"—sorry."
Instead of a brightly-lit kitchen, Harry suddenly found himself in the dark, his back pressed against what felt like shelves. Something dug painfully into his side. For a wild moment, he thought he was back in his cupboard, and all this, the magic and the murders and Bill's mess of a flat, was just a weird dream. Everything in him rebelled at the idea, even the part that squirmed guiltily. But his cupboard never smelled of goats and smoky wood, and there were voices coming faintly from behind the walls of wherever this was that didn't belong to his relatives.
A lantern lit up on a stack of crates next to him, and Harry blinked fast, eyes adjusting to the light. One day, he would get used to magical things having a mind of their own, but that day was not today. The pointy thing prodding at him turned out to be a tap, and the room some sort of a shed, full of boxes and barrels and kegs—and a cage with Regulus Black.
Just his luck.
Black whined piteously and moved to grab the bars before shrinking back. He hunched in an awkward heap on the floor, his legs tucked partially under him, as if he was not quite sure about the exact mechanics of sitting. Maybe he wasn't. His shirt looked even dirtier than it had been in the morning, and Fred's scarf was still draped across his shoulders, one end precariously longer than the other. It was peppered with threads that hadn't been there before; he must have snagged them.
Without once looking at Harry, Black hooked his index finger around a loose floorboard and raised it. When his finger slipped, the board jerked back with a loud snap. Black looked at it in fascination, like a scientist observing an important experiment.
Harry got a bizarre feeling that he was being given a cold shoulder.
"We are not actually friends, you know," he told Black. "So don't be like that. What did you expect, that I'd let you go around murdering people?"
Black snapped the board again.
"I thought Bill could be my friend, and his brothers. But I blew it," Harry confessed in a rush. "I didn't mean to. I broke that glass and wished I was somewhere else, but it's not like I expected it to really happen. He wouldn't even punish me hard, I don't think. Make me clean it up and take the car away since I can't be trusted with good things, maybe." He looked at the wand in his hand glumly. "Magic is amazing and all, but that car was pretty special too. It could even turn into a robot. Wizards can turn into animals, but they seem a bit old-fashioned. I doubt they could do that."
Snap.
"Can you stop doing that?"
Snap. Snap. Snap.
"Fine, be difficult. I should try to get back anyway. The longer I stay away, the angrier Bill is going to be." He didn't know what would be worse, getting back to a pissed-off Bill or a Bill that didn't care that Harry had left at all.
The shed was unlocked, its door creaking open almost before Harry touched it. Mr Dumbledore—that was what Bill said the pub owner's name was—must have visited, because Harry distinctly remembered Bill double-locking it. The night air was chilly and crisp, and he shivered in his T-shirt as he stepped outside. Perhaps robes had their uses, sometimes. He left the lit lantern behind for Black, because nobody deserved to sit in the dark.
The backdoor to the pub was ajar, and Harry peeked inside before coming in. Everybody seemed to know of him because of some misunderstanding, and they recognised him by his scar, so he pushed his fringe over it. The fewer people that saw him, the better.
Two men in robes stood on a narrow staircase next to a board with keys of different sizes and shapes on it. The one with his back to Harry had a hood on, and the other wore an anxious expression, backlit by the sconce on the wall.
"Thank you, erm, mate, you've been most resourceful as always." The second man pocketed something and wiped the sweat from his prematurely receding hairline. "Well, I'll be on my way. The night is too good not to take a stroll before turning in."
"I wouldn't recommend that," Hood rumbled. "You never know who else will be out on a good night like this."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's a full moon, mate. You didn't hear it from me, but folks are talking."
"Oh?"
"Greyback thinks Brown from the Being Division needs to be taught a lesson, if you catch my drift."
Receding Hairline gasped. "Doesn't he have a young daughter? She isn't even in Hogwarts yet."
"And after tonight, she won't ever be," Hood said nastily.
A chill ran down Harry's spine.
"That's horrible." Receding Hairline put his hand over his mouth. "Someone should do something."
"You are welcome to go there and play the hero."
"But—But I'm just a Muggle Studies Professor. What can I do against a werewolf?"
"Then run along, Professor." Hood's tone was mocking.
"I should floo home, I think. To pray that the Browns aren't home tonight." With that, Receding Hairline scuttled towards the closest fireplace in the pub room and disappeared into it with remarkable speed.
Hood snorted derisively and went upstairs.
Harry waited until he couldn't hear his steps, looking up at the moon, half-hidden by the clouds. It was full, just like Hood said. Apparently, the stories about werewolves had truth in them, just like zombie movies. Were vampires real too? And, more importantly, could this shiny new magical world go even a day without murder? Harry desperately wanted to be part of it, to learn to paint animated pictures and fly high in the clouds all summer day long. Only based on what he saw so far, there would probably be a dark wizard in the bushes spelling his broom to kill him. And then Receding Hairline would pass by, oohing and aahing but doing nothing to stop it.
To be fair, not every wizard was like that. Bill wasn't. He had already done more for Harry than anybody else in his life, and wouldn't turn a blind eye to the news of this werewolf attack either. But Bill wasn't here, and Harry couldn't just go running around the village door to door and hope he'd knock on the right one.
A bout of laughter from the pub and a booming 'Watch it, Dung!" interrupted Harry's train of thought. Well, Bill trusted the bar owner, so Harry supposed he could trust him too.
He darted inside and veered through the tables. The stench of alcohol, tobacco and sweat was overpowering after the fresh night air, and Harry wrinkled his nose. All sorts of characters crowded the tables, some looking more obviously magical than others. A group closest to him were locked in a card game, with the cards that smoked and occasionally caught fire. The giant Harry had seen this morning putting winged horses to carriages was here too, concentrating so hard on his cards that he didn't notice his bushy eyebrows getting singed.
A glass with a liquid on fire swooshed over Harry's head and landed in front of a wizard in a pointy hat puffing clouds of coloured vapour out of his pipe. They rose to the ceiling and curled into different shapes before vanishing. Didn't that one look a bit like a dog? Harry could feel his vision swimming.
A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his trance. "What are you doing here, kiddo?" He turned to see a girl with purple hair frowning at him. She looked vaguely familiar.
"I—"
"You again," the bar owner barked from the counter, setting down the glass he was wiping with a rag that had seen cleaner times. "Is Bill here somewhere? A bar is no place for a child." The last one was directed to the girl too. Now that Harry's mind wasn't trying to get away from him, he remembered where he had seen her: with Charlie Weasley yesterday.
"No, I accidentally—Mr Dumbledore, can I talk to you? It's very important!"
"I should give that boy piece of mind. Always cooking up some trouble," he groused but let Harry in behind the counter. "What's it?"
"I've just heard two men talking—"
"Eavesdropping only brings trouble, laddie."
"—and one of them said that a werewolf named Greyback is going to attack the Browns tonight," Harry blurted in one breath.
The bar owner watched him for a moment, his face showing nothing.
"Mr Dumbledore, we should do something!" Harry urged.
"Name's Aberforth." The bar owner threw the rag at the purple-haired girl. "Changed my mind. You're hired."
The girl beamed and jumped over the counter. "You won't regret—"
"Watch out for the things Fletcher puts in his pockets and cut off Higgs after another two. Throw Lorna out if she dares show her face here after the last time." Aberforth strode to the back door, Harry on his heels. He retraced Harry's steps to the shed, grumbling something about stupid stubborn children and fire hazards under his breath.
Black was still sitting on the ground, but without Harry to irritate, he had abandoned the floorboard in favour of watching the lantern with the familiar vacant expression on his face.
"Be on your best behaviour, and you might just get a treat," Aberforth said and flicked his wand.
The bars in front of the cage disappeared.
Another wave, and the red and gold scarf curled tighter around Black's neck, the one end elongating like a snake and leaping into Aberforth's outstretched left hand. His right one held Black at wandpoint.
Black touched his throat as he stepped out.
"No funny business," Aberforth warned. His voice was tense.
Black looked between him and Harry with something resembling interest, or maybe it was the lantern's dancing shadows playing tricks on Harry. Either way, Black seemed disinclined to attack them on the spot.
Aberforth must have come to the same conclusion, because he lowered his wand a fraction. He turned to Harry. "Did those men say anything else?"
"Only that the Browns have a young daughter. I didn't see the first man's face, but the second said he was a Muggle Studies Professor."
"Albus sure knows how to find them." Aberforth sneered cryptically. "Now, lad, you're going to stay here and wait until I return."
"No way," Harry said. "I'm going with you."
"A werewolf is not a yappy toy poodle, and this one in particular has a taste for children."
Harry raised his chin.
Aberforth sighed. "You're not going to wait here no matter what I say, are you?"
"No."
He took a gold signet ring from his finger and gave it to Harry. "Put it on. Once I tell you to run, you will twist it once and say 'Ariana'. Understand?"
Harry nodded and tried the ring experimentally. As he expected, it was way too big, but as soon as it touched his finger, it resized to fit him perfectly.
"You do exactly what I say, or you find yourself with a fate worse than death," said Aberforth.
Black tugged his scarf impatiently, tired of being ignored.
"Right. Time to get this show on the road."
The streets were empty at this time of the night. To anyone looking out of their window—and Harry could bet he noticed a shadow or two in ones that were lit—they must have looked like a truly odd trio: a boy, an old man and a dead man on a brightly coloured leash. They passed a house surrounded by topiary sculptures, creepy and fanciful creatures lurking in the darkness. Had that wing just moved? Harry wished he could look around the village in daylight, without crime scenes hanging over his head.
"Why do we need Black?" he asked, struggling to keep up with Aberforth's long strides.
"Chances are what you've overheard was just empty talk, and we won't need him. But if we do… Let's just say that werewolves are extremely spell-resistant. What's more, Greyback did everything to protect himself even further as a wolf, if rumours are to be believed. He's not your average werewolf just trying to get by and biting someone on the one night a month when he's not in control of himself. He's a dangerous criminal who enjoys hurting people, in and out of his wolf form."
"Why would—"
The scream rang through the night air, cutting Harry off. A blond girl around his age, wearing pyjamas with cartoon bunnies, ran to them from across the corner, a doll clutched in her hand.
"Help!" she cried. "It's in our house! Mum's still there!"
"Harry, stay back! Use the ring!" Aberforth barked over his shoulder and ran, tugging Black behind him.
Harry was left alone with the girl. He wanted to run after Aberforth, but she was sobbing loudly, her face red and blotchy.
"We were in the kitchen, and then the wolf—it must be a werewolf!—came from upstairs. It was already in our house! How was it in our house?" The girl looked at Harry as if he could give her an answer.
"I don't know. He must have hid there when he was still human," he suggested.
She wiped at her tears furiously and hugged her doll closer. "Mum told me to jump out the window and run, and I did. Oh God, should I have stayed? Maybe I could've managed some accidental magic. Mum can't do even that, she's a Muggle."
An inhuman roar and a woman's scream pierced the night. The girl, white as a sheet, whimpered. She looked back at the corner around which she came, looking torn.
"No, you did the right thing," Harry said firmly. "Give me your hand."
Instead, she launched herself at him and trembled against his shoulder. Harry patted her back awkwardly. He had never had to console anyone before and wasn't quite sure what to do. So he just stared at the distance, hands loosely around her trembling body and the doll wedged into his chest between them. Had those topiary sculptures moved again? Or was someone hiding there? Now it was Harry's turn to shiver.
Finally, the girl leaned back. He caught her hand and put Aberforth's ring on her finger.
"What's this?" she looked at it quizzically, distracted for a moment.
He repeated the rules Aberforth had told him. "It'll bring you to safety."
"What about you?"
"I'll be fine. Greyback came here to attack your family."
Perhaps it wasn't the most sensitive thing to say, because the girl broke into tears again. But then she nodded and did as instructed, and a moment later, Harry found himself alone on the street.
The shadows moved again, and Harry turned around the corner before he could make a conscious decision. Better the beast you know, or at least know about.
A bone-chilling howl came from a house surrounded by flowers. One of the windows was open wide, spilling light onto the trampled flowerbed underneath. Harry briefly debated whether to go closer, but the decision was taken from him when, with a resounding crash, the door was thrown open, and a tangle of limbs and fur rolled out.
Regulus Black was locked in a vicious fight with an enormous wolf. Black's right shoulder was a mess, and his thigh missed a good chunk of flesh entirely. His shirt was bloody rags by now. It must have been the werewolf's, as Regulus himself hardly bled.
The wolf's knife-like teeth snapped shut an inch away from Black's ear, and Black threw it on its back with his inhuman strength.
Aberforth rushed out of the door next, sending a jagged purple spell at the wolf. It hit and rebounded to mow down the snapdragons by the wall, scattering the delicate flowers on the ground. The wolf roared and moved to lunge at Aberforth, but Black, twisting unnaturally, intercepted him. Another brutal scuffle ended with the wolf on top of Black, pressing him down to the ground and dripping spit and foam on his face.
Harry's palms were sweaty around the wand, and he couldn't look away. Being strictly speaking a corpse, Black could weather many injuries, but what would being torn apart mean for him? Bill said there was a chance for him to get his mind back. How would Black feel once he realised he was not only dead, but also half-eaten by a werewolf?
A woman in a sundress, wild-eyed and determined, appeared on the porch. In her hands was an old-fashioned gun, which she pointed at the wolf.
"Taste some silver, you dirty mutt!" She said something else, but a deafening bang drowned out her words.
The shot landed, and the wolf let out an awful howl, thrashing violently. Black used it as an opening to flip them around and bash its head once, twice, three times.
The moon came out of the clouds, round and ominously yellow, as the wolf turned into a tall man with scraggy hair matted with blood. His eyes were open and glassy.
Black bashed his head again.
"What the everloving fu-dge is going on here?" Bill's voice, loud and horrified, broke the reverie.
Black paid him no mind, but Aberforth and the woman looked in their direction, eyes widening in twin alarm. Harry saw the woman put her gunless hand to her mouth before Bill turned him around and pressed him into his side, murmuring not to watch.
"Oh, now he decides to show up! Get the boy out of here, for Merlin's sake!" Aberforth snapped. "And then come back and take this one, too. He'd better be far away from here when the Aurors show up. Or my brother. I don't even know who'll be a bigger pain to deal with."
"I'll apparate us, alright? Hold on close." Bill hugged him, and then Harry felt his body squeeze and stretch, as if through a plastic straw.
It spat them into the familiar kitchen, and Harry barely registered the clean floor before bending down and sicking up all over Bill's shoes.
"I'm sorry," he said weakly. It was just like before, only a thousand times worse.
"It's okay." Bill flicked his wand, and the mess disappeared. Oh. So it was that easy. "Just don't disappear again, please."
"I didn't mean to, the first time."
"I gathered. But I'd rather you put away that wand, just in case."
With a nod, Harry put it on the counter.
A glass of water appeared in his hands, as if by magic. Which was probably how it got there, as Harry didn't notice Bill moving from his side. Instead, Bill led him to the sofa, talking about which of his brothers vomited last on his shoes and why and when (Ron; eating too much pudding; last Christmas), but Harry only half-listened. His thoughts drifted as if he was breathing in those coloured vapours again. Slithers slipped down next to him and put her horned head onto his lap. He meant to tell her about Regulus and the werewolf, but speaking suddenly felt like an impossible task. His last conscious thought was whether werewolf brains tasted different from human's.