[Anguirel]

It was really very good to be a werewolf at night, Tom reflected. No one could touch you! Except Hunters, but they were usually sabotaged by the supplies of Seer-attracting crossbow bolts wolves had slipped them at earlier points...

"Sound editing team. You out there?" he growled.

"Yes", a sepulchral voice grinded in reply.

"Have you got Ominous Music Album #2 ready to go?"

"Yeah...wait...that would be Dies Irae, Verdi, then Beethoven's Mighty Fifth, a spot of Prokofiev, Shelter from the Storm, Joni Mitchell's 'River', Godfather, Marcia Religiosa..."

"All good so far."

"And then, maybe, The Two Towers, beginning of track 5, for the heroic moment when you're inevitably slain by some valiant warrior?"

"Er...is that negotiable?"

""Really, you haven't got the first idea of this Werewolf lark, have you, you silly little public-school boy from Kensington?" the voice crackled, in a tone that was not so much sepulchral as plain nasty.

Then it was stopped by a protracted, rather smug, howl, and from behind a convenient bush came a very, very, large wolf, with a funny little white object dangling at its neck.

"Your Night ends here, pretty-boy," it said, its voice deep, mad, and generally indicative of the fact that the wolf in question was none other than Fenrir Greyback, prime lupine nasty of the Harry Potter canon.

"You!" Tom gasped. "You've followed me all this way, eaten my sound crew, and stolen my iPod-nano-mega-hyper-infra-.3 player!"

"Yeaaah. And k'know what, your music's pathetic, boy. When I was a young wolf, I always killed to the sound of punk. Now...prepare to die!"

Tom Felton manouevred to one side as his foe charged past.

"If you attack, we both die, you know," he said hurriedly. "The Werewolf Rules dictate it."

"The Rules are subject to the Dweomer like everything else, boy. The Blue Wizards have sent me. Trust me, I'll be examining your entrails in no time..." and the older wolf pounced again, only for Tom to wriggle out of reach.

"Aunt Bellatrix and Professor Snape will kill you for this!"

"Wrong. They will, actually, kill you if you get out of this one somehow. You are no longer a Malfoy, Felton. You were disowned by a solemn family picnicking gathering yesterday. The vote was unanimous."

"Great," Tom remarked. "The schizophrenia was getting boring. But I'm still a werewolf. We have a common interest in getting the Seer. I know where she is."

"So do I," Fenrir answered. "In a cheesily spooky graveyard. That's perfectly obvious. I intent to eat Seer as plat principal; you, lad, are just the hors-d'oeuvre."

Wondering where Fenrir had learnt French, Tom decided to resort to desperate measures.

"Alright. Um, Illamatar is great, Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard ever, Sam Gamgee is pretty brave actually, and, er, I love Harry Potter, and all Muggles. Furthermore...I am a Muggle."

The effect of this wholesale sacrifice of Malfoy principles was instantaneous. Fenrir Greyback was struck by a bolt of lightning which singed off most of his fur and knocked him out, Snape, Bellatrix and all other Harry Potter characters were consigned to the Waste of Narrative Irrelevance, and Tom found himself a wolf no longer.

"Lumos," he said, holding out his wand. As he had suspected, nothing happened. He chucked the stick over his shoulder and ran, as fast as he could, towards the graveyard.