The Marauders: Year Three | #Wattys2016

Problems

Veigler shook.

As a reminder... Greyback raked his paw downward, ripping the flesh at Veigler's shoulder, tearing the bone right from it's socket. The trembling wolf let out a shrieking howl that echoed through the cave, disturbing birds in the woods just outside, making them take flight, soaring off into the moon. Blood poured from the wound, staining the wolf's fur, pooling on the cold stone beneath him.

Greyback drew a deep breath, relishing the scent of the blood, and he lowered his nose to it, licking some of it up from the ground, enjoying the taste of it as it stained his muzzle and the copper flavor filled his senses.

For a fleeting moment, he considered killing Ned Veigler then and there - to hell with the Dark Lord's orders! The taste of the flesh and the blood would be worth the risk he would run. He could always tell Voldemort that Veigler had defied him... he would be excused for his transgression... He licked his lips, eager, and he licked at the wound, enjoying the hot taste of the torn flesh. The weaker, torn wolf tensed at the pain of the tongue touching the raw, throbbing flesh... Fenrir had made him, he could kill him just as easily. Veigler shivered at the poeticness of having been born and killed by the same werewolf.

Do it. His plea was weak. Do it. Kill me.

It was this request that snapped Fenrir Greyback to his senses. You'll die when I say you'll die. Not a moment before. Greyback stepped away.

Outside, the sun was peeking up over the eastern horizon and Greyback knew he needed to get out of there, away from Hogsmeade. He couldn't be seen. Too many witches and wizards knew his grizzled face from various incidents reported in the Daily Prophet over the years. He didn't fancy being spotted. The place would be crawling with Aurors and security measures so thick he'd never accomplish his mission to get the Boy.

Next month, Veigler, you bring the Boy or you'll pay a heavier fine than this. Greyback threatened, and he turned to the mouth of the cave, padding away, blood still dripping from his muzzle.

The brown-grey wolf lay on the ground,the blood from his wound still pumping. He was weakening by the minute. Then a ray of light shone through the cave mouth and he struggled to pull himself toward it, scrambling his paws across the bloody stone, dragging himself, smearing the blood in the cave dust, stretching for that merciful sunlight.

He changed, hollering out at the unbelievable pain as his wolf shoulder turned human, revealing a horribly deep wound through with the ball socket of his shoulder was clearly visible, completely disconnected from the joint in which it belonged. He howled out in his human voice, clutching his arm, wrapped in torn teacher's robes, bracing his elbow up with his left palm as best he could, the white shirt beneath his robe soaked red.

Veigler struggled to get to his feet, knees weak so that as he came out of the cave he fell into a kneel, dizzy and exhausted from what little effort he'd already exerted. He didn't know how he was possibly going to walk all the way back to the castle - whose spires he could see a far off to the north of where he knelt. He bent forward, pain catching his nerves so violently that he threw up. He fought to stand. He had to stand. He had to go - go and tell Dumbledore what had happened.

Sick clung to his chin.

He wobbled, unable to keep straight as he moved, lurching from one foot to the other and then he wailed as he released his elbow for a moment, his arm hanging limp and pathetic at his side and he clutched his wand from his pocket and closed his eyes, begging the gods not to let him splinch himself, and he disapparated to the far side of Hogsmeade, to the path that led to Hogwarts. He didn't know if he could make it across the grounds, but he had to try.