Harry broke into a run as soon as the front door swung shut behind him, knowing that if he slowed down he wouldn't be able to help himself from turning around and going back. He didn't slow down until he reached the very edge of the beach, the sea water black under the night sky as it lapped against the shoreline. A large, bright white splash of light reflected the full moon rising above the hills to the east.

Panting with exertion and emotion, he bent over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. After a moment, he straightened and looked around the beach. Most of the sea crafts that usually docked at the village were pulled up onto the beach. He looked around uncertainly, wondering what Snape meant by "shelter."

He heard the sound of feet crunching on the rocks nearby and glanced over to see Callum.

"Call!" He hissed, hurrying over. The other boy was strolling, unconcerned, down the beach.

"Oh, hey, Harry."

"What are you doing out here?" He asked anxiously, glancing back towards the highlands.

"I left a shovel near the skiff when we pulled it up onto shore for the year." He noticed Harry's alarm. "It's not that late. It's only, like, ten."

"You need—"

Another howl rent the air, and Callum jumped. "What was that?"

"You didn't hear it earlier?" Harry asked in disbelief, remembering the cold chill of horror that had shot through him when they heard the first howl.

"Da had the radio playing old sixties songs, turned way up."

The front door to one of the houses along the river banged open and a tall, slim figure with dark blond hair stormed out. She (for it was clearly a girl) caught sight of them and stomped over, slamming the door shut behind her. "Callum Duncan!"

"Mary?" Callum asked. "What's wrong?"

"Don't pull that shite with me! You know exactly what's wrong!" She reached them and stopped a few feet away, arms crossed as she scowled at him. She was several inches taller even than Callum, and although she was only a few years older than the two of them, she had a hardened glare that mildly impressed Harry.

"No, I don't," Callum huffed, then pointed his thumb at Harry. "This is Henry. Henry, Mary."

"Hello," she said to him, then turned back to Callum before he could respond. "That's enough, Duncan. You're scaring my little sister."

"I'm not doing anything!" Callum protested, growing heated at the continued accusations.

Another, shorter howl sounded in the distance, seeming a bit closer than before.

The three of them looked at each other.

"That wasn't you," Mary said slowly.

"Of course not!" Callum exclaimed, but the argument was cut off when angry barking sounds echoed eerily through the village.

"You guys need to get back inside," Harry insisted, stepping back and turning to the docks.

They both followed him, asking questions at the same time.

"Do you know what that is?"

"Are you having us on?"

"Why don't you get inside?"

He reached one of the boats and sat on the sand, facing the water, with the boat between him and the werewolf sounds. Snape can handle it. He's an excellent dueller. Still, he shifted nervously, worried about his pseudo-guardian.

The other two sat as well, facing him.

"What are you doing out here, Henry?" Callum asked.

Harry hesitated, then said, "My dad sent me out here when we first heard it." He glanced at Mary. "We live on the very edge of town."

"Wouldn't you be safer inside than hiding amongst the boats?" Mary asked dubiously.

"You'd think," Harry muttered, resting his chin on his knees.

"You could come over to my place for a while," Callum offered.

Harry gave a half-smile. He was about to say something when several long wolf cries preceded the unmistakable sounds of a fight.

They all looked at each other nervously.

"I'm gonna get the shovel, and then we'll go inside," Callum said, standing quickly.

"Forget the shovel!" Mary hissed.

"It's right there," Callum argued, pointing at their skiff a few meters away. He walked over to it, Mary and Harry trailing behind.

"Got it." Callum turned back to them, then froze, eyes wide.

"What is it?" Mary asked, not sounding like she wanted to know the answer.

"Behind you," he said, voice cracking.

Harry turned to see a werewolf stalking down the lane between houses, sniffing around. It drew closer, and Harry stiffened when it seemed to notice them. Its mildly wandering step became more deliberate as it started toward them.

"That doesn't look like a normal wolf," Mary said, taking a step back.

"It's not," Harry said despairingly.

It picked up its pace, jaws snapping aggressively.

"Better run," Callum said.

"We're backed up against the sea," Mary reminded him.

"Take cover!" Harry screamed when it suddenly leapt towards them. They vaulted over the upside-down skiff, and the werewolf slammed into the other side. He hysterically thought that magic could be really useful right now, wishing he could use his wand. Then again, he didn't really know any practical spells that could take down a werewolf.

"We're gonna die," Callum shrieked, voice an octave higher.

"Give me that," Mary said, snatching the shovel from Callum and swinging it as hard as she could at the werewolf's head when it poked above the hull to peer at them. It fell back with a yelp.

"Callum!" Harry hissed, tugging at the other boy's sleeve while Mary readied herself for another attack. They ran, half-crouched to avoid drawing the wolf's notice, towards a nearby boat that had a fishing net half hanging off the side. They both grabbed a handful of it and ran back to the fight, dragging it along.

Harry and Callum shook it out and took up opposite ends of it as Mary ducked a snap from the wolf's jaws.

"Don't let it touch you, and really don't let it bite you!" Harry told them.

"Wasn't planning on it," Mary huffed, jabbing viciously at the werewolf when it started to creep closer.

Harry and Callum moved behind the wolf. It began to turn towards them, but Mary slammed the shovel on its back and it swung back to face her with a snarl.

They threw the net over the werewolf, scrambling back when it started to wildly thrash, its claws slicing the air inches from Harry's leg.

"Get a weapon," Mary said.

"I had one, you—" Callum began, then gave up. "Yeah, okay."

Harry and Callum rushed to search the beached boats for some sort of weapon as the werewolf further tangled itself in the net as it continued to flail about.

"Here's something," Callum said, hefting a trolling motor that had been left leaning against another boat.

"Great," Harry said distractedly, having caught a glint of something metal reflecting the moon on the control panel. "Give me a lift."

Callum gamely cupped his hands for Harry's foot and hoisted him up onto the deck. He grabbed the object, which was some kind of nautical instrument, and jumped back down. "Call, what is this?"

"Ole McDuffy's prized sextant. Why? It wouldn't make a good weapon, it's too small."

Harry looked grimly down at the sextant, hoping it wasn't too prized by McDuffy. "It's made of silver."

Callum's eyes widened. "You don't mean—"

"Come on!" Harry urged, seeing that the werewolf was starting to shred through the net with its claws. They ran forward, weapons at the ready. Mary was panting, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"Where'd you learn to swing like that?" Harry asked her.

"Used to play cricket with my older sister, Iona."

"Iona Docherty, the woman who hates the bagpipes?"

"Henry Paine, the kid who keeps playing the bagpipes anyways?" She asked archly.

The last tatters of the net fell to the sand with a muted thump, and the werewolf looked around at them, chest heaving with exertion and blood lust.

"Careful," Harry whispered unnecessarily.

"Is that really a werewolf?" Callum asked.

"A what??" Mary burst, but the dark creature had turned to Callum at its name, and jumped towards him with unexpected force. He braced his feet in the sand and rammed the trolling motor into its chest, shoving it back. It quickly moved to attack again, but Harry ran towards it from the side, sextant gripped tightly in his right hand. He slashed it across the creature's side and continued running, eager to get out of the reach of those infectious jaws, but his feet slid on the loose sand and he fell into a kind of slide past it.

It hissed in pain as the sextant cut a shallow gash in its side. Angrily, it moved to leap on Harry (whose momentum had spent and was now laying in the sand), but Callum slammed the flat of the trolling motor down on the back of its head with a powerful overhead strike.

"Move!" Mary screamed at Harry.

He scrambled to his feet and, apparently not rational, did something both very brave and very stupid. At the moment, the werewolf was facing away from him, lashing out at the other two, who were trying to keep it occupied so Harry could get out of reach. Still holding the sextant, he jumped onto the werewolf's back. It immediately went feral, twisting and flailing to get him loose.

Harry Potter, however, had once held on to a wildly bucking broom at the age of eleven for the sake of a quidditch match. He wasn't about to be easily unseated when his position was the only thing keeping him safe from those jaws, which couldn't reach him.

Mary and Callum backed up a few steps to get out of range, watching with open mouths.

Harry shoved the sextant between its jaws as it opened them to snarl. With a sort of hissing, choking noise, it dropped to the ground. Harry kept his hold as it fell to its knees, the extra weight helping to force it down.

It was wildly tossing its head back and forth, but the instrument had become lodged in its teeth, holding its mouth ajar. It gave a choked sound of frustration and anger, eventually pawing desperately at the sextant to unlodge it.

Harry slid off its back and it immediately lashed out with a claw, striking Harry a blow across the shoulder. He staggered out of reach, clutching the wound. Red blood began oozing out between his fingers, but he didn't think it was too terrible.

Meanwhile, Callum and Mary had found another net. They threw it over the distracted werewolf as it tried to shake the sextant rendering its contagious bite impotent. Harry hoped it wouldn't kill the wolf, as he knew it was a normal human being at any other time of the month.

"Is that really a werewolf?" Callum asked, stepping close and nudging Harry's fingers aside from the scratch to get a better look. He winced. "I think you'll be okay. You're not, uh, gonna turn into one now, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "Only if saliva gets into the bloodstream."

"You're starkers," Callum breathed, sounding impressed.

"Stay back then," Mary said, pointing at the trapped werewolf. It was beginning to foam at the mouth from its frantic efforts, spittle flying in the air. Harry stepped hastily back as Callum and Marry got a second net to add to the current one.

"This won't hold it indefinitely," Callum said.

"Cinch it at the bottom," she said.

They grabbed the cords at the edge of the cast net and pulled, drawing the net up beneath the werewolf's feet and causing it to topple over.

"Will the silver kill it?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah, that's a myth. Still, they're more susceptible to silver than any other metal. It's often used to close wounds from a werewolf."

They were staring at him.

"You said your da sent you down to the beach," Callum said. "He knows about them too, then?"

Harry nodded uncomfortably, wondering how much he should say. He had a feeling Snape would think "nothing at all," but they had just helped him fight it. They deserved to know something.

"Is he even a teacher? Or are you two really just werewolf hunters in disguise or something?" Mary asked. Oh, so she knew all the gossip too.

"No, he is a teacher," Harry said honestly.

"That's just his day job? Teacher by day, hero at night?" Callum asked.

He doesn't know the half of it. I guess you could say that."

The sounds of fighting in the distance faded away, and Harry hoped it was because Snape had won rather than because he was… incapacitated.

A few minutes later, Harry's worries about a dead Snape and being stuck here by himself were allayed as the man himself ran down the lane towards the beach. He caught sight of them and paused, then ran forward faster.

He looked exhausted, but Harry didn't see any blood, so he relaxed.

Snape eyed the trapped werewolf, which was beginning to tire itself out in its wild thrashing, before his quick gaze scanned the group. He noticed the blood trickling down Harry's shoulder and paled slightly before walking over to him. "Is that…?"

"It's a scratch. From its claws." Harry explained. 

Snape grimaced, but looked relieved. He knelt in the sand beside him and gently drew Harry's hand away, peering at it. "It doesn't look too deep."

Callum said, "Mr. Paine?"

Snape looked at the other two, face inscrutable as he assessed them. "Yes?"

Callum hesitated, as if not quite sure what he wanted to say, before asking, "Did you know they were going to attack? Is that why you came to the village?"

Snape stared at him, then looked at Harry. Addressing Callum, he said, "No. That was coincidence."

"Oh," Callum said, slightly disappointed.

Snape and Harry stared at each other. Harry gave a weak smile, trying to convey that he'd explain later, then asked, "What about the others? What happened?"

"I drove the other four off," Snape said, "but this one got past me." He tilted his head at them. "And you three took it down. Impressive. Even though it was a small one."

Harry lightly punched him in the arm. "Dad." Then he sobered. "What do we do with it?"

Snape watched it breathing heavily, finally limp after working itself to exhaustion. "We'll have to keep it contained until moonset." He stood, helping Harry to his feet and looking to the other two. “You two ought to get back home.”

They looked like they wanted to protest, but Snape had his sternest teacher face on, and while they were admirably unafraid, they did quietly leave after nodding to Harry.

After they were gone, Snape pursed his lips and considered the subdued werewolf. “Better get it off the beach.”

“Where do we take it?” Harry asked.

“Our backyard, for now,” Snape said, sounding tired. He grabbed an edge of the net and began dragging the werewolf away from the shore. Harry tried to help, but his shoulder was beginning to hurt more now that the adrenaline was wearing off and he could only use one arm.

It was a long time before they finally reached their own backyard. Harry noticed a silver shimmer stretching out through the air, shielding the village from the rest of the highlands.

"This one tore a hole in the ward. I repaired it before coming to look for it." Snape's voice was calm, but not quite level. Harry wondered how worried Snape had been about what damage it might have done while he fought off the other four.

"You beat four werewolves by yourself?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering how difficult one (small) one had been with three people fighting it.

"I did not defeat them," Snape said, dragging the werewolf to just past the ward and dropping the net. "I simply made it not worth their trouble to continue."

Harry thought that in itself was fairly impressive, but then Snape pointed at the werewolf. "Keep watch." He disappeared into the cabin, returning ten minutes later with a mortar and pestle in one hand and a bandage wrap in the other. "Remove your shirt."

Harry did so, wincing as his arm lifted above shoulder height and the wound twinged with pain. Snape dipped his fingers into the mixture in the mortar dish, spreading it over the scratches in Harry's shoulder. Harry hissed before clamping his lips shut.

"This is a mixture of silver and dittany," Snape said, probably to distract him from the pain.

"I remember talking about it DADA," Harry nodded. "Where'd you get the stuff?"

"I had dittany in my bag," Snape said, scooping out some more medicine.

"And the silver?"

"One of my silver knives no longer has a tip," Snape said.

"Oh," Harry said, remembering all the disgusting potions ingredients Snape cut up with those.

"Don't worry," Snape smirked, "I washed it thoroughly. It wouldn't do to get trace elements in the salve."

Harry winced at a sharp sting from one of the scratches, and Snape paused before continuing to spread the mixture over the wound. "Sorry."

Snape shook his head minutely. "Do cease apologizing for what is not your fault."

"About the knife, I mean. Now it's ruined."

Snape sighed. "I can sharpen it down again, Harry. This wound won't close without it."

Harry felt a warm glow in his chest at knowing he was Snape's first priority.

The werewolf whined inside the net, and Harry was forced to remember how hard it had been trying to kill them to not feel guilty.

Finished with the salve, Snape set the mortar and pestle down. "Ready?" He asked, holding up the bandage. Harry nodded mutely and Snape started to wrap up his shoulder. "This is going to scar."

"Great, another scar," Harry said sarcastically.

Snape gave him a look, and he subsided.

Harry looked up at the moon. It had risen several hours ago, and now hung high above them in the sky. With a sigh, he slumped to sit in the grass when Snape patted his shoulder to indicate that he had finished wrapping it. That moon, large and white, seemed too pretty to herald such danger.

Snape lowered himself to sit next to him with a wince. He might have won his fight (whatever he protested), but it had still taken a lot out of him.

"I thought we were safe here," Harry said quietly.

Snape let out a long breath. "So did I."