It was dark.

It had been for awhile. He didn't know what time it was, and to be honest, was too shite-scared to risk a timeus charm. He closed his eyes to try to control his breathing, and did a mental stock-take. Cold, muddy, he'd ripped a hole in one of his boots, but he was still armed. By law, all Aurors were required to be armed with both wand and knife, the wand chose the wizard of course, but the wizard chose his knife. Harry's even looked quiet, and sharp. It was dark, and only reflected light mutely. This trait was highly regarded in his profession. He was supposed to be deadly, charming, intelligent. Supposed. Because at this moment Harry didn't feel much like an Auror; his clothes were soaked, and his ripped boot seemed to laugh at him with every step. He'd hopelessly lost his target in this forest somewhere North of Suffolk. Thetford, or Theftord, or something.

There was a whisper of a noise on his left, if he didn't imagine it. He strained his senses, then heard it again after what seemed an eternity. Whatever it was, It was either a wee distance away, or it was bloody good at sneaking. His pulse, if possible, doubled. This felt leagues away from his training, where he could slip into a concentrated mode, and stay calculating and accurate no matter what his assessors threw at him. He struggled to find that same mental spot, as he numbly looked around. He could dimly see the closest tree trunk to his right, he stepped towards it like a mouse in a kitchen, then slowly eased himself around to the opposite side, and ducked down towards the ground. He was lucky he was so damp - it did help in this place to keep his steps silent.

He was just in time.

The air crackled with electricity, and the clearing where Harry had recently stood exploded with light, and an angry heat which seared him even from his hiding spot. Ozone filled his nostrils, and he risked a peak around his tree. The ground all around was sooty, the grass he could make out was frizzled black, and in the distance there were two slight glints of light. Eyes. They came closer, swinging sideways a strange amount, taller than any man Harry knew, and they no longer cared about being quiet. Within seconds it was in the clearing. Its hideous and hairy elongated paw thudded down and crushed the burnt twigs and pine needles. The rest of the creature was no prettier. Seven foot at least, and hulking, its inhuman face was stretched painfully somewhere between a man's and a wolfs. Patchy, matted fur clustered in lumps about its head, but in the split second Harry had looked, he'd noticed something much more terrifying. Clutched in its right paw, was a wand.

A werewolf, capable of cognizant thought to hold a wand and cast powerful magic? Harry had had a fair amount of experience with werewolves prior, he remembered in a flash the night that Wormtail had escaped, and Remus prowled the grounds of Hogwarts, he was certain that Remus had been completely out of his own control.

Meanwhile, he could hear the werewolf lower its monstrosity of a head, and sniff the ground in great, heaving breaths. His scent! Had he masked his scent? Had that been why the monster had been able to find and almost kill him? Harry had to risk it, that or inevitably be sniffed out. Sneaking his wand out he pointed it at his shoes, and in his tiniest whisper uttered "pheromorphus".

All noise from the werewolf stopped. Harry froze, holding a breath. He did not dare look around, or move at all. Seconds stretched endlessly, but finally the werewolf moved to again try to pick up his scent. Time was still stuck in treacle, the beast moved around and around the clearing heaving and snuffling, once moving right towards Harry's tree, before turning at the last instant and continuing on. But Harry James Potter had always seemed unnaturally lucky, and as the sky began to lighten to pre-dawn, the werewolf gave up the hunt, to return to its safe haven before transforming.

He'd waited about another hour without moving, just to be sure. It was practical too, as it gave a chance for all the adrenaline in his system to settle down, that's what the textbooks from the Ministry told him. A werewolf with a wand? There was certainly nothing he'd ever seen or read to give him any clues on that. Of course, he knew the basic details - the werewolf was his target, one Raff Bardolf. It was Harry's first sighting of him transformed, but the resemblance was obvious in the red-auburn patchy beard that adorned Raff's ugly mug in the rough sketch Harry had gotten of him. He had been described as a rather shoddy wizard, with a rather shoddier but long record for petty crime. The lycanthropy disease was new to him, having been bitten just two months ago, but he had already caused nuisance around the woods. Sheep carcasses had been found by farmers, and then a rather unfortunate sighting by a muggle had occurred. The body had been quite unrecognisable, and hence why the Aurors were now involved. A young werewolf was not hugely dangerous for a wizard, being only just stronger than a normal man, and therefore perfect for a new Aurors first assignment.

Perfect. Harry began walking to town. "Just bloody perfect."

The sun shone weakly, and was no comfort to the trudging wizard. As he walked, the prior night hardly felt real. He was completely flummoxed, not only about being hunted instead of a hunter, not only about the werewolf seeming sentient, but also about how powerful that spell had been. The top of Harry's right ear throbbed from where it had been burnt, and he didn't even recall hearing an incantation. Did werewolves have an inherent magic ability? He shuddered. They already had gigantic maws and claws, what else did they need?

Quite quickly, the forest ended, and coming over a slight rise the town below was visible. It was a fairly unremarkable one. It had the standard smattering of shops, houses and garages, but was dominated by the larger farms that stood all the way around it, excluding the forest he was walking from. The hills rolled for miles around, looking unrealistically green in the spring clime. Harry glumly took his time, knowing he'd be safe until nightfall. He received several perplexed looks on his way to his motel, and once finally there languished in the rooms low-pressure shower, then sunk into the bed.

Several hours later, he awoke, a blurry-eyed mess. The sun was much lower in the sky, probably late afternoon. The first port of call was a piping hot cup of tea. The next, was to call the DMLE (Department of Magical Law Enforcement) and see what the blazes was up with this contract. In a slightly more polite way. Of course.

The room lacked a fireplace, instead Harry used the gas heater - the flames worked rather well for this and a bonus was he didn't get covered in soot. He threw over a pinch of Floo powder, and stuck his head right in. He'd never get used to the tickly sensation of the flames licking around his face. He only had to wait a short while to see the visage of his superior, stooping in her office fireplace at the Ministry. As usual, (stooping or otherwise) Amelia Bones looked professional, highly groomed and stern.

"Harry Potter, I see you're still in one piece, prove identity and report."

"Harry James Potter, IC thirty-one, two-oh-six, theta axii. Ma'am, I've encountered an issue with my assignment..."