"Damn it Harry, why the bloody hell are we always picked for shit duty?"
Harry looked up from his stack of parchment, quirking an eye at his best mate across the desks. "What are you on about?" He returned to his own stack of parchment, scribbling away and only offering 1 ear to his best mate sitting across from him in the department.
"See this?" He held up a five foot long piece of parchment. "That bugger Robards is sending us out tonight to corral a loose Werewolf. And I was actually hoping to get caught up on the mound of paperwork but this cropped up."
"Werewolf?" Harry reached for the parchment and Ron reluctantly gave over. "Yeah, some poor sod in the Midlands. So I was told, the family has a safe room and everything was on the up and up and somehow the person escaped while turned and are running loose on the moors."
Harry looked up from the parchment and gave Ron a particular look. "Trowbridge?" Harry scanned the parchment again and stopped cold. "That troll? Fuck."
"Now you see why I'm beastly. That sod can't do shit. He failed his apprenticeship 3 times before being told not to apply again."
"You mean he's the same one – "
"The same one. There's a reason why Bailiffs rarely make Auror – because of the Trowbridge rule."
"Shit."
"Yeah. He's on loan for the month since the other team is out on assignment, with no headquarters communications, wherever the fuck they are." Ron ran his hands through his hair, leaving it looking a little like Harry's this evening. "I don't like this, not one bit. Why couldn't we get someone who knows which end of the wand to use?"
"Me neither. Bugger." Harry handed back the five feet of parchment. "I guess we'll have to plan on this being a three-person operation since he's incompetent."
"Wainwright! Trowbridge! Potter! Weasley! Ten Minutes!" the guttural bark of their Senior Auror Hemera Jones erupted from the Director's office. "Debriefing now."
Ron and Harry both grunted before collecting their wands and cloaks for her office. As one of the Senior Aurors, she had an office, for what little she was in it. The four men crowded into the wardrobe-sized room, refusing to take a seat. Fighting over the lone seat in the small space would be pointless for how long they'd be in there. "I'll make it brief. A werewolf is loose on the western side of the Shropshire Hills. The person in question, Maggie Grey, normally, so I'm told, is content to sleep off her debilitating condition after receiving a Wolfsbane potion. Tonight, it didn't work somehow and she tore through the wood door and off into the night. Our task, gentlemen, is to apprehend her safely and return her to a magically sealed cell until she recovers. She is to not be harmed, gentlemen, at all costs."
"All costs? The hell?" Ron piped up.
"Shut your gob, Weasley. She's a Greyback victim during the Coup. She was targeted since her husband is a Muggle and she'd spoken out against the regime. Yaxley send Greyback to handle it and he bungled it intentionally or otherwise." She gave all of the men a pointed look. No one would bother admitting that they were all glad that the bastard was dead, thanks to Ron and Neville.
"The Director said that her husband is a Muggle and a Muggle Healer at the local hospital. We can't let her be hurt because it'd be a fuck ton of paperwork to do and I for one don't want to spend a week dealing with Muggles and having their memories obliviated. Anyone here want to do that?" Four voices grunted in agreement. "Yeah, me neither so stunners only. We're here to apprehend, not arrest. There's a big difference, especially with the change in Ministry protocols."
"So where are we going?"
"We're taking a portkey to a little place called Bishop's Castle. It's on the edge of Wales but we're landing about a mile northeast of there. It's the only landing location for ten square miles. Once there, disillusion yourselves and track her down. I want this handled with as little fuss as possible. We can't scare the Muggles or even the magical folk who live there. No one wants to know that a person with their affliction lives in their tiny hamlet."
"And if there's a muggle in her sights?" Harry asked. "Do we stun them both and go from there or what? What if she's already hurt someone? What then?"
Hemera huffed. "I'd prefer the Muggle not be hurt but use your best judgment. Dismissed."
The four men collected their overcoats and checked their limited amount of gear. One by one they left her office and made their way to the Portkey room. Director Robards, in one of his first acts as Director of the Aurors, was to designate a spare conference room into a portkey room. On the hour and half hour, arrivals would come into the department – only on Auror authority – and on the quarters, departures would happen. He mentioned in one of the first meetings that Harry sat in on that they needed somewhere secure to come and go without going through the Ministry lifts or entrances and exits. Too many nattering employees giving away Auror departures became a problem after the Purge.
"I don't like this," Ron muttered. "Bloody werewolf capture. And we get picked."
"Stuff it, Ron. It's our job. Anyone else would try to harm the poor sod. She can't help her condition."
"Like Remus and his furry little problem, right?"
"Something like that," Harry whispered. "It would be nice once the better potion is approved for wider use. I hate that Remus never saw it or got to use it."
"Yeah, me too."
They traveled down the back way, coming to the room with a minute to spare. The others, including Auror Jones, were present and accounted for. Their portkey for this trip was a manky rucksack, with the buckles rusted and the leather fraying from the seams. Harry knew better though, that it was magically secure so it wouldn't fall apart. He could feel the magic sending waves off. It had to be powerful for him to feel it this distinctly.
"Potter, you're on point. Weasley, take East. Wainwright, south. Trowbridge, North. Potter will snoop around the township and I'll apparate to the Belfry of the Church on the South side of the hamlet."
"What do we do if we come across our target?" Trowbridge seemed a little slow on the uptake tonight. "You said stunners only but what if she turns on us? You expect us to take a bite on a full bloody moon."
Hemera Jones pulled a face. "You git. You know plenty of second year spells to prevent her from laying a paw on you or anyone else. Use them. Don't hurt her unless it's a last resort. Sorted?"
He grunted. Everyone put their hand on the rucksack as it turned blue and they departed for a small village far and away from London.
Minutes later, the five people landed softly in a field outside of the small town. Once on their feet and verifying everything arrived with each one, they disillusioned themselves to Auror Jones satisfaction. She apparated away, disappearing to the belfry of the tallest point on the town – the church on the south side. If anything went sideways they were to send up red sparks. Most of the muggles would think it was some random fireworks.
Each man took off, intending to search the town first before spreading outward. It was drawn up simply, and the most efficient, to cover the most area without disturbing the town inhabitants. Hopefully the late hour would have most of the village residents asleep in their beds.
Ron grumbled under his breath, especially considering that he saw his breath with every exhale. Crass words stumbled out, especially considering the actual mortal peril they were in. The late night chill bit his nose and ears, leaving them as red as he would be mortified. His poor Mum would probably have a litter of kittens if she knew the circumstances. Fortunately it was almost close to midnight and Mum wasn't the one who stayed up late.
Ron turned a corner, past a small lot of autos, parked for the night with grotesque yellow signs showing how much they were for sale in Muggle currency. He kept walked, with a purpose but not so fast he'd miss anything out of the ordinary. Ron pulled the Deluminator from his pocket and pocketed all of the security lights on the back parking lot of whatever business he was walking around. It was a huge risk, going around looking in the dark but having the balls of light available would give him an advantage if he was caught out.
Mounds of wood were stacked meters high, even taller than himself. The rows of processed wood went on for meters upon meters, even higher than his head. "Oh this isn't going to be good," he thought to himself. "Bloody fuck, a werewolf and a blasted lumber yard; just what I need tonight."
Ron kept is wand out in front of him, constantly thinking of a shield charm first if the poor bugger tried to attack him. Ron stepped gingerly between the stacks of processed wood, listening for any noise, ordinary or otherwise. He continued onward, walking up and down the rows, his wand lit to flush out any shadows that might conceal a frightened werewolf.
He stopped and listened, straining his ears. There, off on another row, he heard some wood crash to the asphalt under foo[TJW2] t, along with a high pitched whimper. Since it wasn't Hermione and it was pushing half eleven, this was either a thief or his target.
He took off towards where he heard the crashing wood. He could have apparated but didn't want to risk scaring the werewolf or accidentally landing on a petty thief. With steps trained in stealth he tread softly towards where the noise was. Sure enough, a pallet of wood had fallen. Instead of lighting his wand, Ron popped the Deluminator and released the lights he nicked from around the corner. The balls of light escaped and hung in the air, lighting up the preternaturally darkened space.
He heard a whine a second before he was knocked to the ground. He lifted his head and saw the werewolf racing down the pathway towards the end of the building. The blighter looked no bigger than an over-sized bun.
"Shit," He jumped up and took off running after the scared bugger.
She turned the corner and he tried to pour on the speed while wishing he had brought his broom to chase the quarry easier. Somehow she was leaving him in the dust and he was the fastest Auror on staff. All of those empty hours running with Harry paid off, even if he might lose sight of his intended.
Ron pulled his wand and cast red sparks up in the night sky. Within moments he heard the sounds of displaced air whooshing into his vicinity.
The balls of light followed him, casting an eerie glow in the area. The werewolf was right on the front edge of the lights, barely bathed in any illumination. He saw Wainright apparate 20m down the drive, near where he came up into the lumber yard and Harry was 50 meters up the street from his momentary position, running hard towards where he was.
Ron kept running, hoping to corner the furry Ms. Grey where he could stun her and safely transport her back to her safe confines for the night. Then again, he hoped someone else apprehended her. He didn't fancy spending hours working on paperwork and multiple debriefings, especially if she was injured.
Ron saw movement to his right and felt magic flowing past his head.
Bright light blinded him an instant before he felt the blast.
His world blinked out.
Harry was there first. Wainright was immediately at his left shoulder.
"The fuck you playing at, Bronwyn? You hit Ron? Are you mental, a lunatic?"
Harry stared at the other member of their search party, murder in his eyes and on his mind. Vivid Green eyes were full of fury, all focused on the one who didn't know which way to work his wand. He stared until Trowbridge blinked and he set his focus on his best mate lying in the grass at his feet. Harry yanked the ruck off of his back and reached deep, trying to find the dittany and pads. His hands grew slick trying to staunch the bleeding from his best friend's head. The preternatural glow from the confiscated lights from the lumber yard bathed everything in an eerie blueish white hue. The dim lights next to whatever building they were lying next only added to the fact that Ron looked close to death already. Blood was seeping through Harry's fingers, coating his boots, soaking the knees of his trousers and the ends of his jumper sleeve. He finally grasped the enormous stash of pads and shoved them onto the wound, watching the pad soak through. Merlin, not again. He'd lived through this once already. "Stay with me," He growled before turning to Wainwright, working feverishly to protect their location from any curious eyes this late at night.
"Call Jones now," Harry yelled at Bronwyn. He didn't stir from watching Harry work on Ron's injury.
"Damn it, call Jones now!" He yelled and Wainwright sent up red sparks, three sets in a row – the Auror emergency notification. In seconds she landed softly on the grass three meters away. "Report!" she barked at the three men.
Trowbridge spoke up first. Harry was too busy trying to grasp the dittany. Every time, it slipped from his fingers. "Weasley was chasing Ms. Grey. I saw him running after her. I thought – "
Wainright cut him off. "Trowbridge cast a powerful stunner and missed. He's lucky that he didn't take Weasley's head off with that bit of careless magic. Instead, he hit the side of the building." Wainwright illuminated his wand and showed an enormous chunk of masonry had been blown off of the side of the stone building. "The stone, it hit Weasley before knocking him backward like a bloody bomb blast. It's sheer luck that he didn't land on the stone wall and break his bloody neck." Not two meters behind them was a one meter stone wall, topped with various river stones, mostly with rough edges.
"It was a stunner, just like Jones told us to use. He moved in front of it."
"Yeah, and your wand movements were Bombada," Wainwright countered.
"Damn it, I can't get the bleeding to stop," He complained as he threw over his shoulder the first handful of pads and thrust a second set on them. He patently ignored his sodden trousers, socks, boots, and jumper sleeves. He shifted his knees, trying to keep Ron's head propped up just enough where he could keep the compress on his head. He didn't dare use magic, not when he didn't know the extent of the injuries. One bad spell to quell the bleeding could leave him in the Janus Thickey ward for the rest of his life.
Harry refused to do that to his best friend.
"I can't get the dittany. He needs a healer now." He felt one tear escape. "I'm not a healer. I can't save him." He said under his breath. "Damn it, Ron. Stay with us."
"Potter, get him out of here." Jones shoved something into his hands – a copy of the Auror field manual on arrest procedures. The book was already iridescent blue – a portkey for the Auror emergency landing ward at St. Mungo's in London. Harry lifted Ron into his arms, looking like a horrific impersonation of Pieta by Michelangelo. He folded Ron's across the book and across his body, looking so pale in the preternatural lights.
Blood dripped down from the wound onto his trousers, watching each moment seep by like cold custard. The gauze wouldn't staunch the bleeding. They needed a healer now.
Harry fought the immediate memories of the last time he saw Ron like this, severely injured and on the edge of death. He couldn't face that again. Instead, he looked across to the remaining Aurors present.
"When we return to London, you're facing an Inquiry. If I have any say, you will be booted from MLS. And," Harry saw the book glowing brighter, "if he dies, I will personally strangle you with my own two hands. The fuck – "
Harry didn't hear the rest of the Jones' vicious yet soft-spoken harangue. He was holding onto Ron for dear life, awaiting the landing at St. Mungo's. He had seconds to prepare his knees for the landing. He'd need a strong pain potion after the landing.
Ron was dead weight in his arms. Frothy pink bubbles were erupting from his nose and mouth. Both sets of robes were a grotty mess. "Stay alive, please," Harry begged to whatever deity would listen and grant his heartfelt request. "I need you." With a crash, they landed in the secured zone for Aurors who were injured. "Emergency! Auror Down! I need a healer!" Harry yelled through the room. "Auror down!"