The Marauders and the Arenotelicon

The Beast had been ready, watching the human-wolf enter his tunnel at the tree. Normally, the human female would have been the perfect prey, alone and defenseless, but ever since meeting the human-wolf near the sheep pen, the Beast had no choice. The urge to take on the challenge was too great. Only eating to slake its hunger, the Beast was waiting for the ultimate kill, the kill that would stave off the roiling madness within. He hadn't met up with a werewolf in at least two hundred years. They were worth the hunger and waiting. Tonight had to be the night, though. The Beast just knew it.

As soon as the tunnel closed, the Beast raced to the shack where the werewolf would appear next. The Beast didn't know the whys and hows of the appearance; he just knew that's what would happen. He also didn't know why, but tonight was the night. Something was going to happen. The kill would happen. Instinct insisted upon this point.

The werewolf, on the other hand, once his mad rage was ended, actually laid down by the front door to doze fitfully, his own instincts telling him he needed the rest, that something was going to transpire. After midnight though, the wolf's ears perked up and it rose from its slumber alert and wide awake.

Loud bursts of noise and the acrid smell of strange chemicals wafted to the wolf's nose even through the shack's reinforced walls. Cries of alarm and fright, distinctly human and young, aroused the monsterous predator within and the wolf went berserk. Charging the door, scratching, howling and gnashing his teeth, the werewolf attempted to reach his favorite prey, to no avail. The walls remained firm.

A strong, stern human voice brought the younger voices to a stop and the wolf paused in his frantic attempts to escape. He cocked his head to listen, gauging the mettle of the newcomer by the voice. Immediately, the wolf knew this was not a human to mess with, at least for now.

"What are you boys doing here?"

"Headmaster!" cried one shaky voice.

"Sir, we were just -" started another.

"We will discuss this later, tomorrow in fact, when Mr. Lupin returns. In the meantime, you three will return to the castle and take Mr. Black to Madam Pomphrey. Mr. Pettigrew, you look like you need to visit her as well...ah, Mr. Potter, you're dripping blood. Put this over the wound."

Footsteps of the older human drew near and the scent of blood was clear, the werewolf gave a low growl and scratched frenziedly at the door. The footsteps paused before resuming a few more paces despite the continuing warnings from the werewolf within.

"You don't remember me, my friend," said the older human voice soothingly, "but I won't hurt you. You're safe and sound right where you are."

"Headmaster..."

"Mr. Potter!" The voice was sharp and angry now. "The castle. Now! Before you lose more blood."

The young human's scent faded but the older human's remained.

"What ails you, my friend? What - Good Heavens!"

The werewolf froze. There. It was back. This time no wall between them was going to keep them apart.

The pounding of four feet moving rapidly, a sharp cry of pain from the human and soon the two monsters, one without and one within, attempted to reach one another. Collision after collision with the shack's spell enforced walls and windows shook it to the foundation, to no avail. Snarls, growls and howls of rage filled the air, mingling with the thuds and scratchings, making a terrible racket.

The werewolf and Beast both vaguely heard shouting from many humans and the old human shouting in return. "Back to your homes and spell-enforce your doors and windows!"

Bright lights from spells blinded the Beast, ricocheting harmlessly off his body. This was not monster against man, this battle; it was monster against monster.

The shack continued to shudder with the force of dual collisions of two great monsters, slowly moving around the forest facing side of the ramshackle building. The Beast was peripherally aware that the human followed wariily, but he didn't care; his entire focus was on trying to get to the werewolf within.

Once the battle moved to the back, the Beast and werewolf paused. A sense of anticipation and suspense hung in the suddenly silent air, as palpable as any material thing. Not a leaf stirred, no heavy breathing broke the stillness to indicate when the battle would continue. Then, as if in synchronization, the two animals sprung. They collided, not with the wall but with each other.

Claws and teeth assaulted each opponent. The fight was horrific to behold. The noise was deafening. Blood from wound splattered the ground and surrounding shrubs and trees. It wasn't a sigh the long witness was bound to ever forget.

After sometime it became apparent that the werewolf's inexperience was a disadvantage but not much of one. There was something desperate and determined about the wolf's strategy. The Beast's experience landed him many solid and wounding blow and bites, injuring his opponent far more than he was injured. The problem was that the werewolf was gaining ground. Slowly, strategically the wolf maneuvered the Beast into the shack, the two of them swallowed by the wall that should have been as solid as the rest.

Spells blasted over the wall immediately, resealing it solid. More spells were set like traps, old magic guaranteed not to be corrupted and to dispose of any living thing that tried to exit the shack via any way but the tunnel. Heart still racing, ears peeled to the sound of monstrous battle within the shack, Albus Dumbledore found that all he could now was listen and wait for the dawn.