3:00ish PM

Cináed had told him to do it- and he had. He'd become one of the wolf inspired "bioweapons". The strain of the werewolf virus he'd been infected with had mutated, and unlike the rest of the wolves in their world he changed during the daytime. The attacks so far had been unplanned- but this month was different.  Cináed had told him where to strike. Muggle London was first- he'd finally found his way there around lunch, and had chased more than a few muggles around, terrifying them. He didn't hurt any- but it was fun all the same. Muggles didn't understand, couldn't grasp the concept of a werewolf. And the ministry would have fun trying to sort that one out. A lot of memories to obliviate, a lot of loose ends to tie up. Which was the point. There were hopes that the distraction in the muggle world would allow Dugan to have a bit more fun in Diagon Alley.

He sat in the shadows. Dugan licked his muzzle and sneezed. The scents of the muggles was overwhelming to his delicate systems. He couldn't get them out of nose. And they smelled awful. Dirty, filthy muggles. Dugan and his family did not have much- but they did have their purity, and it was their duty to maintain that.

But here, in Diagon Alley- they had been infiltrated by a muggle. Halfbloods and muggleborns walked about like they belonged in his world- and they didn't. But that wasn't what this was about. According to  Cináed this was about proving the ministry was incompetent. Werewolves attacking in the daylight, in Diagon Alley, the ministry unable to do anything about it- it made them look like fools. Dugan wasn't sure that he cared one way or another what the ministry looked like to the public- but he cared about supporting his cousin. The wizard had never been particularly clever, spending all of his adult life in and out of Azkaban, constantly having trouble with the authorities. He was a pawn, and he needed someone to tell him what to do to keep him focused and out of trouble.  Cináed was currently filling that role.

He sneezed again before stalking from the shadows, standing in the middle of the street- in the middle of the afternoon- Dugan howled, announcing his presence.

[Outfits]

Shannon was absolutely radiating with beauty that the daylight captivated. She was silly, giggly, and charming this afternoon simply because she was madly in love with the man on her arm. Ever aware of his nearness, her green eyes flickered up to his ruggedly handsome face to admire him in every shading of light as if his face would suddenly be wiped from her forever by a memory charm. The wife payed no attention at all to the other men (or anyone in their presence, for that matter), but she flaunted her husband in the same way that a woman would flaunt a giant diamond ring.

Alastair Thornton looked and felt absurd in his attire. For years, he had been wearing these god-awful button-up shirts that choked him around his neck in order to get hired on for interviews. He much preferred t-shirts. Unfortunately, he couldn't wear t-shirts or blazers or whatever else he was comfortable with because they were going to visit Diagon Alley. His wife had warned him against it and told him he needed to wear a nice blouse that buttoned up. Of course, he'd argued against a tuxedo and the like. Way too formal. The two had a tiny row when he went to put on his cargo shorts, something she always admired him for wearing even in cold weather. He wouldn't go completely wizarding; he'd even slipped on his comfortable shoes before she had a chance to open her mouth.  If he'd gone all muggle, it would have been worse. The wizarding community would be absolutely appalled at his "muggle" attire, a feat that piqued his interest only because it would be funny to watch them gawk and oggle the two of them.

Not that men weren't already oggling the little woman on his arm. The top of her head only came up a couple of inches above his mid-arm and she was so frail-looking with her petite figure and dainty arms compared to his bulk that he looked as if he could snap her in half with the wrong touch. That was what Alastair hated most about himself: he was well-muscled with some fat, taller than average people (even as a teenager, he'd been mistaken for a professional rugby player), and abnormally broad. His brown hair was long enough to touch his chest and almost mid-back, he had a chin-strap of dark brown covering his lower face, and brown eyes that threatened each man staring at his wife until the arrogant wizard stood down. He glanced down again at his wife who was staring at him with a most loving expression to which he smiled.

She was magnificent and all his. The two of them walked along the streets, him guiding the lady like a proper gentleman. Shannon loved it when he treated her this way, as if he was her pride and joy. That, she indeed, was to Alastair. He was attentive to the world around him, always watching individuals as they shopped outside the apothecary or chatted animatedly about recent events in the wizarding world. His wife, of course, was oblivious to everything else. She would stop and chatter with a shopkeeper to haggle some trinket from him or otherwise drag Alastair into the store on a whim, which was how they ended up in Diagon Alley in the first place.

Time seemed to ebb on slowly for the lovers took their time enjoying each others' company. How she beamed when he pointed out something that caught his interest and where others gaped or stared in awe, she patiently explained it. He would nod in understanding, generally not getting it at all, because he wouldn't listen: he was too busy focusing upon how enthusiastic she was on the subject or surprised at how much knowledge that tiny noggin of hers could hold. They would discuss the differences between muggle mechanics and magical practices, dawdling overly long here and there. The day was blissful.

Until there was a howling. Alastair looked around for the source, alert, cautious; Shannon's heart leaped to her throat in panic and she, like everyone else around her, became frantic with concern. People screamed and started to scatter. Her husband grabbed her around the waist instinctively and swung her around to the doorway of a shop where she would be safe inside with him guarding the door.

"It's a werewolf," she tugged at his arm. "Alastair, you can't fight this! Get inside, quickly!"

He wouldn't listen. The only thought in his mind was that he would protect her, a husband's duty that he was proud to step up to. Wizards existed, magic was real. He'd seen it with his own eyes, raised his children around it, his wife was a witch and his children attended a school where they, too, would grow up to earn magical careers. But the thought of a werewolf was surreal to the protective husband. He could not grasp the concept of how dangerous one could be. Yes, he'd seen movies, he'd read books, he'd been fascinated by the subject. He knew the theory of the dangers of werewolves, but as a muggle that believed magic was a fairytale for the first half of his life, he could not possibly fathom at the moment the kind of danger he was in. Only that his wife was terrified and he wouldn't allow some rabid beast to tear her apart.

outfit

Eleanor yawned atop the steaming mouth of her disposable coffee cup, and then took a swig, savoring the perfect drip-to-cream ratio and surge of sugar that her favorite hole-in-the-wall cafe always provided her. She'd popped in for a cup and a pastry before heading to the Alley, hoping to buy new development solutions for the makeshift dark room in her parents' London basement. She'd taken some brilliant photos of the ice hockey match (not to mention more than a few candids of Ian's delightful, shirtless form), and--

"Merlin H. on a biscuit," she murmured, her feet halting before her breezy skirt, messy caramel waves, and tired face had a chance. She gained her balance in an awkward wobble (she still had that amateur Chaser's training in there somewhere!), and dropped her crossbody satchel with an unceremonious plonk onto the ground. The camera that had been like a grossly oversized locket round her neck was now cradled like a young cub under a mama bear's arm. Ellie's arm. She crouched down beside her bag, giving it a nudge with her foot behind the nearest empty mead barrel outside of a pub.

The wolf was not the ordinary sort, not the kind one saw roaming on its loansome near the mountains outside of Hogsmeade. No, it was the kind one saw in textbooks and children's comics and tabloid fodder: a werewolf. A werewolf in broad daylight.

She set down her coffee and breakfast, uncapped the lens, and held the viewfinder it to her eye. With a murmur and a flick of her wand, she stopped the camera from issuing the usual amount of purple smoke. Just enough to get the photos... clear as the day shining down on them. Bagnold's warnings floated into her mind and out again, dissolving as quickly as the smoke.

But she'd barely snapped a half-dozen when her lens caught sight of a witch quarreling with a man who didn't seem quite... well, the usual brand of man one saw around this part of London. Ellie lowered her viewfinder and knitted her brows, squinting at the pair. He was without a wand, wearing civilian clothes like her own, but less... loud. "A muggle," she whispered, in awe.

And then, coming to her senses, she stood up. With a wave of her wand, her breakfast unpacked itself from the white paper bag and became a bullet-- a pecan sticky bun grenade-- as she sent it whirling at the wolf. "HEY, LOSER!" She screamed, and then snapped another photo before turning to the couple.

"RUN!"

Today was going to be better than any stupid muggle video game.  It would have all the same energy and gore and adrenaline-pumping violence but all in colorful, thrilling, real life three dimensions.  He had it all carefully planned out in his mind.  He was going to watch idly and safely from the sidelines as his killing-machine creations wrecked havoc and cast a widespread sense of unrest and panic across wizarding Britain.  Then, they'd start to see the foley in the Ministry's hippie-hug-a-werewolf ways.  They'd be looking for a new source of security. 

Cinaed certainly wasn't anti-werewolf.  In some ways, he supported the measures the Ministry was taking to make life easier for them.  But, many people distrusted it and, yes, Cinaed was willing to manipulate this simmering mistrust.  Though, he saw it more as a compromise than a straightforward manipulation.  He'd see the wizarding world's distrust of the pro-werewolf stance and play hero and then the masses may give his point of view more consideration in return.  He had to gain their trust; help them see him as not the mindless, murderer the Ministry was painting him to be but the misunderstood revolutionary. 

Dugan was supposed to be somewhere in Diagon - he should be easy enough to spot.  Large, hairy men who left a trail of carnage and terror in their wake were hard to overlook. And, the wonderfully acute vision of the magpie form he currently occupied made it all the easier. 

He winged his way over the Alley, scanning the street from just behind the Leaky Cauldron.  He had not expected the escort.  Somewhere over the Thames, a second magpie had taken up chase.  He'd tried, on several occasions, to lose the bird but the other magpie had, clearly, taken the evasive tactics as play.  By the time Cinaed had spotted his cousin harassing a familiar looking woman, he'd resigned himself to the feathered sidekick.  The incessant squabbles and squawks were incredibly obnoxious but it probably did wonders for his cover. 

The werewolf below lifted his head and howled, the eerie sound resonated under the eaves  where Cinaed and his meddling sidekick perched.  The magpie next to him fluttered anxiously at the sound and sidled up closer to Cinaed who, in turn, beaked the other bird. The bird seemed to consider its options and came to the conclusion it'd rather risk Cinaed's beak than watching the large predator below alone.  The sparkling of light on a camera lens drew both birds' attention and the sidekick bobbed its head in excitement.  Figuring it'd look good for appearances, Cinaed followed suit though his own excitement was directed at watching the attack unfold.

A lot happened at once. Dugan was mostly aware of it. Unlike Cin's other pet projects, Dugan kept most of his wits about him while changed. His thought process was generally just shorter- less coherent. What he knew at the moment was that people were screaming, he could sense their fear and he likes it. Dugan also knew that he was hungry, and that there was plenty of fresh meat to go around.

Amber eyes rested on the man in shorts. He looked like a muggle. No self respecting wizard dressed that way, not when the woman would dress so differently. He took a few steps toward the man, snarling. Dugan lowered his haunches, ready to pounce, but was distracted when he felt a thud against his side.

He wheeled around, put his nose to the ground, sniffing the sticky bun. Dugan licked it a few times before devouring it. He looked up and tilted his head when he heard more pops of a camera. Dugan heard the word "run". But that wasn't what he had in mind.

Not that he disliked the chase. Actually, Dugan rather liked it, but in a place like this- chasing was not really an option. Too many people were around, and most of the ones in the street nearby had realized who he was and what was going on. They were either heading back into shops or apparating to safety. Except for this stupid man with his stupid shorts and muggle shoes. With that stupid woman who worked with muggles. Dugan hated muggles. They had no place here.

He licked his snout before advancing forward again- slowly. Dugan would give the man a chance to run. It was only fair game, after all, to give your prey a head start when you were the one with the very clear advantage in the situation. Dugan even howled again- just for good measure.

James heard rumours of a werewolf attacking in broad daylight.  Remembering the incident with Eudora six months ago, he debated with himself for five minutes if it was worth going.  He then realized the need for answers was too high.  After all, most werewolves did not attack in broad daylight.  Knowing that this probably had a connection to Eudora's death, he apparated to Diagon Alley.  He had been preparing to look for clues when he heard a howl go through the alley.

Be careful what you wish for James thought.  Handling the wand that Deaglan provided him, he immediately started transfiguring anything he could into silver.  Unfortunately for James, there was too much of a crowd for him to use it as a projectile, and James had nowhere to really cage the beast.  James also wondered what they were teaching on the Hogwarts curriculum.  This many wizards should have been able to handle a werewolf.  He had heard his old instructor had his hands full over there, but just now realized how much work professor Storm had cut out for him.  Though he was wondering why he decided to think of his old professor at a time like this, James knew he would probably using some of his lessons shortly.

Finding a long wooden broom James smiled.  And then frowned, realizing he would not be able to use it to get airbourne.  Wondering if he should start taking a miniature broom with him as well, James decided that was being ridiculous.  Though on the next full moon, he probably would regardless.  Getting some height on the creature would have made it significantly easier.  Breaking off the handle, James transfigured the piece into silver.  He slowly made his way through the crowd to the werewolf.  Though it would be unlikely he would get there before the werewolf striked first, he should be able to get there soon enough. 

As he finally go to the scene he saw a man standing up to a werewolf, a lady urging him to get inside, and a photographer telling them that discretion was the better part of valor.  Vunderbar.  An audience.  Just what a werewolf attack needs James thought to himself.  Then again, maybe one of those witnesses would do something…like get help.  Giving the utter chaos of the Alley though, James thought that unlikely. 

“Don’t just stand there like an idiot, if you want to fight this thing, start transfiguring things into silver – NOW!” James yelled at the fool who thought standing up to a werewolf unarmed was a good idea.  Figuring now was not the time for introductions, James swung his makeshift silver staff at the werewolf, hoping that it would hit its mark.  As he prepared himself for what promised to be a long fight, James asked Merlin or anyone who was listening for help.  He had the distinct feeling he would need it.

How could there be a werewolf in Diagon Alley? In broad daylight? Shannon peered over her husband's arm, paralyzed by the fear. The man in front of her moved just an inch and it caused her to immediately start trying to jerk him back into the shop.

"Are you mad? Get inside! I mean it!"

She tried to be stern with her husband, but he wasn't listening. After everything she'd gone through to keep him safe from Kronos Malvivicus and here he was playing a hero! Shannon grew rather angry until she saw some girl with a camera launch something at the werewolf. It was momentarily distracted while another man not far from the scene started to transfigure things into silver.

"RUN!"

The girl had given a command, but Alastair hadn't moved. Infuriated by his heroism, the witch ducked out from under his arm while the other man closed in with a broom.

"Don’t just stand there like an idiot, if you want to fight this thing, start transfiguring things into silver – NOW!"

Although the comment was directed towards her husband, Shannon took up the task by casting transfiguration spells here and there to turn things to silver. Unaware of how close she was getting to the werewolf, the woman was snatched backwards by her broad husband and pushed hurriedly back into the shop, turning his back upon the scene. Alastair's face was contorted in livid fury as he placed her so firmly upon the floor of the shop that her teeth snapped together with a "click!"

"Do not move from this spot, Shannon."

She suddenly couldn't find the courage to argue with her own husband. The woman felt like a small child beneath that glare of brown eyes. Was she off her rocker? Had she forgotten that she was the most important thing of all to him? The hulking man released his clenched grip upon his tiny wife's arms and whirled back to face the werewolf. His eyes searched quickly for a weapon, anything to use in defense against the beast that now threatened his wife's life. With a quick step forward, he snatched up a large pewter cauldron and held it similar to the way a warrior would a shield. The best part was, however, that the cauldron could be used as a weapon as well when he punched at the creature. Regardless of how he intended to use it, the man refused to leave the outer threshold of the shop so that his wife would not come to any harm. He would protect her even at the cost of his own life, a vow he had taken the night they met.

Aleron was in the shop, examining a clay tablet inscribed with cuneiforms. As always he'd been hoping the ancient writing would turn out to be some rare Babylonian incantation...but as usual when translated, it proved to be about the sale of three bullocks, and the government's  share of the profits. However the scribe did include some amusing commentary about the tax-master's family. It seemed that the taxman and the bullocks had a common ancestor.

A commotion at the front door pulled Aleron's attention away from the Sumerian antiquity. A couple was standing there, facing down what appeared to be a Hexenwolf. Though Aleron was as shocked as any wizard would be to see such a thing in broad daylight...what else could it be? Natural wolves were not aggressive; they tended to be shy creatures who avoided humans if at all possible. He supposed it was possible one had escaped from a zoo...

No, he told himself. Impossible or not...that is definitely a werewolf. And it is about to have that couple for lunch...

“Don’t just stand there like an idiot, if you want to fight this thing, start transfiguring things into silver – NOW!”

"Good advice," thought Aleron; and looking closer at the man who'd given it he recognized James Forrester, who he'd met at the Leaky Cauldron the night of the Great Valentine Sabotage...

Like James, he was concerned for that fool of a husband or whatever he was, so busy defending his woman that he remained oblivious to his own peril. He had pushed her behind him, and was trying to hold off the creature with...a pewter cauldron.

Aleron sighed and shook his head. That cauldron might be heavy enough that coshing the beast with it would  daze him for a few seconds. More likely, when struck he would just chomp it to bits, and the man right along with it.

The man evidently either didn't have his wand with him, or if he did, was rusty on his Transfiguration spells. However...

Pulling his wand from his sleeve, Aleron aimed it at the cauldron.

"Transfiguro caldera ad Argentum!"

The pewter cauldron turned to silver; and then Aleron began working on the clay tablet that was still in his other hand. The cuneiforms began to change and flow into other shapes.

When completed, the text would become an ancient Mesopotamian banishing spell. Of course it was designed for demons, not werewolves. But it couldn't hurt to give it a try...
 

As Torquil shuffled from shop to shop in the street below his falcon was sidestepping and beating into a swoop over the sky-reaching  buildings of Diagon Alley. The peregrine, Kaz, was stalking a small snack: magpie. But before it could take a dive at either the bird's view darted towards the werewolf lurking in the street below. He opened his beak and clipped out a cry that breaking through the silence of the rooftops and echoing down to the streets below. The bird then popped its head between the magpie, the werewolf, and Torquil, somewhat at a loss to how dangerous the situation was.

The fading cry fell on Torquil's ears with curiosity first, alerting his attention to the sky, trying to pick out where his bird was and what he was doing, and then the bird's fading cry was bellowed over by it. The Irishman didn't even need to see the creature to recognize the owner of the gut-wrenching howl.

As his gaze landed on the werewolf, the Irishman was distracted by the very strange details. A werewolf in the sun. A werewolf just planting himself in Diagon Alley during the day. It was suicide.

Torquil's mouth fell-open, searching the sky for some lingering moon, but found none, and then dove his hand into his scout bag and pulled out his camera. However a mob of wizards started to panic, and run for shops, which were quickly filled with the popping light of floo fire, and the streets filled with the popping of hasty apparating. Torquil quickly scrambled up onto a pile of crates to avoid the frenzy, still digging for his camera, as the mayhem unfolded.

The Irish wizard wondered if he might need to owl Declan about this just to make sure he hadn't been misplaced in some twilight warped dimension where the astrological alignment lost enough sense to throw the lunar-spawn creature's hormones into disarray, or that he wasn't dreaming.

And then silver began to appear, everyone was turning things into silver, and trying to find things to fight with. Had everyone gone mad? Were they not assessing the outrageous details of the situation. Frustration croaked his voice into a yell over the dissipating crowd, "SILVER!? The moonwalker's howling at the sun!" Torquil bellowed. He wasn't sure if being impervious to routine full-moon transformations increased a werewolf's allergies to silver, but he didn't think it was a such a seasonal weakness, and took another heave of breath and continued blurting, "Don't assume you can just--FORRESTER!"

On any other day Torquil would have been the distraught father of a Falmouth Falon screaming at a member of the opposing Quidditch team, hoping the man got hit by a beater. But today? Charging at a werewolf? He disliked the player but didn't think he needed to get offed or eaten by a werewolf. Maybe there really was a full-moon lurking about, because everyone had lost their minds.

And then he saw the blur of Kaz diving in that bloody 290+ km/h stoop towards the werewolf, aiming for the shoulder. Torquil procured his wand then, shaking, unsure of what to do next in the mess and if he should even interfere. He was starting to regret every passing moment and action.

Ellie didn’t know who was being called the idiot, but she scowled at the vaguely familiar man. She’d been there first, cast the first stone-- he could bloody well watch after himself. And if it were the others he accused, well, he was clearly in over his head. Running was a far better option for the unarmed, even a Gryffindor alumnus knew that. Besides, the one man didn’t look to have a wand of any make.

Headstrong as ever, Ellie reached for her coffee, took a farewell swig, and cast a quick Boiling Charm on the steaming liquid before sending it along with the sticky bun-- which the wolf had taken for a dog treat more than an attack, it appeared.

The redhead man, whom she knew as Foley from the Prophet, had the right idea. It might have been the camera in hands that made Eleanor more sympathetic, or the new surge energy that the word newspaper sparked in her head, but she called out in agreement. “This is not your mum’s werewolf, Forrester.”

However, to his credit, the broomsman did offer one good bit of advice-- before he turned it into silver. Eleanor took several more shots, tossed her own camera to the ginger atop the crates, and scurried across the alley to the broom shop, where a clerk was frantically casting spells on the door. She pounded, but to no avail, and so, with little regret, she snatched up the nearest display broom (with one quick shatter of the front window). “Sorry, mate. I need to borrow this,” she told him, a twinkle in her baby blues.

Jumping on the broom and grabbing a handful more, she mounted and took off, zooming back to Foley and landing (somewhat messily) on his hill of broken crates. “Here, give me the camera,” she said, offering him a broom instead. She the others down like a pile of firewood, for anyone who dared ride in the cramped street. “Have you ever seen a muggle cowboy film?” She added, gripping her stolen broom tightly. She looked over her shoulder at the silver-spinning mages, and then back to Foley. “I think I’ve got an idea...”

With camera under her arm, and only one broom to worry about now, she mounted again, teetering slightly between the narrow roofs of the cobbled alley. "Here woolfy, woolfy," she called down, whistling. She snapped three photos before daring to fly closer. She had to let the camera strap fall sharp around her neck to keep hold of the broom. She'd played Quidditch in school, but she wasn't exactly on, say, Ian's level. Or Forrester's for that matter. Levitating some couple of meters over the wolf's head, she waved her wand and hissed, "Incarcerous!" A stream of thick rope slithered like a snake from her wand's tip, but rather than aim it down at the wolf like a fisherman's net, Ellie whipped her wand up and spun it overhead, forming a strange sort of airborne wrangle. She waited for the men below to get their best blows in, bid her time for the silver to do whatever damage it could...

"Give me the word," she shouted to the man transfiguring cauldrons. Even stubborn little Ellie knew this wasn't a one-witch job.

Dugan would have laughed if he could have. Silver. It was only irritating, it didn't do any irreparable damage unless it punctured the skin- in which case, any object could hurt if you were punctured with it.

Unfortunately for those present, werewolves were fast, and incredibly spell resistant. He easily dodged the silver staff. (He never would have been distracted had the man not yelled about the silver to begin with. Horrible battle tactic, telling your plan to the enemy.) Dugan barely had time to react to all that was going on around him. He had not expected such quick action. Normal humans would panic- not start transfiguring things into silver and trying to kill him. It took a whole team of veteran werewolf hunters to take down a single lycanthrope, what made them think they were more capale?

Dugan swiped his paw at the falcon, knocking it out of the way before backing away from the large crowd that had gathered to fight him. He was smart enough to realize getting cornered when there was a hoard of witches and wizards who wanted your head was... a very dumb thing.

Dugan howled again, snarling viciously at those gathered around- snapping his jaws dramatically at the camera when it flashed in his direction. He watched the rope snake out of her wand, worried for a moment she would fling at him, but instead she started twirling it over her head.

He glared at the original offender- the muggle in the doorway of a shop, brandishing his cauldron. Dugan wanted the man's blood- he would not be satisfied until he'd ripped his throat out. But how could he manage it with so many people? Dugan stared at the shop for a moment before taking off down the street.

((Not posting out, just giving everyone a chance to react. And remember- we have a lot of plot to play out here, so we can't have him getting killed off or hurt right off the bat.))

Shouts and screams drew Niobe, a throng of wizarding folk and a whole vault of goblins out of the doors of Gringotts into Diagon Alley.  Someone shouted something about a howl and a young wizard running by was shouting 'Werewolf! Werewolf!  Niobe watched aghast as Diagon fell into a panic, barely able to see over the throng of people in the crowded market street.

Then, a flash of spellfire near the cauldron shop.  It was impossible for there to be a werewolf out during the day, but clearly something was going on.  Maybe another Polyjuice prank like had caused a commotion at Hogwarts back in the fall aka almost news.  But whatever it was, she was there and she was going to see just what was going on.

Apparition cracks sounded through the streets as the good, honest citizens fled just as they should, and so by the time she made it to the action, it was actually pretty easy to see. 

Her voice caught in her throat and she quickly ducked into a doorway.  She drew her wand and in a panic, her breath came in quick and sharp in the cold air.  It was a bloody werewolf! She chanced another glance and then quickly pulled her head back into hide.

The werewolf was cornered and a handful of people had their wands pointed and everything was shining in the sun like it was made of - she checked again - silver!   And that red shock of hair? Damnit all! Foley!  Niobe didn't have the time to realize that in a time like this she was pissed off that someone else might get the scoop here.  Was that a camara flash? But no smoke?  Merlin! The whole world was here!  She couldn't be outdone.  No way was she missing this, whatever it was.

She stuck her wand in the air, aiming out of the door alcove and into the sky, and shot off red sparks.  And then, from her pocket she took out her little notebook and her Verbatis quill.  It would stand at the ready to record her hurried, whispered report.

She crouched down on the stoop, wand in one hand, note pad in the other. 

"Three pm, March 11, Diagon Alley.  Four, no five, witches and wizards are engaged with what appears to be a wolf-like creature.  Uncanny resemblance to a werewolf.  Check facts.  At this point, no injuries, I see no bodies.  The werewolf -"

And then, all of a sudden, the werewolf sprang into action and was running...right at her position! He was so bloody fast that Niobe didn't have time to react and her freaking nerves prevented a safe Apparition. 

"Stupefy!"  The first lousy spell that came to mind was the one they learned first as students. 

(((OOC: Largely a post with filler.  Trying not to step into plotholes, but you could let me know here: http://absitomen.com/index.php?topic=7087)))

Apparently the German gentleman earned his title.  If James actually suceeded in his ambitions (which he doubted), James would probably buy that gentleman more than a few flagons.  As James saw silver began to overtake the field, he quickly took stock of his surroundings.  Apparently, he was stuck fighting with a fool.  What type of person ordered someone not move in a fight?  And fought with a cauldron of all things?

"Use your wand- that cauldron probably does not have enough reach," James commented to the man whose life he had probably just saved.  'Merlin save me from fools' James thought.  He heard Foley shout, but he could not make out what he said.  The lot of them had forced the werewolf to take one direction, but James did not think they had the advantage given the level of skill he had seen of his allies.  After all, James had encountered one of these things before, and though he had managed to drive the beast off...he failed to save Eudora.

Getting an idea from the bird, James decided he really should stick to his strengths.  That, and flight would make this much easier.  He actually did not know Foley cared about him enough to send his trained avian, because James could have sworn he saw Foley cheering for the Falcons not that long ago.  Still, James knew now was not the time for such sentiment.   He saw another photographer take a photo, and then have rope spring out of her wand.  If she actually managed to succeed in that endavor, he would have to duplicate it later.  He ignored the comment about his mother's werewolf, since that really was not conductive to the issue at hand.

"Hey Aleron- can you buy me a couple of minutes - I have a plan but I need time," James shouted.  It seemed that he was one of the few competent people here besides him.  He hoped this many wizards would be able to at least herd a werewolf.  That said, he was still making sure that his silver-staff was between him and the werewolf. 

"Stupefy" he heard someone cast.  He thought he recognized the voice, but could not tell in all of the chaos.  He was beginning to think that he should just start tossing portkeys at his allies if this was the level of competence they had.  It would probably be safer for all concerned.  Though he doubted that Aleron could buy him the time and keep everyone safe, it would be worth it.  Wondering if a wizard worth his salt would show up, James hoped that at least one of them would show a sudden burst of brilliance.  He could not get past his realism though, and resigned himself to make the best of the situation. 

"Use your wand- that cauldron probably does not have enough reach," advised Forester.  Aleron thought he''d seen the man using the cauldron as a shield, but maybe he'd been trying to smack the creature on the snout with it.

Could it be he doesn't have a wand? Aleron wondered. But that was absurd...almost as absurd as a werewolf in broad daylight. How could anyone be in Diagon Alley without a wand? Unless...maybe the fellow was an ex-Azzie, and wasn't allowed one. Maybe he had to get his wife or lady-friend to let him in...

Not my problem, Aleron reminded himself. But that werewolf is everybody's problem...

To his immense relief, he saw that the cuneiforms on the clay tablet were almost in position. There was one small finishing touch he needed to add...

"Hey Aleron- can you buy me a couple of minutes - I have a plan but I need time!"

"Not a problem!" Aleron yelled back ."Let me just..."

"Stupefy!"

"Scheis," muttered Aleron.Though he'd been up against  a few demons in his day he'd never even seen a werewolf, until today. But Forrester said he had a plan...In the meantime, it looked like it was up to Aleron to hold the creature off. But Aleron had never been any great shakes at dueling...so he had to use what he was good at. Translation...

"Aha!" he exulted; as the last of the cuneiform-letters moved itself to form the desired words, just in the nick of time. Holding the clay tablet over his head, he shouted aloud, in Sumerian:

"I banish thee, Creature of the Clippoth
Who lieth in wait at the Threshold,
Back to the Outer Darkness
From which thou wert summoned!"

This spell was effective against the Waiter at the Threshold... a demon who lurked in doorways. Seeing the werewolf, Aleron had suddenly remembered a theory about lycanthropy...that it was a form of demonic possession. So...he'd decided to test that theory.

However...a spell to banish demons only works if there's a demon around to be banished. If not...then it summons a whole lot of energy, all dressed up with no place to go.

First...there was a loud whistling, like a dozen skyrockets going up at once. Then...there was a loud bang, and a flash of blue light. The explosion wasn't a big one... at least, not big enough to blow Aleron to bits. But it was definitely enough to knock him on his bum, and tip over a shelf of knicknacks right next to him.Or rather...right on top of  him.

And then all that wild energy gathered itself together, rose up in the air and started spinning  like a bright blue dust devil .  It was called here to banish a demon, and by Mithras!  it would not give up till it found a demon to banish. It clanged and clattered its way toward the door, knocking things over as it went.

Aleron sat up, dazed and rubbing an egg-sized lump on his head. His eyes widened as he saw what he'd unleashed.

"Ach, du Lieber!" 

He jumped to his feet and ran after it.

 

James heard Aleron acknowledge his response, he heard him begin to cast the banishing spell.  The spell was directed at the werewolf, the problem was James was in its line of destruction as well.  Diving out of the way of whatever mystical energies were present, he cursed.  He was about to get up, when he realized he activated his emergency portkey.  As he felt a pull behind his navel, James cursed.  He would just have to wait until the next full moon.  Or something.