I had better wake the boy up," Moody growls, stomping toward Shacklebolt.

Then the world glows red as thunderous noise echoes from the sky. We look up, startled. Clouds are boiling over the alley, closing off what was a clear blue sky. The edges of the dark thunderheads gleam red and gold and white. Balls of multicolored fire like small comets streak downward to batter against a dome of force that has appeared over Diagon Alley.

"THAT CRAZY SON OF A BITCH!" Moody shakes his fist at the sky. "He'll have the muggles down on us for sure!"

My jaw is sagging open in shock. I had never in my darkest dreams imagined that Voldemort would resort to bombardment. If it wasn't for someone's quick thinking we would all be dead, or close to it.

Another volley strikes against the shield. This time some of the bolts penetrate and large sections of the square vanish in sudden blossoms of flame. The ground shudders under our feet.

"We've got to stop that!" Harry yells, pushing off from the wall. "They'll sit up there and burn the Alley to ashes!"

Before I can ask what he suggests for a solution, he barks "Follow me!" and takes off down the alleyway. Ron pelts after him and I push my aching, bruised body into motion as well.

Harry runs quickly out into the square, dodging the detritus of battle and the ruptured cobblestones. Ron and I weave along, following his path through the strange obstacle course that was once Diagon Alley. Rounding a cloud of smoke I see Harry's destination and almost yelp in fear and surprise.

Quality Quidditch Supplies. It figures.

The door has been left ajar by some fleeing employee, or else has been blown open by a concussion. Harry darts into the shop, Ron at his heels. I come through the door just as they are taking broomsticks down from a wall display. Without even looking at me they dash out again, Harry half-mounted on his broomstick by the time he is through the door. With a groan of frustration I grab another broom from the wall and follow them. They are already several feet off the ground by the time I get into push-off position.

I don't talk about it much, but I have never cared for flying. Not on brooms, anyway. Sirius' motorcycle was another matter. I always thought my old friend had the right idea to make sure he had weight and stability beneath him when he was in the air. But unfortunately the motorcycle is not at hand. Clinging somewhat grimly to the broomstick, I kick off and rise after the teenagers.

The day is warm and I am flush with exertion, but the motion of the broom brings a chill breeze to bear on my skin. I urge the broomstick to greater speed, fearful that I will lose Harry and Ron. Harry, however, has slowed his ascent and is moving to the left toward a thick column of smoke rising from a stretch of shattered flagstones. As I watch he plunges into the cloud, followed closely by his best friend.

With a soft groan I enter the smoke. Harry's plan is obvious, and quite good. He will rise in the cloud, using it to hide himself until he reaches an appropriate altitude. Wincing against the stinging smoke, I pull myself into a vertical rise.

So thick is the smoke that I barely see Ron as he exits the cloud above me. Grinding my teeth, trying to ignore the ominous pain in my gums and sense of sharpness in my incisors, I push forward.

Still blinking tears from my irritated eyes, I break free of the smoke into chill air. The low, dark thunderheads hang just above us, not nearly high enough in the atmosphere to be natural clouds. The sparking light limning their edges nearly blinds me. Lifting one hand to shield my eyes and praying I don't fall off the broom, I make out a handful of dark figures outlined by the strange lightning. Looking about quickly I see that Harry and Ron are moving in a standard vertical pincer often used by Quidditch Chasers. Ron is swooping towards the figures from below, Harry from above. Groaning again, I grip the broom with both hands and move after my errant cub.

Luckily, the Death Eaters are too occupied with their bombardment to pay much attention as we approach. There are five of them. Three are grouped in a loose circle around the remaining pair, both of whom carry long, javelin like metal staves. One of the staves gleams with a bluish light and balls of fire lance down from the clouds, exploding as the wards above the Alley come into play.

Blinded and desperate, I urge my broom to greater speed as I follow Harry's arc. He and Ron attack nearly as one, spells lancing out to strike two of the figures. One of the guards stiffens and tumbles from his broom, as does one of the main attackers. I watch in horror as the javelin falls from his fingers and tumbles toward the ground.

"NOOO..."

My scream is cut short as the javelin intersects the wards, flaring and shattering against them. The sky is filled with light and thunder, the effect of the energies released from the shattered weapon. I cling to the broom as I am hurled backwards into a tumble. After what seems like hours, but could be only seconds, the brooms inertial stabilization spells bring me to a halt. I hold on shakily, vomiting my breakfast.

A scream echoes from somewhere below, barely audible on the icy wind. I quickly find the source of the sound. Ron is clinging to his broom with one hand, trying frantically to resume his position atop the stick. I watch helplessly as his grip loosens and he plunges toward the ground.

Images of a shattered red-haired body flash through my mind as I plunge downwards, knowing that I will be too late. And then Harry is there, descending in a twisting spiral that is almost freefall. The scream that comes from me now is a sound of pure horror. For a moment I think my lungs will burst from the effort of the scream.

Harry pulls out of his dive with a sharp, hair-pin jerk, bearing Ron upwards like a doll dangling below his broom. Reaching his friend's floating broom, he helps Ron remount as I nearly faint.

I am definitely going to check myself into the heart ward at St. Mungo's when this is over.

Another peal of thunder sounds from above. I twist my broom around, cursing as I remember the Death Eaters. Only one is left, but he holds the remaining javelin aloft. I can imagine the triumphant grin that must be playing over his face behind the mask. His head is twisted to look directly at the teenagers below as the javelin begins to glitter with blue radiance.

I suppose I scream again. Either that or my heart skips several beats at once. In any case, the pain is my chest is searing. I am moving forward rapidly, although I do not remember giving an order to the broom. And then the Death Eaters looks around and utters a scream of his own. My hands close around the javelin, and our bodies collide with a crack that rivals the thunder.

His broom shears about and for a split second I am sure I will be swept off my own stick. But it slices over my head as his body tumbles back and down. We are joined by the javelin, both of us hanging on with tightly clenched fingers. His full weight pulls down on my arms and the agony is worse even than my transformation as my tendons threaten to part.

Luckily the Death Eater releases his grip before my limbs are pulled out by the roots. Silently, as silent as death itself, he falls. For him there is no friend to swoop to the rescue. He drops toward the cruel cobblestones, and I can only imagine that the sound he makes as he strikes is both loud and wet.

I carefully pull the javelin close, wondering how to deactivate it. But the light is already dissipating. In a few seconds the javelin is only a metal stave once again.

Harry sweeps up to my left, Ron to my right. I look over at my cub and tighten my grip on the javelin to keep from slapping him silly.

"I suppose," I manage to bark, "that you found that enjoyable."

Harry glares at me defiantly, but any reply is lost in a sudden spasm of coughing. I see with a surge of dread that he is bleeding from both nostrils now.

"They sure must not have known anything about Quidditch," Ron exclaims jauntily from my other side. "That was a flat thinker's formation if there ever was one!"

"Is that so?" I turn to him and level what I intend to be a withering glare in his direction. I must have overdone it because he recoils with a look of fright. "Well, you are very lucky, Mr. Weasley, that your superior Quidditch strategy didn't kill us all and level half the Alley! I suggest you try applying battle strategy next time. This is not a game!"

He has the Weasley temper all right. His face flushes as red as his hair. "And what do you think you're going to do with that thing now that you have it?"

"An excellent question," I allow. "Here, hold it!" I shove the javelin into his arms. His eyes grow wide, but he hangs on obediently as I fish out the mirror. "Tonks!" I yell.

"I'm here, Remus," the Metamorphmagus says, her face coming into focus, "no need to yell."

"I'm dropping something to you. Make sure you catch it."

"Will do." She grins and winks cheerfully, but I break the connection with a swift nod.

Putting the mirror back I pull my wand and tap it against the javelin. "Paludamentum." The air around the javelin glows a soft pink. "Now drop it."

"What?" Ron flushes a deeper red and stares at me as if I have suddenly sprouted fangs - which, come to think of it, I may well have.

"DROP IT!"

Shrugging as if to say it's on my head he holds the javelin out from his body and lets go. It tumbles down, end over end. As it reaches the wards the cloaking charm I placed on it glows pink once again. Passing harmlessly through the Alley's defenses, it continues its downward trajectory for a moment longer then slows and drifts gently down in what I surmise is the grip of Tonks' levitation spell.

I turn back to Harry. He stares at me, his eyes slitted in anger. I simply look back impassively. "After you."

Looking away with the haughtiness only an offended teenager could muster, he noses his broom downward and descends. Ron follows, his posture radiating disdain for me. I bring up the rear, hoping that the heart ward in St. Mungo's has comfortable beds.

Our sad little flock drops low over the square, Harry leading. He is some twenty feet from the ground when a shout rings out in warning. "DEMENTORS!"

Oh I say. That just isn't fair.

Fair or not, the cloaked figures are once again sweeping in from all sides. This time, though, Harry is fortified by the adrenalin rush of battle. Lifting his wand he screams the incantation for the Patronus charm at the top of his voice.

The gleaming stag bounds downward barreling into a trio of dementors at top speed. Whirling, it tramples two more. Despite my anger, I feel like cheering with pride. Ron peels off to the left, diving toward another knot of dementors as his knight patronus bursts from his wand.

Then the stag falters and seems to stumble. My cheer changes to a choked cry as the stag vanishes in a silver cloud and Harry tumbles from his broom.

He is only six feet from the ground, but his fall is head first. I plunge straight down grabbing at him with futile desperation. However he manages to twist, whether in fading effort or by luck, and lands on his back.

I leap from my broom and drop to a crouch beside him. With a sobbing cry I reach out and feel for his pulse. It is strong, and I find no more blood or broken bones. Shaking him frantically, I am rewarded with a sharp gasp. His eyes flicker open.

"NEVILLE!" That is Mrs. Longbottom's voice. I look around and feel my heart stop for about the twentieth time today. Luna is pulling herself up off the cobblestones, looking much the worse for wear. Mrs. Longbottom is brandishing half of a broken wand, a ragged scratch showing red on her dignified features. Several yards away from her a towering Dementor holds a struggling Neville firmly by the throat as it lowers its head toward his face. As I watch in horror it presses its hood down over the boy's horrified visage. Neville's limbs spasm, then go slack.

Suddenly a winged figure whips over my head and dives toward the terrible tableaux. A giant butterfly patronus slices into the Dementor's back, bearing it away in dark wisps. Neville collapses limply as the butterfly soars around in a circle to return to its maker, who is now standing directly behind me. I turn to look into two very familiar, very concerned eyes.

"How is he, Remus?" Hermes Reed asks, flicking his wand so that the silvery butterfly hovers over one shoulder.

"I'm fine!" Harry answers for himself. "See about Neville."

"I'm glad to hear it, young man." Hermes reaches down to help Harry to his feet. "I must say that when Miss Weasley gave me that invitation I didn't expect this much excitement!" He catches my eye and motions toward Neville with his chin.

I scramble over to where Mrs. Longbottom is kneeling over her grandson, wailing. Luna staggers up, her calm demeanor utterly shattered, her face stricken. Dung Fletcher approaches from the other side, an expression of deep sorrow sitting oddly on his roguish features.

Neville's eyes are rolled up in his head and a think line of spittle is leaking from one corner of his mouth. His limbs quiver as if with palsy. I groan softly.

And then his eyes snap open and focus on me with a fierce intensity totally out of keeping with what I know of him. To my utter disbelief he opens his lips and speaks clearly and coldly. "Pater Noster accedunt. Animarum domini planum accuramur adorationis."

"Is that... does it mean...?" Mrs. Longbottom looks at me with almost pitiful hope.

"I don't know," I say softly. If the kiss had been successful, Neville should not be able to speak at all.

"Pater Noster accedunt." He says again. " Animarum domini planum accuramur adorationis."

My head is hurting and my Latin is rusty. "Our father..." I begin.

"Our father approaches," a soft voice says confidently at my elbow, "His feast of souls is prepared on the Plain of Adoration."

I look up in surprise at the sad smile of Dung Fletcher. "My grandfather was a Classics teacher at a Muggle university," he explains.

Well, live and learn.

I climb wearily to my feet and turn to Harry. Ron is now standing with him, both of them staring white-faced at Neville.

I am about to bellow for all I'm worth when a rippling catches the edge of my vision. I whip my head around just as two Death Eaters step out from behind invisibility cloaks.

Ron sees them as well and dives in front of Harry just as the first of the Death Eaters lets loose a spell. The bolt of light catches Ron full in the abdomen, hurling him back into Harry. They both tumble to the ground.

The second Death Eater steps forward holding a small black sphere that looks like a miniature version of the ones that were recently exploding in the air over the Alley. He barks something I don't quite catch and it hurtles forward, striking my cub full in the chest as he struggles to rise. Harry screams then, a sound of pure agony, and falls back, convulsing.

I don't notice bringing my wand up. But it is up, pointing full at the Death Eaters. The wand wielding foe twists to face me and shouts something even as I speak my spell. "Nebula novacularum!" I move my wand in a savage criss-crossing motion. A whirling cloud of glowing, comma-shaped arcs spreads from my wand, striking the Death Eaters full on. The arcs cut into them like so many blades, cutting their flesh as easily as a sword slicing through a soft bar of soap. With an explosion of gore the Death Eaters are torn asunder, chopped into multiple pieces that fly as fleshy projectiles in random directions.

I lower my wand slowly, shock and rage causing my hand to tremble move with wild tremors. Burning pain radiates through my chest, centered above my heart.

What the Hell? I think blearily. I thought I was only joking.

And then the cobblestones rush up to meet me, and I am lost in darkness.