It was raining. Why was it always raining when Neville had to be outside in it? Could he get just one day on this assignment when it was just overcast?

He was grateful for the rain, however. It made it that much less likely that his quarry would be able to scent him.

If he had had any choice in the matter, he would have waited until the next morning. Being anywhere near a pack of werewolves on the full moon was terrifyingly dangerous folly. But they'd kidnapped children, and he hadn't tracked them down to their lair until night had fallen and the moon risen, and if he and Ballinger didn't get in there before the werewolves bit the children...

He shook his head. That did not bear thinking about. Nor did the notion that the children might end up being something other than a means for the werewolves to bolster their numbers – werewolves without a Wolfsbane potion were not known for their capacity for restraint once they had tasted blood.

"In there?" Noah Ballinger did not sound very confident. Neville didn't blame him; it was raining hard enough to fill their ears with a dull roar and visibility was terrible. They could be surrounded and not know it until it was far too late.

"In there." The plan seemed vastly inadequate now that they were here. Neville should have at least five more Aurors and a squad of Hit-Wizards with him, but there was no time - no time to go back and tell the Department that it wasn't just everyday child traffickers who had kidnapped the children, but the remnants of Fenrir's old pack. They had to act now, and this was the best that Neville could come up with.

He took a deep breath and stepped to the edge of the clearing, Ballinger close behind him, both their wands drawn and ready.

The encampment was empty, the fire pit in the middle of the circle of tents cold, its ashes sodden. "Homonem revelio," Neville whispered, not sure if it would work on magically expanded tents, but the gold outlines of five small humans shone through the rain in the furthest tent. They were lying down, and utterly still. Sleeping, or otherwise unconscious - the spell wouldn't have revealed them if they'd been dead. Neville allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief and motioned towards the tent. Ballinger nodded and began turning slowly on the spot, keeping an eye in all directions while Neville moved in the direction of the tent.

Over the sound of the pounding rain, Neville could hear a low growl. He froze.

The first growl was answered by another on the other side of the camp, and then another. Neville took a deep breath. "Shit."

"It's a trap!" Ballinger blurted, eyes wide - just before a powerful lupine form sprung from the shadows and closed its jaws around his throat, followed in quick succession by two more werewolves who fell upon Ballinger's suddenly very dead body.

Neville wheeled around just in time to get his wand aimed at the werewolf loping toward him from behind a tent. "Stupefy!" The red bolt found its target and the werewolf was thrown backwards, falling over to one side and lying motionless. Neville spun and managed to cast three more Stunning spells in quick succession, dropping the three werewolves by Ballinger's body.

He needed to get in, grab the children, and get out. The first werewolf he'd Stunned was already beginning to twitch. He ducked into the tent, suppressing the whip of panic that lashed against his chest. He could fall apart later. Right now he had to get those children. Once he got them to safety he could let his mind wander to other things, like the fact that his partner was now nothing more than a bloody mess of flesh and bone.

The children did not stir when he touched them; if he had to guess, they'd been charmed into magical sleep to keep them from running away. No matter. He hoisted the little blonde girl over his shoulder and held the brown-haired boy - barely more than a toddler - against his side like a Quaffle, ducking out of the tent to Apparate. He couldn't Apparate from within a magically expanded space, not if he wanted to keep all his organs where they were supposed to be.

This time of night on a Saturday the Apparition point at the Ministry was mostly deserted, but there were still enough people milling about the entry hall that a cry of surprise went up immediately as Neville deposited the two sleeping children on the floor.

"Get Robards," he barked at the closest wizard before turning on the spot to Apparate back.

The werewolf by the tent was labouring to regain its feet; Neville knocked it out again with another Stunning spell before dashing into the tent and back out with two more children.

It had hardly been fifteen seconds since he had Disapparated, but there were already Aurors flooding into the entry hall. "There's one more!" he gasped, thrusting one of the children into the arms of a witch as another wizard took the little boy from his shoulder. "I'll be right back! No time to explain!"

He was tired. Five Apparitions in less than a minute fatigued the mind and body a great deal. That was the only explanation for why Neville staggered and dropped to his knees outside the tent, and had to push himself back to his feet.

That tiny delay - that second and a half he spent on his knees while his head spun - was the only reason the werewolf was able to get close enough.

It was like a hot knife had stabbed into the back of his thigh. Pain smeared up his leg like fire and Neville tried to cry out, his breath stolen by the suddenness of it. He twisted, his muscles protesting in agony, and Stunned the werewolf as it opened its jaws for another bite. His eyes darted frantically about the encampment, but the other two werewolves were still motionless by Ballinger's body. He Stunned them again, just to be sure, and limped into the tent.

Shock had dulled the pain in his leg to a throb. Neville braced himself against a table, hissing through his teeth as sharp needles of pain prickled up his leg. He poked tenderly at the wound, and his fingers came away red.

Fuck. Fuck. It had broken the skin. Fuck.

No time to think about it now. Biting his lip, he conjured a bandage - it was probably sloppy as hell, since he couldn't see the back of his thigh - and cast a pain-numbing charm. Trembling, he tested his leg; it took his weight. Good enough for now.

Stumbling outside with the last child on his hip, he took the thirty seconds required to cast a Locus charm on the campsite before Disapparating. He'd need to send someone to retrieve Ballinger's body and deal with the werewolves, because he sure as hell wasn't in any condition to come back.

Once again, he went to his knees as he landed at the Apparition point in the Ministry. Images swam before his eyes before resolving into the crowd around him. "Parchment," he gasped, his stomach roiling. Someone thrust a piece before him and he tapped his wand on it; the Locus charm produced a map of the forest surrounding the campsite. "Ballinger's dead," he managed as Head Auror Robards heaved him to his feet. "And there are at least four werewolves there."

It took a great deal to surprise Robards, even when he had been roused from bed close to midnight on a Saturday. The Head Auror bobbed a single nod and pointed at four of the other Aurors nearby, who stepped forward into the Apparition point and Disapparated immediately after taking the map from Neville.

"Are you injured?"

Neville blinked and focused his eyes on his boss. Robards stared at him with an expression of gruff concern. Neville opened his mouth, then closed it again.

No one had pointed out his leg. If blood was soaking his trousers or cloak, it couldn't be seen on the all-black uniform of an Auror.

"No," he said, head spinning. "Just - just Apparition sickness." He swallowed as the lie tumbled from his mouth. "Permission to go home? I'll report back first thing in the morning. I can't think straight just now."

Robards eyed him appraisingly before nodding. "Granted. You look like hell. You'd better take Floo Powder. I expect you back by no later than eight o'clock."

"Yes, sir." Head spinning, Neville turned and made his way to one of the grates, grasping a handful of Floo Powder from the nearby bowl and tossing it into the flames.

The general tumult made it impossible for anyone to hear him, if anyone even cared to pay attention to him. Neville took a deep breath. "Fourteen Spindle Lane!" he commanded as he stepped into the emerald flames.

He hoped Hermione was still awake.