Shawn stared at the door. "How did they find us?" he asked, his voice tight with disbelief. "I thought this was a secure location."
"A leak, I expect," Kingsley replied grimly.
A chorus of howls erupted outside, followed immediately by the violent shuddering of the heavy wooden door. The werewolves were trying to break through.
"Right then," Maurice said, his tone entirely conversational. "Are we leaving, or would you prefer to bag a few of them?"
Kingsley cast him a sidelong glance, ignoring the question. He drew his wand and stepped toward the boy. "We relocate," he stated, preparing to Apparate.
He didn't get the chance.
The door exploded inward in a shower of splinters. A werewolf launched itself through the threshold, tackling Kingsley to the floor. The Auror's wand skittered across the floorboards.
Stripped of magic, a wizard's physical strength was laughably inadequate against a werewolf.
"Mr. Shacklebolt!" Shawn yelled.
Before the echo faded, the beast's claws were already tearing toward Kingsley's throat.
A miscalculation.
"Kruk... Tak... Gûl." Maurice murmured.
A massive spike of bone materialized from the ether. It tore through the air with a vicious shriek and impaled the werewolf straight through the chest. The sheer kinetic force lifted the beast entirely off Kingsley, carrying it backward until it pinned it firmly to the far wall.
The werewolf shrieked—a wretched, guttural sound. It thrashed against the bone, dark blood seeping down the plaster, catching the dim light.
Maurice scratched his cheek, watching the creature twitch.
Kingsley had been seconds from death; Maurice hadn't bothered to calibrate his output. He'd accidentally used maximum force. They had only just met, but saving the man seemed like polite society protocol.
Kingsley lay flat on his back, chest heaving, his eyes locked on the crucified werewolf.
"Black... did you do that?" Shawn stammered. The sight of a bone spike the size of a ballista bolt was just as jarring as the boy's previous skeletal constructs.
"I did," Maurice confirmed, pointing at the struggling beast. "Though if it doesn't receive medical attention promptly, it will expire. Should we save it?"
Kingsley took a deep, shuddering breath, scrambled to his feet, and shook his head.
"Leave it," he commanded. "We need to retreat. A cleanup crew will handle this tomorrow."
Staying meant inviting the rest of the pack.
At that moment, Maurice caught a movement by the window. A pair of cloudy, amber eyes peered through the glass. Another werewolf.
Maurice raised his hand reflexively. No matter their physical enhancements, werewolves were still just flesh and blood.
Curiously, this one made no move to attack. It simply crouched on the sill, its gaze fixed on the occupants of the room. It possessed an eerie stillness, the calculating look of a creature retaining its human intellect. Wolfsbane Potion, perhaps.
Maurice didn't care.
He fired again without hesitation. This bone spike was vastly different—slender, like a javelin, and twice as fast. The rational beast didn't even have time to blink before the bone pierced its skull.
It gave a muffled grunt and tumbled backward out of sight.
Maurice frowned. He stepped briskly to the window, drawing his wand. "Lumos."
The pale light washed over the alley below. The werewolf was gone. Only a few dark splatters of blood remained on the stone sill.
Maurice felt a mild sense of surprise. Quite resilient, these creatures. Escaping a clean headshot was an impressive feat.
Kingsley stepped up beside him. "What did you see?" He had missed the brief exchange entirely.
Maurice gestured vaguely at the blood. "Another werewolf. It got away. Shall we give chase?"
"No. We leave," Kingsley decided instantly. "Grab my arm. Are you accustomed to Apparition?"
Maurice gave him a flat look and nodded. "Adequately."
He took hold of the Auror's sleeve.
The world twisted violently. A second later, they materialized in a modest, reasonably clean room. Maurice recognized it immediately: a guest room at the Leaky Cauldron.
Two sharp cracks announced the arrival of Shaun and the female Auror a moment later.
Kingsley released Maurice's arm and took a step back, studying the boy with a new intensity. He was younger than Kingsley had realized—clearly still a Hogwarts student. Had this child really cast that spell?
His expression turned deadly serious. "Mr. Black. For your assistance tonight, I thank you."
Without the boy's intervention, he would have been mauled, or worse, bitten. It might not have been fatal, but the aftermath would have been gruesome.
Maurice offered a polite, practiced smile. "You owe me a favor, Mr. Shacklebolt."
He glanced at the ticking clock on the wall and waved a hand dismissively. "Right. I must be going. Good evening."
He turned and walked out, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Kingsley rounded on Shaun. "Maurice Black. You claimed he was a bystander. I assume you two are acquainted?"
Shawn grimaced. "Er, not closely, sir."
Kingsley raised an eyebrow, sensing the evasion. "Explain."
Shawn, looking as though he'd rather be back with the werewolves, awkwardly recounted the incident where Maurice had effortlessly incapacitated and "packaged" them for transport.
"He did what?" Kingsley asked, genuinely taken aback.
Shawn wished the floorboards would open and swallow him whole. It wasn't exactly a secret in the Auror Office, but Kingsley had been away on assignment. Having to confess it out loud felt akin to the Cruciatus Curse.
Shawn cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject. "The Minister mentioned that Dumbledore values him quite highly."
Kingsley's eyes narrowed. Dumbledore? His interest in the peculiar Black boy suddenly spiked.
...
Meanwhile, Maurice stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron, bypassed the alley, and utilized his spatial teleportation to return directly to the Ship in a Bottle.
The moment his boots hit the floorboards, a flurry of wings announced the arrival of Cinder. The owl fluttered over, a small envelope clamped in its beak.
"Who is that from?" Maurice murmured.
He took it, slightly perplexed. The sender was Harry Potter.
A rare occurrence. Harry never wrote to him. The Weasley twins wrote constantly, though their letters generally consisted of meaningless harassment.
Maurice tore it open. It was lengthy, mostly standard teenage rambling. Minimal substance.
'...Sirius came to visit recently and gave my uncle quite a fright. Can you picture it? It was brilliant. They were so terrified they actually agreed to let me stay at Grimmauld Place for a few days at the end of the summer. Would you care to join? Grimmauld Place is Sirius's house, by the way.
Also, I've been getting headaches lately. Do you have any of that potion left? I'll pay you back when term starts...'
Clearly, the Potter boy was enjoying his holiday.
Maurice drafted a brisk reply. A visit to Grimmauld Place was acceptable, and he had surplus inventory of the potion. He packaged the letter with a small vial, handed it to Cinder, and turned toward his workbench.
It was time to get back to business. He had a massive backlog of flying broomsticks to manufacture. Better to finish early and close up shop.
He detested procrastination.