… pleased you are settling back to school. Ambitious of you with planning for your O.W.L.s early, but I'm sure you will perform well. Last year has shown you are very able. They are different tests here, but I found a book called Offensive Defence to be of much help. I am sure you can find a translation.
Things are going well here also. It has been nice for me to not return to school and just have focus on Quidditch. I have moved in with Volkov and Ivanova as you know, and it is going well, mostly. We share the cooking and stick to our coach's diet plans, and both are good company. In not so good news, our home had a break-in. Fans or reporters—we don't know which, and more an annoyance than anything. Ivanova had her team robes stolen, and my post had been checked. Your name may be printed here in Bulgaria, but maybe not—we are old news, I hope.
Our first game is in two weeks and from there it will be very busy, though we are promised time to rest over Christmas. I had been thinking that perhaps you might like to visit? I think you would like it here and it would be nice to have some time together since we had none before you went back to school—
A copy of The Daily Prophet was shoved into Hermione's arms, blocking her view of Viktor's letter. She scowled and opened her mouth to tell Draco off, but stopped at the grim look on his face.
"Krum can wait," he said, and tapped the paper.
HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR INSTATED read the headline, and Hermione frowned.
"High Inquisitor…?" she murmured, eyes skimming the words:
For the first time in almost a decade, the Ministry for Magic has passed new legislation in the form of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two, which promotes Professor Dolores Umbridge to the newly created position of 'Hogwarts High Inquisitor'.
First and foremost, the High Inquisitor will have the ability to review and reform the performance of other educators at the school, both in the classroom and in relation to their discipline of the students in their care.
"Professor Umbridge has been as successful as she can be during her short time in the role," said Minister Cornelius Fudge, when the announcement was made. The role he's referring to, is, of course, her position as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, which she will retain in addition to her new duties. "But, she's got a challenging task ahead of her, working to correct the falling standards at Hogwarts, and her presence at the school has been met with not-entirely unexpected resistance. This decree ought to help her overcome that resistance, and hopefully communicate to those key few resistors that the Ministry is serious in this—we must see students taught by competent, experienced teachers in all areas of their magical education, and we must also see them taught respect and discipline."
"I believe it's an excellent move by the Ministry," said Lucius Malfoy, parent of two of the school's current students, and member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. "The introduction of a High Inquisitor role will help streamline the changes we're wanting to see at the school. I know I'm not alone in having had doubts about the current Headmaster's decisions—he's made some questionable appointments to the Hogwarts staff, and then, of course, there are his political leanings."
While the Minister did not name Headmaster Albus Dumbledore as one of the resistors, it is safe to assume he is likely the primary source of the Ministry's concern—
Hermione skimmed the rest of the article but didn't bother to read beyond it; the Ministry's problems with Dumbledore were nothing new.
"Reform the discipline of students," Hermione said to Draco in a low voice
"Clearly she hasn't forgiven Dumbledore for overriding her on Potter's detentions," he said, pressing his mouth into a thin line. He huffed a moment later. "And my father…" He gave an irritable shake of his head.
"You've seen, then," Ginny said, sliding in beside Hermione. She looked angry and had a letter—from Percy, judging by the handwriting—in her hand. "That utter cow—"
"Shh," Hermione said, glancing pointedly up at the teacher's table, where Umbridge sat watching the revelation ripple through the Hall with a smug smile on her wide face.
"Less a cow and more a toad if you ask me," Draco murmured, buttering a crumpet. "With any luck, Severus will pickle her and use her in a potion." Ginny's angry look gave way to a reluctant smile. Hermione glanced back at the paper:
"If she's obnoxious about reviewing and reforming his performance as a teacher, he might well," she said, unable to help a little grin of her own. Draco bit down on his crumpet with relish.
Harry and Ron joined them about ten minutes later, muddy and a little windswept from their early morning Quidditch practice—
Or, almost joined them; before they could actually sit or say anything, Blaise materialised by the Gryffindor table, brandishing his own copy of the Prophet.
"Look," he said, with rather savage delight, and shoved the paper right under Harry's nose. "Look! They've tried to keep it quiet but Skeeter got wind of it…" Harry frowned but his expression cleared rapidly as he read.
"Mrs Zabini's been trialled and charged," he said. He must have seen the curiosity on Hermione's face because he added, "Page thirty-nine."
The 'article' was barely long enough to be called one, and was wedged between an ad for Floo powder and photos of some sort of charity event for St Mungo's:
Giovanna Zabini, successful solicitor, notorious socialite has emerged back into the public eye—or at least, this reporter's eye—today after two months of conspicuous absence. After some fact gathering, this reporter can only deduce she's been spending the last few months in a Ministry holding cell, since her appearance today was to take part in a private trial for no less than seven murders.
Zabini's victims include her brother Giulio Zabini, Philomila Fawley, Lady Arietta Macmillan, and four of her former husbands; Ulysses Carrow, Reginald Abbot, Malik Shafiq, and most recently, a muggle. The repeat—and now seemingly intentional—widow was sentenced to life in Azkaban without parole, and the Fawley and Shafiq families have both come forward to try to reclaim some of the fortunes inherited by Ms Zabini after her spouses' untimely—and formerly believed to be accidental—deaths.
"It's nice to have some good news, at least," Draco said, and Ron shot him a sharp look. Draco gestured at Hermione, who closed the paper and passed it over at once.
"Hem hem."
Hermione straightened in her chair and her hand tightened on the paper, but it was Harry and Blaise that Umbridge had come to visit; she wasn't paying them any attention.
"Good morning, Professor," Blaise said levelly. Draco went back to his crumpet as if Umbridge didn't exist, Ron slid the paper out of Hermione's hand to gawk at the headline, and Ginny watched Umbridge with slitted eyes.
"There seems to be a bit of a commotion over here," Umbridge said, glancing between Blaise and Harry. "Is there something of note in the paper, perhaps?" She smiled and it was dangerous.
"Yeah, actually," Harry said, and Hermione was suddenly rather glad he hadn't seen the front page yet because he continued, obviously sincere: "Zabini's finally been sentenced and she's off to Azkaban." Harry offered her the paper, but Umbridge made no move to take it.
"Such a waste of a talented solicitor," Umbridge said, tutting.
"But nice for everyone affected to have the truth and a chance for closure," Harry countered.
"Indeed," Umbridge said.
Silence hung around the table.
"Did you need something, Professor?" Harry said, and Umbridge's eyes brightened.
"That's High Inquisitor, Mr Potter," she said.
"Er… what?" Harry asked, and some of her smug superiority diminished in the face of his genuine bewilderment.
"I am no longer Professor Umbridge," she said primly. "I am High Inquisitor Umbridge, and you must address me by my proper title."
"Right," Harry said, still looking a little confused, though his eyes had found the paper in Ron's hands and Hermione could see a suspicious sort of comprehension dawning. "Did you need anything else, High Inquisitor Umbridge?"
"No, simply to encourage less of a commotion at the breakfast table," she said. Hermione thought that was rather rich, since she'd created much more of a disruption by coming over; most students in the Hall were watching Harry and Umbridge as intently as they might a Quidditch match—it was no secret that Umbridge wanted Harry expelled. She'd spent the last few weeks doing her best to goad him into saying or doing something he might regret, but Harry was yet to slip up.
"All right, then," Harry said, and watched her rather pointedly.
"I suggest you return to your own table, Mr Zabini," she said. "And that you sit down, Mr Potter. I will see you both in class."
"Benson, High Inquisitor," Blaise said.
"I beg your pardon?" Umbridge said, raising her eyebrows at him.
"If you're going to ask us to use your correct title, I'm afraid I'll have to insist you use mine. I'm Blaise Benson, not Blaise Zabini." He arched an eyebrow at her, far more effectively than she had at him, in Hermione's opinion, and then turned and made his way back to Slytherin without another word.
"Pickled," Draco said, when they arrived in Severus' classroom and found Umbridge seated at the back of it. Potter and Weasley both looked confused, but Granger shot him an amused look.
"You will notice," Severus said once everyone was seated, "that our newly-appointed High Inquisitor has decided to join us today." Draco could hear the soft threat in his voice, but doubted Umbridge could; if she had, she wouldn't have been smiling like that. "We will be starting work on Strengthening Solutions. This is one of the first potions you as a class will work on which cannot be completed in a single lesson. You will encounter several more of these higher-complexity potions on the path to your O.W.L.s. For those of you competent enough to progress into N.E.W.T. Potions, multi-stage potions will become standard. Questions?"
"I would like—"
"I expect hands to be raised in my classroom, High Inquisitor," Severus drawled. Draco didn't look back but Potter—sitting beside him—did for a moment. When he was facing the front of the classroom again, there was a grin on his face. Potter was no fan of Severus', so it spoke volumes about his feelings for Umbridge that he was clearly rooting for him here. "Yes, High Inquisitor?"
"I'm afraid I'm not sure you should be brewing this potion at all," she said, and Snape raised an eyebrow. "I very much doubt the Ministry would approve of its inclusion in the curriculum."
"And why is that?" Severus asked silkily.
"As I understand it, Strengthening Solutions impart immense physical strength on their drinker. Such a thing should not be given to teenagers, volatile as they are, and they certainly shouldn't be taught how to make it themselves."
"An interesting comment," Severus said. "Would anyone care to challenge our High Inquisitor's opinion?" Umbridge frowned and began to scribble on the clipboard in her lap. There was a rustle, and then, probably more warmly than he ever had before—though still not overly so—said: "Miss Granger?"
"Strengthening Solutions don't enhance the physical abilities of their drinker at all," she said promptly. "They're actually more of a restorative, used to address muscle-wasting or exhaustion in patients with illnesses or injuries which prevent much movement, in abuse or torture victims, or in athletes. They're often confused with Strength Potions, which do enhance their drinker's strength, and are part of the first and second year curriculum, or Strengthening Decoctions which concentrate certain components of other potions or substances, but according to Hogwarts: a History they've been banned from the curriculum for years now to prevent underage drinking because students kept adding it to butterbeer."
"One point from Gryffindor for a lack of clarity," Snape said mildly. "Would anyone care to summarise Miss Granger's overcomplicated response?"
Draco put his hand in the air and Severus waved a hand at him:
"Mr Malfoy."
"As restoratives, Strengthening Solutions pose no danger to the student body and so are a perfectly reasonable inclusion to the curriculum," Draco said.
"Two points to Gryffindor," Severus said. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy. And thank you, High Inquisitor; your comment was clearly designed to test my own knowledge of the curriculum, but has instead provided my students with the opportunity to show off their own understanding of my subject."
"Most impressive," Umbridge said, with a flustered looking smile. Severus paused for a moment, likely keen to have any other interruptions over and done with, but she said nothing more.
"We'll see if you still think so after you've seen Longbottom and Potter brew," he said, and she tittered while Longbottom went pink. "Instructions," he said, "are on the board and you will be working individually."
If Severus felt the pressure of Umbridge's presence during the lesson, he gave absolutely no indication of it; he took just as many points from Longbottom as usual, and just as many from Granger for trying to help him. He did take less from Potter than he had in the weeks previous—probably because Potter was actually making progress with spells to help him brew one-handed—but he wasn't any kinder with his comments. Draco was positive the only reason Potter didn't snap back was because Umbridge was in the room and had been particularly fixated on Potter lately; no good could come from giving her something to pull him up on.
"They seem quite competent, for the most part," Umbridge said, though her pale eyes lingered on Longbottom and on Crabbe and Goyle as if to exclude them from that comment. "Certainly on track to pass their O.W.L.s if they continue on this trajectory. I just had a few more questions, though… How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?"
"Fourteen years," Severus said.
"And you originally applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position?" she asked. Severus inclined his head. "But were unsuccessful?"
"Obviously," Severus said, lip curling.
"And you have applied a number of times since… Every year, in fact, except for this year and last."
"That is correct."
"Why is that?"
"The position has been empty and I believe I have the skills to fill it," Severus replied.
"Does Dumbledore not agree?" she asked. She was a clumsy operator, in Draco's opinion; her tone and the words themselves were a clear effort to make Severus reveal his feelings about Dumbledore—either resentment toward him, or a statement in his defence.
"You would have to ask him that," Severus replied, cool and inscrutable as ever… to anyone who wasn't Draco, anyway; Draco was sure he was both irritated and amused—irritated by Umbridge's continued digging at what was clearly a sore point, and amused at her utter transparency.
Umbridge, for her part, pursed her lips; she clearly didn't like her chances of a productive conversation with the Headmaster.
"Why did you not apply this year and last?"
"It was not advertised," Severus said. "I was unaware Moody would not be returning until it was announced Black was to take his place. Likewise for your own appointment." Umbridge was silent for several long moments, jotting down notes. "If you have no further questions, I should resume teaching," Severus said.
"Of course," Umbridge said. "Might I question some of your students in the meantime?" Severus waved a hand and swept away to snap at Goyle.
Harry pushed open the door to McGonagall's classroom at six-o'clock that night to find a rather pale Runcorn slumped over a bit of parchment, while McGonagall read at the front of the room.
"Can I help you, Mr Potter?" McGonagall asked.
"Someone's set off dungbombs in the Defence corridor," Harry said. McGonagall tutted and stood.
"Oh dear," McGonagall said, sounding neither surprised nor overly concerned. "I'd best go and deal with that. Would you like to stay here, Mr Runcorn—I don't know how long I'll be."
"No," Runcorn said hoarsely. "I'll go too. Thanks for letting me study here." McGonagall bobbed her head and gave Harry a rather significant look as she swept out. Harry stepped inside and kicked the door shut on Mrs Norris, who'd been trailing him on and off for weeks.
He cast a wary look at the window, through which Harry could see the rising moon. "Can we go?"
"Got what you need?" Harry asked, and Runcorn picked up his schoolbag and nodded. "Brilliant," Harry said. He glanced at his watch. "So, there'll be a door that appears, right—"
The classroom door burst open.
"What are you two doing in here?" Filch demanded. Mrs Norris came to sit at his feet, silent, with eyes on Harry.
"Nothing," Harry said, after a second weighing his options. He grabbed Runcorn's elbow and tugged him toward the door. "We were just going." The door would only appear for thirty seconds, so there was a good chance that leaving now would mean they missed it, but if Filch saw a door appear where one shouldn't and mentioned it to Umbridge…
"A likely story," Filch said, scowling at them. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I don't know what teenagers get up to in empty classrooms? You've tricked Professor McGonagall into leaving, and—"
"I said we're going," Harry snapped, and as hoped, Filch turned to follow them out.
"Watch your tone, Potter." Filch pulled the office door shut, and as it closed, Harry saw their door appear within. "Now, off to dinner with you both."
Runcorn shot Harry a panicked look.
"We've got to take our bags upstairs," Harry said, and stepped around Filch. "Come on."
Filch muttered darkly behind them, but Harry didn't look back.
"What now?" Runcorn hissed. "We have less than an hour until moon-rise, Potter—"
"There's another way," Harry said. Then, apologetically—because he knew Runcorn was not likely to be feeling up to that many flights of stairs—added, "Seventh floor."
Sure enough, Runcorn paled, but didn't protest or argue; he clearly knew there was no other option.
They started to walk. The corridors were busy—everyone was heading down to dinner—which was exactly what they'd been trying to avoid by having a door appear somewhere out of the way. Harry fished his mirror out of his bag:
"Sirius Black." Padfoot's face materialised at once; he'd been waiting for Harry's call. "Ran into Filch, so he'll be a bit late," he said in a low voice, glancing at a passing group of second year Ravenclaws.
"I could send Kreacher?"
"Can't risk it; I don't have the Map because I didn't think we'd need it, so there's no way to know who might be coming around a corner."
"All right," Padfoot said, nodding. He craned his head slightly, clearly spying Runcorn. "I'll see you as soon as you can get here, then." Runcorn grunted. Padfoot's eyes flicked to Harry and his mouth twitched; he was far too used to pre-moon-moods to be offended by that.
It was slow progress. Not so slow that Harry was worried they wouldn't make it, but enough to put him on edge. Runcorn was making an admirable effort, but it was clear he was stiff and sore, and he also wasn't interested in—or up to—talking. Harry completely understood that, but it made the minutes drag even more.
They'd just reached the sixth floor when brisk, heeled footsteps came up behind them.
"What do we have here?" asked the voice of the person Harry least wanted to see.
Umbridge was flushed and her short curls were in disarray; she'd clearly run to catch up with them. Filch and Mrs Norris rounded the corner behind her and Harry fought to keep a scowl off his face.
"Sorry?" Harry asked instead, as politely as he could. Beside him, Runcorn had drawn himself upright and was doing his best to look normal and healthy. He was doing a better job at it than Harry might have expected, but it was clear it was costing him; Harry could smell the strain.
"What are you doing, Mr Potter?"
"Heading to Gryffindor to drop off my bag," Harry said, hooking his thumb through the strap over his shoulder.
"And why is Mr Runcorn with you?"
"Wanted to stretch my legs," Runcorn said thinly.
"Give me your bag," Umbridge said, holding out a hand.
"What?" Harry asked. "Why?"
"Because I've just asked you to," Umbridge said. Harry frowned but handed it over. Umbridge picked through its contents—his quills and ink, a few rolls of parchment, the textbooks for the lessons he'd had that day. There was nothing incriminating in there—he'd brought it solely to have an excuse to be downstairs before dinner and intended to drop it back from Gryffindor once Runcorn was safely through the Floo. "And your pockets?"
Harry set his jaw but pulled out his wand and mirror.
"What's this?" she asked, taking the latter.
"A mirror," Harry said.
"How unexpectedly vain of you, Mr Potter," she said. Harry shrugged, trying to keep his expression neutral. She twisted it this way and that, held it up to her face and eyed her reflection in it, and even cast several spells over it before seeming to give up with a little frown. She passed him his bag, but when he reached for the mirror, she held it out of his grasp. "Oh no, dear," she said. "I think I'll be holding onto this."
"Why?" Harry asked through clenched teeth. He didn't like the sight of her stubby fingers on his mirror. "Are we not allowed mirrors?"
"I'd like to take a closer look at it," she said.
"Right," Harry said. He took a deep breath; they'd move onto Stunners next time Eihwaz got together. He felt a little of the tension flow out of him, though a good amount still remained. He glanced out the window at the moon. "Well, if that's all—"
"And your bag, dear?" she said to Runcorn, who handed it over without arguing. In it were several Anti-Aches, a fresh school shirt, toothbrush, underwear, and socks. "Planning an overnight stay, were we?" she asked, looking between them.
"I'm very particular about hygiene," Runcorn said stiffly. "If I think I smell, or if I want to brush my teeth, I like to be able to do something about it."
"I see." Umbridge returned his bag too. She glanced between them. "Friends, are you?"
"Yes," Harry said.
"Despite being in separate Houses and year levels?" She arched an eyebrow.
"Cedric Diggory introduced us," Harry said. He'd spent several lunchtimes with Cedric and Runcorn over the last few weeks under the guise of hanging out so that they could plan tonight, but he was now very glad for it; if Umbridge had been watching him—and he was sure she had been—those other interactions made it far less conspicuous that he was spending time with Runcorn now.
"And you wanted to stretch your legs?" she asked Runcorn. He gave a stiff nod. "Then you can stretch them on your way back downstairs to dinner," she said. "Mr Filch, will you walk with him?"
Runcorn gave Harry a wild-eyed look.
They had maybe twenty minutes until the moon rose. If Harry could get upstairs, retrieve the Map and Cloak and a dungbomb, he could distract Filch and smuggle Runcorn into the Room without any other disruptions.
It'd be tight, but it was doable.
"Go," Harry said, barely louder than a breath and without moving his mouth. "I'll catch up."
Runcorn quivered with what could have been stress, pain, or some combination, and took a wooden step toward Filch.
They disappeared back around the corner, leaving Harry with Umbridge.
"Can I go?" he asked. "I'd like to drop this and get to dinner."
"I know you're up to something," she said, examining his mirror again. "You and the Headmaster both, and it will not be tolerated in my school."
"Sure," Harry said, though anger simmered beneath his skin; her school.
"I am watching you, Mr Potter." That was abundantly clear, and had been for some weeks now. "And if you put as much as a toe out of line and I can prove it, you'll be expelled before you can say 'Ministry'." Harry breathed deeply and watched her. Maybe he could incorporate Shield Charms into his lessons with Stunners. "Consider yourself warned."
Harry simply waited, and after several very long seconds, she huffed, spun on her heel, and marched away.
Harry took off in the other direction as quickly as he dared.
He'd run as soon as he got around the corner, get up to Gryffindor, and—
"Ron?" He caught Ron's scent just as the air shimmered and Ron tossed the cloak over Harry's head. Once Harry was covered by the cloak's silky fabric, he manoeuvred Harry's bag off his shoulder and pressed the Map—already open—into his hand. "Grabbed these when you didn't show, and was coming to meet you, but Umbridge got there first."
"Thanks," Harry said, scanning the Map for Runcorn. He found him—still with Filch—on the fourth floor. They were moving very slowly now; Runcorn was obviously struggling this close to the moon. "We're not going to have much time. Take that—" He shoved the Map back into Ron's hands. "—and get back to the Room; have a door appear wherever we are—I'll be looking for it, and if you have the Map, you'll know where we are. I'll find a way to deal with Filch and get Runcorn."
"On it," Ron said. He slipped out from under the cloak—the Map was clear—and took off at a sprint down the corridor.
Harry clutched the cloak with his hand and took off as quickly but quietly as he could, and slowed right down as he passed Umbridge, lest she see his shoes or hear something… not that it was likely; she seemed to be receiving reports from the portrait of a former Minister for Magic on unusual behaviour in the corridors.
That's one to avoid, he thought as he crept past.
He started to run once he was past her, the cloak flapping around his ankles, but there were fewer people around now, and getting to Runcorn quickly was more important.
Runcorn, Filch, and Mrs Norris were on the stairwell between the fourth and third floors when Harry caught up with them. Harry wished he'd had the foresight to bring something he could use as a distraction—a dungbomb, a stink pellet, a firework… something. He cursed under his breath and Runcorn's head twitched in his direction.
Stupefy, Harry thought, and Mrs Norris toppled into Flich's legs.
"What are—?" Filch cut off with a sharp intake of breath and dropped to his knees. Harry winced and stunned him too, then hurried forward to catch him and lie him down so he didn't crush the cat.
"Get under here," Harry said, lifting the cloak. Runcorn stumbled forward, expression both pained and a little vacant, and he growled and twitched when Harry dropped the cloak back over him.
"'S this?" he asked.
"Invisibility cloak," Harry said distractedly; Umbridge could be upon them at any moment. He flicked his wand to open the boy's bathroom door on the landing above them, then at the urinals inside, which cracked and began to spray water. He turned on all the taps for good measure, then levitated Filch up the stairs and into the doorway.
"W-what—?"
"Hoping we can blame it on Peeves," Harry said. Runcorn didn't say anything. "This way." Harry half-dragged Runcorn—who didn't seem to have full control of his legs—back down to the third floor and into the corridor which had once housed the cerberus; though it was no longer concealing the Philosopher's Stone, this part of the third floor was not used often, so it seemed as good a place as any to wait for Ron.
Runcorn had started to tremble, and sagged against the wall as soon as they stopped.
Come on, Ron…
"P-Potter—" Runcorn's voice was strained and his breathing was rough.
Harry'd never seen Moony like this before, which was probably because Moony had always left to transform well before he got to this point.
"How long do you have?"
"N-not—" Harry heard a sound like a bone breaking and Runcorn hunched over with a sound that was half-whimper, half-snarl.
"Have you taken wolfsbane?" Harry asked urgently.
"N-no. Snape wouldn't— I'm not meant to be— here— agh!"
Harry started to tow him toward the cerberus' room; if he could get Runcorn down the trapdoor, he'd be trapped, which was better than having him loose—
A door appeared on the wall beside him. Harry yanked it open, shoved Runcorn inside and followed after him, pulling the door shut and ripping the cloak off them both.
I need that door to disappear, he thought, and it did. Runcorn spasmed and moved as if to lunge for Harry, then seemed to catch himself and shoved him away instead:
"Run," he choked.
Harry heard the sound of another bone breaking, and Runcorn was starting to sprout hair. Harry's heart started to race.
"Harry?" Ron called from a ledge several storeys above them. He took in Runcorn with wide eyes and drew his wand.
"Stay where you are!" Harry shouted, stepping back from Runcorn himself. "We're out of time!"
They'd put restrictions on how the Room could be changed when it was set up for Eihwaz, but not for any other uses. Would it react to Runcorn's thoughts and needs while he was a werewolf? What if it let him out?
Runcorn took a step toward Harry, who flicked his wand to trip him. He fell with an inhuman scream of pain and anger.
"Open a tunnel to the grounds, Ron—the forest! Something!"
Harry bowed into his wolf and not a moment too soon; a pale grey shape hit him a moment later, snapping and snarling.