read my new story:
Naruto: Uchiha Shiroge Rebellion
read more inpatreon ilham20
Right then, with a loud crash, the kitchen window shattered.
Another werewolf!
Richie felt his heart skip a beat.
Back in his first semester, Quirrell's ramblings about vampires had prompted him to hit the library and look up the magical world's sub-human species. That's where he first read up on werewolves—humans infected with a curse through a bite.
It was an incurable magical curse. They transformed under the full moon, losing their minds and becoming highly aggressive, all while developing a massive resistance to magic and potions.
In the wizarding world, werewolves were a marginalized minority heavily restricted by the Anti-Werewolf Legislation, feared and isolated by mainstream society.
Richie hadn't thought much of it at the time, skimming the pages before moving on. He never expected to run into one face-to-face. And of all places, it had to be his own house.
But to Richie's surprise, the two werewolves didn't seem to be working together. They were tearing into each other.
The kitchen echoed with violent crashes and the snarls and howls of the brawling beasts.
Richie held his breath, his brain running in overdrive. The play here was obvious: stay out of it, let them tear each other apart, and clean up whatever was left.
But, of course, things went sideways.
"Richie?" Denton's voice called out from the top of the stairs.
Crap. Richie quickly pulled his head back around the corner. The scuffling in the kitchen stopped dead. From upstairs came the soft flap-flap of Denton's slippers.
"Richie, are you down there?"
Denton was getting closer. Richie's eyes darted around before he bolted up the stairs.
Whether those werewolves were enemies or not, they definitely wouldn't want witnesses. Their immediate instinct would be to control—no, kill—the Muggles upstairs!
His best move right now was to fall back and guard his parents.
In a life-or-death situation, Richie didn't waste time analyzing if the werewolves had enough brain cells left to strategize. He trusted his gut and moved.
"Labricus Gradus!" Richie spun around, decisively casting a friction-canceling charm on the stairs. A second later, he slammed directly into Denton at the top of the landing.
"Hey, Richie, what's going—what the hell is that?!"
Denton stared down the stairwell. A massive, heavily muscled wolf-creature was looming at the bottom.
The werewolf spotted them. It flashed a gruesome, jagged grin and lunged up the stairs on all fours. But it didn't anticipate the magical slickness. Instantly, its paws slipped out from under it, and it wiped out face-first into the steps.
"Get back in the room!" Richie didn't give him a choice, shoving his dad backward.
Denton didn't understand what was happening, but he didn't hesitate either. He scooped Richie up and sprinted for the master bedroom.
CRASH! Another massive impact echoed from downstairs. Denton practically vaulted into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.
The lights were already on. Mrs. Harland was sitting up in bed, anxiously clutching her pregnant belly. The chaos had woken her up minutes ago.
Seeing her husband and son rush in looking terrified, she swallowed whatever questions she had. She had lived through this kind of nightmare a decade ago. She knew the drill: don't panic, don't get in the way, and trust your family.
"What the hell was that, Richie?!"
Denton shoved a heavy wardrobe in front of the door, barricading it tight. He then quickly shoved aside some clothes, popped open a hidden wooden compartment at the bottom, and pulled out... a shotgun?
"Werewolves... from the magical world. Wait, is that a pump-action shotgun?"
Richie stared at his dad, completely stunned. Private gun ownership in England was supposed to be strictly illegal.
"Damn right. It was a birthday gift from your Uncle Derain. Didn't I tell you? He runs a hunting club. He hooked me up with the gun, and I actually went and got a hunting license for it."
Denton quickly racked the slide, checking the chamber. Driven by sheer adrenaline and nervous energy, he couldn't stop talking.
"Richie, every man needs a gun. If you're going to protect your family, you can't be without one! Once you're of age, I'll take you up to your uncle's and get you licensed! Oh, wait, you're a wizard. Wizards don't need guns, right? Well, bring it on. A werewolf is still a wolf..."
Richie gave him a deeply weird look as Denton finished loading shells and leveled the barrel at the door. Werewolves had high magical resistance, sure, but could they stop a twelve-gauge slug? What do you even call that? Acute heavy metal poisoning?
Either way, having a firearm massively boosted their odds. Richie eased over to the window, checked outside to ensure the coast was clear, and cast a quick Transfiguration spell to seal the glass solid.
Their only play now was to hold the room and wait for dawn. The second the sun came up, the curse would break, and the immediate threat would vanish.
But if those things managed to break in...
Richie narrowed his eyes, taking up a defensive stance right next to his mother's bed.
Mrs. Harland grabbed Richie's hand. Her palms were drenched in sweat.
"Don't worry, Mom. We've got this," Richie reassured her quietly.
Suddenly, a massive impact rattled the barricade. The wardrobe started violently shaking.
The werewolf was breaking down the door!
Denton backed up, keeping the shotgun leveled and ready to fire. Richie raised his wand, casting a silent Shield Charm over the three of them. Against the sheer physical brute force of a werewolf, the magical barrier was their best defense.
He kept his wand trained dead on the door, a spell already on his tongue.
Craaack! Splinter! The sound of the wooden door buckling grew louder. The tension in the room skyrocketed.
SMASH! A vicious, razor-sharp claw punched clean through the back of the wardrobe. A second later, a massive chunk of wood was violently ripped away. Through the jagged hole, a pair of sickly green eyes glared in.
ROAR!
The beast howled. Denton pulled the trigger.
BOOM! Clack-clack. BOOM! The blast tore the wardrobe to absolute shreds, instantly followed by a high-pitched, agonized wail from the hallway.
Caught completely off guard, the werewolf took a spread of buckshot straight to the face. Blood erupted from its ruined eyes, and it collapsed onto the floor, thrashing and screaming in pain.
"There's still another one!" Richie yelled.
Denton immediately started frantically reloading.
Richie whipped his wand forward. "Vera Verto!" The pile of clothes scattered on the floor instantly transfigured into thick, heavy ropes that shot forward, tightly binding the blinded werewolf.
The beast thrashed violently against the restraints. Werewolves truly earned their monstrous reputation—even with a face full of lead, it hadn't lost an ounce of its lethal edge. It slashed wildly with its claws, ripping into the thick ropes.
And right at that moment, a dark blur launched itself through the ruined doorway, diving straight for the tangled beast on the floor!