The Marauders: Year Seven Part One

A Terrific Fight

Garm closed his eyes, sinking into the moss.

Ned Veigler awoke on the hearth of the fireplace in his room, sore from the transformation, but for the first time his mind was clear of the usual fog and nightmares of the night before. He lifted his human hands up to look them over, bending his fingers and turning his palms face in and face out in amazement. With a groan, he sat up and stretched, his neck creaking. He could hear the sounds of others moving about the castle, and he breathed in relief for the knowledge that the Wolfsbane potion had worked precisely as they'd hoped.

He got up and went down into the kitchens, getting food and listening in silence as the others marveled at their full moon experience. It seemed that all of the wolves had kept their minds, and for that Ned was most thankful. He looked forward to seeing Dumbledore and Mr. Scamander to report the news, and sipped his morning tea as relaxed as he had ever been the morning after a full moon.

Garm Tyr laid in the forest. He was cold and hungry, and he shook as he stood, feeling a pain go up through his shoulder. He turned to see a great tear in his flesh, a deep puncture that poured blood onto the mossy ground he lay upon. He struggled in an attempt to get up, but he could hardly move.

Through the trees, Garm could see Fallengunder, quiet and protected. At least he had done his job, he thought, closing his eyes. And suddenly through the forest there came a sound that Garm's keen ears picked up on. He opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight that beamed through the trees. Turning his head, he saw, standing on a fallen tree trunk, the shape of a pure white fox. The bushy tail twitched as the fox sat down, her front paws crossed thoughtfully as she studied Garm's bloodied form. He stared at it for some time, the fox never moving from it's place, and finally closed his eyes once more, resting his head back down on the bracken, the energy going out of him as everything went dark.

When Garm next opened his eyes, he was on his stomach, in a bed, and the sound of a whistling tea kettle had stirred him. He started to get up, but winced as a searing pain went through one shoulder and he grit his teeth, cursing loudly.

"N - now stay st- still," came a stammered voice and a gentle hand pushed Garm back down to the table firmly. "You're in - in the middle of a s-s-surgery."

"A surgery?" his voice was raw and rough.

The face of Newt Scamander suddenly hovered before him. Newt was bent down, staring up into Garm's face, his over-sized front teeth resting on his lower lip, his nose alight with freckles. "Yes," he answered simply, and he ducked away.

Garm blinked at the pillow his chin was bolstered by. "What sort of surgery?"

"The sort," Mr. Scamander replied, "Wh-which removes --" there was a cold instrument touching Garm's shoulder blade, and an awful squelching sound and Garm yelped out in pain as he felt something wrenched from with in his meat, "-- werewolf fangs."

Garm's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, trying not to throw up. He could feel warm blood seeping over his skin and there was a clattering sound and a moment later pressure and a stinging sensation of some sort of ointment in an opened wound. He groaned and grimaced as bandages began unfurling themselves across his skin, seemingly of their own accord, with a flick of Newt Scamander's wand.

Newt held up a silver tray beneath Garm's nose. "I s-see that you collect th-these?" he asked. Garm's eyes landed on a chair a few paces away, his shirt folded neatly upon it, and on top of that rested his chain of werewolf fangs. He looked up at Newt Scamander, who smiled and put the tray down with the necklace. "An-another to a-add to your acc-accomplishments," Newt said.

"Whose is it?" Garm asked.

"Don't you - you remember?" Newt asked.

Garm replied, "Greyback."

"Mmm," Newt turned to his work bench and got more ointment, bending to work on the scrapes and cuts across Garm Tyr's face.

Garm laid his head down on the pillow, exhausted just remembering the fight the night before in flashes of memory, all knotted and blurry in his mind...

The Marauders sat about eating breakfast some hours later, facing one another as they sat cross-legged on the floor in the dusty Shrieking Shack, trying to restore Remus Lupin to his full strength. Sirius kept Remus braced up, feeding him carefully.

"Maybe," Remus said shakily, swallowing a bite of the porridge that they'd made, "Maybe this isn't the moon in your predictions, Peter."

Peter, who had been looking so despondent that they'd asked him what the matter was, looked up from his food.

James looked 'round at the other three.  "Never considered that, did we?" he murmured.

Peter squeaked, "So the danger's still out there."

"Greyback is still out there," Remus replied, "The danger is ever out there s'long as he is."

Sirius fed Remus another bite of food, staring down into the bowl in silent contemplation. "I'm going to Dumbledore tomorrow and I'm demanding Wolfsbane for you. I'll tell him about Snape, I don't give a ruddy damn what he or anyone else has to say about it. I'll get that potion for you if I have to bleedin' steal the recipe and brew it my damned self." Sirius stared into Remus's eyes. "I swear it."

Remus swallowed his food and patted Sirius's knee. "It's like we said, mate, my transformations could be a whole lot worse than they are already, just because of you - because of what you lot have done for me." He smiled 'round at them all. "All of you." He touched Peter's knee.

Outside the light was bright and coming in through the cracks in the boarded up windows, turning the floating dust gold. Remus was feeling better, the color returning to his face with each shaky bite of food he took, and Sirius carefully wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, like a mum would do her child's chin while eating.

Thinking of Lily, and wishing she were here, James shifted to see if he could spot the shadow of the castle through the crack in the window covering. He couldn't. He looked down at his trainers, calculating how long it might take them to walk through the tunnel to the Whomping Willow and to get back inside. James asked, "What time is it?"

Sirius reached for his pocket watch and - without thinking - Peter twisted his wrist, his jumper falling back, and they both spoke at exactly the same time, "Half, one." They looked at one another in surprise at having spoken in unison.

Then:

"Hang on," James's voice was confused. "Pete... is that my watch?"