This thread is tagged "mature" for graphic violent content visited upon an underage girl. Do not read ahead if this may disturb or upset you, please. <3

Furthermore, once the other two players invited to this thread have posted, anybody that might happen upon this scene is free to PM me. As the scene progresses, there will likely be available spots for St. Mungo's staff and MLE employees to get involved, too, if anybody is interested.

Shortly after 10 PM, Diagon Alley, London

"I'll be okay! I'm fine!" Nicky insisted to her fussy uncles. "It's, like, two blocks! I'll see you guys at the Burrow—seriously, guys—it's not a big deal. Love you! Bye, bye, bye."

She hurried out of the front door of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes at light speed while Uncle George and Uncle Ron were half-occupied by a set of last minute customers, eager to set a course for the Leaky Cauldron and reunite with her grandmum and Rory.

It had been a long day of perusing stores in Diagon Alley, and Nicky was exhausted. Nearly two hours ago she had parted ways with her grandmum and her sister to spend some time in the company of her uncles, who she hadn't seen in a few weeks, now. They discussed Rory's return from Hogwarts; Nicky's imminent journey to school—less than two months, now!—to experience her own first year; and, among a few other tales, the story of Romilda Vane. Nicky had spied a few love potions left over from February's big sale, and asked her uncles about them. George regaled Nicky, in delight, about Ron's accidental consumption of a love potion brewed by Romilda Vane and intended for Harry Potter. The story was only somewhat soured by Uncle Ron's subsequent near-death experience at the hands of a poisoned bottle of oak-matured mead.

It had been very nice to catch up with them—particularly as she was their favorite niece, whatever Rory might think—but, tired as she was, Nicky simply wanted to reconnect with  grandmum and Rory and head home to the Burrow to sleep, sleep, sleep.

Besides that, she was woefully late to meet them! She'd gotten carried away with her uncles, and was sure that her grandmum would scold her fiercely.

Tromping down the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, Nicky felt decidedly peculiar. She had never before been frightened by the dark—and it was now well into the night—perhaps because she, unlike her parents and relatives, had not grown up in a period of time where even the auspices of the wizarding world could fail to protect you when you were alone after dark. She and Rory had spent their youth—well, their earlier youth—prowling the countryside of Devon and Oxfordshire with nary a care in the world, even after the sun had long since set.

The girls were rather adept at worrying their parents.

Now, however, Nicky could feel the wispy red hair on the back of her neck and her forearms bristling, standing on end... she had the distinct feeling that she was not only being watched, but followed, too.

Nicky wasn't a seer. She wasn't prone to visions of the future or prophetic premonitions... but all the same, she picked up her pace, the heels of her trainers scuffing the cobblestone, echoing back at her noisily. She stutter-stepped here and there, attempting to discern whether she had actually heard a second set of footsteps. A wave of bubbly, anxious fear turned her stomach, and she broke into a light jog. Nicky restrained her legs, hoping that she would reach the back entrance of the Leaky Cauldron soon, slightly winded and feeling utterly a fool.

Instead, sounds reached Nicky's ears that made her heart race: the quick shuffling of unclothed feet, the low growl of a predator soon to strike. A sharp whine tore its way free from her throat as she broke into a full sprint, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes, the foolish hope ever present in her head that she was the victim of some cruel joke, that this would resolve itself for the best soon enough.

It would not.

A blur of silver-grey fur drew her eyes from her peripheries, and a shrill shriek escaped her lips as she felt a great weight upon her shoulders and thighs, and she lost her footing. Nicky tumbled gracelessly to the cobblestone, her knees buckling and slapping the stone hard, her left hand shooting out to brace her fall and scraping painfully against the street as her wrist bent sharply backwards.

She fought, managing to wrestle onto her back and see what was above her: a massive beast, at least seven feet tall, made of fur and razor sharp teeth and claws, lupine in nature, but decidedly not your run of the mill wolf. Its cold grey eyes met Nicky's gaze, her eyes roaming the length of the monster that had pinned her to the street, her entire body convulsing in terror as her shocked mind reeled to take in the creature atop her.

It reared back, howling in delight before thrusting its head towards her midriff and sinking its powerful jaws into her abdomen, just beneath her ribs.

Nicky's world was white hot fire. She was in so much pain that she could comprehend nothing, her entire being staggered with the intensity of the wound that had just been inflicted upon her. So distracted was she by the creature's bite that she didn't even notice its paws gouging large, wicked holes into the front of her left shoulder, and just beneath her right elbow, in the inside of her arm.

She screamed, unbidden, as loudly as she had ever screamed in her life—in fact, she could feel her voice growing hoarse and ragged in the process. Nicky screamed so loudly that it hurt her own ears, and even the beast attempting to devour her was taken aback, yanking its head up sharply for just a moment as if it had been struck.

She lay there beneath the foul creature, blood pooling in the street beneath her right side and streaking down from her shoulder across her chest, and from her arm into her armpit. Tenements that were moments ago dark were quickly illuminated by the light of oil lamps and candles and wand tips as strangers rushed to their windows and doors to investigate the commotion.

The monster, far too primal and filled with blood lust to care that its cover was soon to be blown, reared its head back, intent on another strike.

Molly had spent most of the day baking a string of cookies. She made each of her children’s favorites - no two were the same, of course. It was lovely to have Rory poking about as well; Molly had lost her best baking assistant when Ginny had left the nest. Every once in a while she would hire someone to mind the register and keep tabs on the customers while Molly baked. Humming along with a Celestina Warbeck tune on the radio, Molly grabbed a broom and charmed it to sweep up the flour that had spread around the kitchen.

She heard a familiar ching! from one of the clocks on her wall. Her children had given them to her as gifts, so that she would be able to keep track of all extensions of her family. She had brought them from home and placed them in the kitchen, since most of her time was spent in the. Bakery anyway. Molly looked instinctively at Rory’s name, where it had only recently changed from ‘at school.’ As much faith as she had in the school, Molly still couldn’t help but worry about what horrors might evolve.

However it was not Rory’s hand which was moving, but her sister Nicky’s. Evidently she was ‘Traveling,’ and Molly knew she would be headed over from visiting her uncles. “Nicky’s on her way back!” Molly announced. She began sorting the cookies when she heard another ching! It was too soon for Nicky to have already made it here, even if the energetic girl had run the entire way.

The old woman’s heart dropped as she watched the clock change from “Traveling” to “Mortal Danger.” Molly dropped a tray of cookies and ran out of the building. “Dominique???” she called out, looking around frantically.

Victoire froze, biscuit midway to her mouth. Her eyes flew to the tray of cookies that now plastered the kitchen floor, the biscuits bouncing across the otherwise immaculate kitchen, and then up to Molly, whose outstretched hands had clearly dropped them.

“Grandmum, are you—” Her voice caught in her throat as her gaze finally finished assessing the situation: the clock on the wall at which Molly was staring made Victoire’s stomach plunge with the same velocity as the sweets that had just finished scattering themselves.

Rory leapt from her chair, flinging her biscuit into the chaos, and ran after her grandmother. She quickly bypassed the older witch, young spry knees carrying her toward the sound of screaming. Her wand was raised and ready, the hand that clutched it so clammy she was sure she might drop it, however white her knuckles were from squeezing it.

“Dominique! Dominique, I’m coming!”

Victoire darted around a corner as another scream was unleashed. A scream like that wasn’t  voluntary. It was visceral, terrible.

Rory almost tripped over herself as her feet rooted themselves to the cobbles before her eyes could even make sense of what they saw. Red and fur and teeth and Nicky, screaming and raw and wrenching, an awful canvas splayed across the alley. “No,” Victoire whispered, horrified, and jabbed her wand at the air. “Reducto!” She shouted wildly, hoping the words she’d heard so often growing up would work in her tiny voice.

But the fairytale villain hunched over her sister only shivered, fur on edge, as the spell sizzled and died against him.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” She tried, desperately, thinking of a Charm she’d actually mastered.

Poised for a second strike, the werewolf looming over Nicky turned its hungry gaze upon Victoire as she rounded the corner. The corners of its lips curled, razor sharp teeth pale yellow in the bright moonlight. Its fur stood on end in protest at the young girl's neophyte spellwork—but even the hovering charm that she was so adept at barely ruffling its feathers.

The werewolf took one step forward, clearly considering its options: focus on its wounded prey, or strike at the second girl, perhaps procuring a second meal? Or cursing another victim...

Its course of action was chosen by circumstance: by now, a handful of wizards and witches had staggered out of the various apartment blocks lining the cobbled street corner, some in pajamas and nightgowns, others yet to disrobe after work—but all brandishing wands.

A shocked murmur broke through the half-dozen or so people congregating in the street, and one quick-witted witch struck the werewolf square in the chest with a stunning spell. While it failed to snatch consciousness from the beast, it was nonetheless forced to turn tail and stagger off down the street, leaving limp, bloodied Nicky whimpering in the gutter.

Some of the bystanders neared Nicky, clearly unsure of what to do—the same witch that had driven the werewolf off produced a corporeal patronus, which darted off down the street at breakneck speed, likely headed either for St. Mungo's or the Ministry.

Nicky clutched the wound in her abdomen with a quiet, low whine, white as a sheet as warm tears—born of fear and pain—spilled out across her cheeks, sniffling tentatively.

"Am I dying?" she asked Rory as she approached, big, brown eyes filled with raw, unadulterated terror—the greatest fear she had ever known.

Rory’s close connection with her sister left Molly running after her, following her to the source of the gut-wrenching screams. Molly recognized them as Dominique’s, and as they got louder Molly prepared herself for the worst. She readied her wand and forced herself to run faster, motivated by fear for her granddaughter’s life. Despite the intensity of her determination, Molly was still slower than Victoire and twice as likely to fall over.

She made it to the scene in time to see the werewolf receiving the business end of a stunning spell, which did not work. “Mulciberus¹!” Molly yelled, causing a stream of fire to erupt from the end of her wand. Mustering up her anger, she cracked the whip in the direction of the wolf, which clipped his backside. He let out a howling yelp, but Molly was already heading towards her granddaughters, pushing her way through the small crowd that was beginning to gather.

Molly was sure her heart stopped in the moment she saw Dominique, lying there bloody and terrified. Rushing to her side, Molly brushed the hair out of her face and, as calmly as she could, tried to assess the damage - of which there was a lot.

“Am I dying?”

“‘Course not, dear,” Molly replied promptly. “You’re going to be just fine, I’m right here, your sister’s here with me.” Molly’s heart was in her throat and there were tears threatening to run down her cheeks, but she forced herself to be focused and brave, not just for Dominique’s sake but for her sister’s as well. “I’m just going to try to heal some of the wounds -- Rory darling, hold your sister’s hand -- Lenio Dolor Doleo Subvenio² --” Though she hadn’t used it much, the situation seemed to call for pain relief. This spell would not last for long, but Molly hoped that it would at least provide some calm and relief. Being a mother - especially a mother in a house filled with boys -- had taught her an assortment of healing spells. The next part would be more of a challenge, and so Molly concentrated all of her energy.

“Staima³,” Molly cast the blood flow charm to staunch the bleeding, there was just so much blood, it couldn’t be good. She followed the line of sparkles that helped stop blood flow to the area, doing her best to detach herself from the knowledge that this was her grandbaby's belly. Once it seemed like she had the bleeding under control she moved closer to Dominique’s face, caressing her and trying to telepathically rush the healers along.

"It'll be alright, dear," Molly said in as soothing a voice she could muster. She brushed her fingers through Nicky's hair, hoping this would help calm her.


_{1  Fire Whip Hex
2  Pain Relief Spell
3 Blood Flow Charm}