Chapter 347: Werewolf Without a Full Moon
“Good job, Hagrid!” Professor Kettleburn shouted, fist pumping the air. “That’s it! Smash its waist! Break its spine! Pummel its nose! Crush its skull!”
The Weasley Twins stared wide-eyed at the usually gentle, soft-spoken old man, feeling they barely recognized their professor anymore.
But Hagrid didn’t follow any of the instructions. Instead, he grabbed the Werewolf’s tail, pressed down on its thick, furry head, then stood frozen, utterly unsure what to do next.
The creature growled and moaned, claws raking frantically at the stone pavement.
“Good heavens! A soft-hearted little fool!” Professor Kettleburn fretted, slapping George’s back. “Bring me over! I’ll handle this beast!”
George didn’t flinch. He hoisted the old professor onto his back and dashed toward the scene, Fred right on his heels.
The elderly professor raised his wand.
“Wait, Professor,” Hagrid said quickly—though he barely managed to get the words out.
A sudden flash of flame cut him off.
Dumbledore appeared abruptly on the Hogsmeade street, still in his pajamas and pointed nightcap. The Phoenix, Fawks, shimmered once and vanished.
Dumbledore surveyed Hagrid, the restrained Werewolf, and the scene around him, then asked calmly, “Well done, Hagrid. Sylvanus. Anyone hurt inside?”
Hagrid thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“How can you say that?” Kettleburn snapped. “You’re the one who’s hurt!”
Hagrid wiped dirt and blood from his face with the back of his hand. “It’s nothing. Nobeta’s done worse before. Dumbledore, this Werewolf…”
Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing him. “Take him to The Hog’s Head. Wait for me there.”
“Right,” Hagrid agreed.
He lifted the struggling Werewolf high into the air—perfectly safe from claws or teeth. But the beast wasn’t pleased. It roared in fury, thrashing violently.
To Hagrid, it was no more threatening than Fang (his hunting dog) playing up. He soothed it gently. “Don’t worry. Once you’re back to normal, I’ll let you down.”
“Grrr—!” The Werewolf growled back, unimpressed.
By the time Hagrid reached The Hog’s Head, the innkeeper—still wrapped in his gray robes despite the summer heat—was already standing outside the door, staring in dismay. The sight of Hagrid carrying a snarling, clawing Werewolf was enough to make his face twist in disgust.
“I… uh…” Hagrid stammered. “Dumbledore sent me here to wait for him…”
The gray-haired wizard looked even more furious. “Don’t bring that thing into my inn. You’ll scare off every customer!”
“Oh…” Hagrid nodded. He understood. But he had to wait for Dumbledore, so he stood outside The Hog’s Head, holding the beast aloft—looking as bizarre as anyone could possibly be.
Werewolf: Awooo—!
Aberforth: …
“Fine. Come in,” Aberforth sighed, defeated. “How on earth did he end up choosing you for this?”
…
Watching Hagrid leave, Dumbledore turned to Kettleburn. “Sylvanus.”
“What?” The professor snapped. “I’m no longer on staff. You have no authority to reprimand my methods!”
“I’m not reprimanding you,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I’d like you to help get these two Mr. Weasleys back to school. It’s not safe for them out here tonight.”
Though Kettleburn had only one arm and half a leg, Dumbledore gave him no special consideration.
Kettleburn grumbled, “Fair enough—thank Merlin Minerva’s not here to see this.”
He waved his wand. A dented wheelchair tumbled out of nowhere, rolling to a stop in front of him.
Kettleburn tapped the chair with his wand. It snapped back into shape.
“Put me down, child,” he said.
George said nothing. He carefully lowered the professor into the chair. Fred, meanwhile, pulled a blanket tangled in the armrest and draped it over the old man’s knees.
“Come along, kind children,” Kettleburn said.
The wheelchair rolled forward. Fred glanced back with reluctance, but when Dumbledore was present, they both chose to be good boys.
George took the lead, pushing the chair. After a short distance, he looked back and saw several shopkeepers had gathered around Dumbledore in the village square. The Headmaster was speaking to them softly, calmly.
“Professor,” George asked, “what exactly happened? Can Werewolves change even when the moon isn’t full?”
It was a waning moon—only half visible. And the moon hadn’t even risen yet.
“I don’t know,” Kettleburn admitted, scratching his head. “I was just watching my streaming mirror at home when suddenly, this mad Werewolf burst in. Then Hagrid—reckless fool—crushed my wheelchair, and nearly got me bitten!”
“So,” Fred said, nodding thoughtfully, “to find out what really happened, we’ll have to ask Professor Hagrid.”
“Exactly,” Kettleburn agreed. “And Dumbledore may be the last to arrive, but he’ll know something.”
…
“I’m not hiding anything,” Dumbledore said, calm under Aberforth’s glare. “If you give me time to examine it, I might be able to provide an answer.”
“Hmph!” Aberforth snorted, nostrils flaring. “Then get them out of here fast! I don’t want any more trouble from you—or from him—ever again! How many times have you dragged your mess into my inn?”
He yanked aside the grimy curtain and stormed off.
Dumbledore paused at the entrance before stepping inside.
The moment the Werewolf came into view, most patrons fled. The few who remained were quickly shooed out by Aberforth. Now, the inn was empty—save for the four of them.
Hagrid tied the creature securely, then wrapped its claws in a towel to prevent it from injuring itself.
Dumbledore waved his wand. The Werewolf slumped into unconsciousness.
“Tell me everything, Hagrid,” he said.
“Professor, I don’t know how this happened…” Hagrid said, looking bewildered. “I was just having a drink with Remus Lupin at the Three Broomsticks, talking about how to become a professor…”
“We were fine when we parted. Only a few minutes—maybe two at most—then I heard a scream…”
“Don’t worry, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said gently. “This isn’t your fault.”
He used his wand to part the thick, gray fur on the creature’s back. His eyes narrowed.
A broken metal needle tube lay concealed beneath the hair—so subtle, it was nearly invisible unless you knew where to look.
(End of Chapter)
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