(I still update faster than George R.R. Martin, tho...)


The stag snorted, lifting his great head and exhaling noisily. The full moon shone in bright patches on the forest floor and an owl hooted, hidden on a limb of a giant oak. With the stag's enhanced vision, the moonlit scene looked like an overcast day. His field of sight was expanded, too. Without moving his head, he could see the rat and the dog, despite standing east and west from each other. He didn't need his eyes for the wolf.

The feral, heavy scent of the wolf was so strong on the cool air. The stag had to fight every primal instinct to run from it. He pawed involuntarily at the ground as the wolf passed him, unable to stop the reaction. A pair of rooks rustled uneasily in their tree, perturbed from their roost by the large beasts. The stag could pinpoint each of his companion's scents and locate them individually in space, even with his eyes closed. Those heavy footsteps were filled with wolf scent and the stag could smell the damp, leafy earth and the pine resin. The full moon would always be linked to the smell of the forest for the stag, to the decaying dirt and the worms and the smell of the wolf.

The wolf lifted its leg high, marking yet another tree along their path through the forbidden forest, this one a Hawthorn. The forest encompassed the grounds of the school all the way to the village. The smell was a pungent warning to stay off their territory. The stag swung his heavy head around at the noise, balancing a full set of magnificent antlers perfectly. Crickets chirped a quiet beat as the wind rustled crisply through the branches of the trees. Tiny droplets of water pattered down against the leaves and the ground.

And they trotted forward, exploring the forest as they always did through oaks and rowans and elms. In his line of sight, the stag could see as the dog's tongue lolled from the side of his mouth, tail wagging happily at the possibilities of the evening. The wolf stood close to the dog now, and they were a similar shape, but the stag could see the wolf was longer and taller, a head above and a foot beyond the dog, with powerful tendons running along the curve of its delicate looking legs. Whereas the dog had liquid gray eyes, always laughing, the wolf's eyes were a molten yellow, cold, pitiless, and void of anything like Remus.

The dog was playing now, laying his paws flat to the ground, tail wagging in the air, bowing. Then they were chasing, bouncing, tails relaxed. The dog ran gleefully between the beech trees in the grove, a dark shadow in the moonlight. He came sprinting back through the clearing, carving a path through the leaves and undergrowth to nip playfully at the stag's tail. With a bounding leap, the stag joined the chase, loping easily and changing direction without a hint so that the dog had to skid several feet before turning to the new direction. The wolf, bigger and less agile, didn't try to catch the stag, happy to stalk them from the edge of the forest.

A fox scuttled hurriedly toward the village, off to harass someone's hens, running away before the group of large noisy creatures rustling the low bows of the trees. The air was heady and heavy with the smell of the forest, wet wood decomposing. The soft pine needles cushioned their steps, but the stag could hear the heavy thud of paws from the wolf and the dog. Somewhere just ahead, a creature was burrowing, scratching and squeaking, but safe and out of sight by the time they passed. Everything in the forest seemed to give way before them. They might as well have been kings: rulers, creatures of speed and strength and pure terror. The night air was filled with cool mist, falling gently on the dense hair of their hides.

The stag's ears rotated, turned, flattened. This was on the edge of his awareness, but something wasn't quite right. And there, borne on the wind was the scent of burning wood and ash and grease. And the unmistakable scent of a man. Moments later he caught a woman's scent, too. They were camping, perhaps, and had lit a fire against the damp. But they were too close. It was wrong. The feeling ripped through him, a jagged thing that pulled the night asunder.

The wolf lifted its snout to the air, nostrils flaring with slow and deliberate inhalations. To track. To find. To do what a wolf was meant to do.

The dog growled then, a low sound deep in his throat, and his teeth showed milky white in the moonlight as his hackles raised in an ominous warning. The growl lingered, held as the dog paced around the wolf, blocking the scent on the wind. The dog snapped his teeth, once, twice, while the wolf stared him down; malevolence beamed from its unbroken and merciless stare as moment after moment passed.

With a horrifying noise, they attacked. The urge to flee was stronger now; he wanted to run from the terrible snarling mass of snapping teeth, but he overrode it. Tufts of black and gray fur floated around the fighting animals, and their scents had changed. He smelled the sharp scent of rage.

And the wolf was bigger. Amid the cacophonous din of their squall, the stag heard a new sound- a high-pitched yelping as the wolf grabbed the dog at the scruff, shaking its head ferociously before it slammed the dog against the nearest tree. The dog sagged to the ground, another yelp cut off on impact. Great clumps of hair floated around the wolf like moths, and its yellow eyes locked onto the stag.

Drool dangled from its muzzle, and on the wind, the scent of the humans was too strong. The wolf reared back its head to howl one long, sustained and hair-raising note, calling the hunt for a pack that didn't exist. One more calculating glance at the stag and then the wolf darted forward on the scent, on the trail at full speed. There was no time to check on the dog, and the stag turned tail to lope after the wolf. Now, it was no game. Fear pumped through the stag's veins along with the single-minded goal of stopping the wolf. He had to- there was no other option. Complex emotions swarmed up, but all he could interpret was the need to stop the wolf. Branches tore off the tree, tugged down by his antlers as he sprinted like never before, barreling ahead. His hooves barely touched the ground. The wolf was bigger, and the wolf was stronger, but the stag was faster.

He passed the wolf on its side before cutting off its path forward, using a sharp twist of his antlers to knock the wolf off kilter and off his path forward. The wolf tumbled and rolled to a stop. But it was back on its feet in a few moments, shaking its head and reorienting.

The stag paced, blocking the way forward, his breath snorting forcefully in great puffs of misty air. The wolf gave a warning growl before it darted forward again, only to be slammed back by the hard bone of the antlers. The stag stomped the ground aggressively, tossing his head side to side in challenge. The wolf was slower to rise from the ground this second time, but the full view of sharp teeth appeared as its lips pulled back into a menacing snarl, the sound lower than the dog's had been and full of unbridled anger. The urge to turn tail was so strong, but stronger was the single idea running through the stag's mind. He had to stay and fight, and win, despite the fear. He had to: however many blocks and rams of his antlers it took, and no matter what happened to him in the meantime.

To the right of them, there was a sudden movement, and the dog trotted laboriously to the stag's side, hobbling on three legs with his front paw held gingerly above the ground. But the dog's snarl was just as strong as before, his hackles raised again, and he was ferocious despite the injury. He looked just as determined as the stag. The three animals stood, gazes frozen on each other. The wolf was panting, its gaze still calculating as it surveyed the scene and the obstacles in its path.

And then there was an almost imperceptible shift to the light. To the east, the soft flow of dawn was cresting the hill in the distance. At the sight, a low whining sound slipped from the wolf's throat and it staggered, eyes rolling madly. Bird song rung through the forest clearing as the sky lightened to the color of eggshell. Suddenly there was no wolf, only Remus, who took one staggering step before falling into a crumpled heap.

*POP*

*POP*

"Oh, fuck." Sirius looked like death, with skin far too pale and a face strained and screwed up against pain. His right arm was hanging at an odd angle with a lump at his shoulder where none should have been. "Shoulder's out of joint," he managed to say through clenched teeth, followed by a string of expletives and a groan.

James wanted to puke. His hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly move them, could barely get a grip on his wand. Sirius's breaths were short and shallow, punctuated by a groan every now and then that he couldn't hold back, sounding not unlike the dog he'd been only a few moments before.

"Set it back. Hurry."

"I am. I am," James said breathlessly, still fighting down the nausea. This had happened once before- he knew what to do, or at least what the first step was. "Lay down flat." He rested his foot lightly against Sirius's side, and moved the arm out 90 degrees and then pulled until there was a sickening thunk, and the shoulder was back into place. Sirius groaned in relief this time, and he spread his limbs like a starfish as he laid on his back.

It took James a moment to realize that the sounds Sirius was making now were laughter, hysterical soundless laughter.

James sank slowly to his knees next to him, bile burning the back of his throat as he fought not to throw up. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of a shaking hand. After a few minutes passed and Sirius continued to laugh, James found his own mouth turned up into a smile he couldn't stop despite the danger and the intensity of the preceding minutes.

"You're mad, you know." But he was laughing now too, helpless and uncontrollable laughter that threatened to turn to sobs if he let it. Knees in the damp earth, he laughed with Sirius, both of them out of control, and he held his head in his hands, hiding a tear or two that sneaked out. Their unhinged laughter lasted until there was movement by one of the trees, and Peter's blond head peaked cautiously out from behind. Sirius tilted his head back from his position on the ground to look up at the tree.

"Is everything okay" Peter asked with fear, looking from the two of them on the ground to the lightly stirring body of Remus a few yards away.

"Everything...everything is okay," James said slowly and breathlessly as Sirius's laughter finally calmed. "We better check on Moony."

The three of them gathered tightly around him as James helped Remus up slowly into a sitting position. The birds were loud around them now, and everything felt damp with the early morning dew. Remus looked haggard and bruised, with blossoms of dark purple and blue on his arms and neck from where the antlers had pushed him back. He lifted his tattered shirt to reveal a ghastly looking bruise across the ribs of his slender chest.

"Just bruised, I think. Not broken," Remus said in a hoarse whisper. His eyes found James's and glistened as though he was fighting back tears. "Thank you for stopping me." The weight of worry and remorse hung heavy around him. James knew how serious he was and how much any other outcome would have haunted him, and so he only nodded his head slowly, saving any jokes for another time when it was less real.

"You busted my shoulder pretty damn good, Moony," Sirius drawled, looking far better now that his shoulder was back in its joint and missing the fear and worry in Remus's eyes. "Or rather that tree did. Lucky shot. Otherwise you know I would have taken you." The traces of laughter still remained among his features, and his handsome face showed none of the concern that marred Remus's expression as he grinned cheekily at his friend. It had been a close shave and they had come out okay. James knew that Sirius wouldn't think anything of the night beyond that.

After a pause of astonishment, Remus huffed a quiet laugh, and lightly shook his head in bemusement.

"We should probably get back," Peter suggested, pointing to the ever-lightening sky just turning to a light shade of blue. "They'll be coming to get you soon. Can you walk?"

Remus gave a quiet nod and accepted Peter's help up to a standing position. He leaned on his shorter friend as they turned toward the direction of the shack. James smiled down at Sirius and offered his hand, pulling him up by his good arm. Sirius clapped him on the back with affection, and they turned to follow their friends in the early morning light.

"You saw it, right Prongs? I was winning that fight..."