The Shadowchasers
Feline instincts had caused Minerva a great deal of embarrassment in the past, but at that moment, they saved her life. Instead of running, which would have triggered the wolf's instinct to chase, she froze, and stared.
The wolf stared back, ears flattened to its head, pale eyes flickering from side to side as if it were registering some nearly imperceptible movement on her part. Rain ran over its pelt like quicksilver and collected on the shaggy ruff around its neck. Each drop lengthened, trembled, then fell into the trampled mud and grass under its massive front paws. It growled again, louder this time, and the skin across Minerva's back tightened as her sodden fur tried to puff out in response. She was close enough to smell blood from the wolf's last meal on its breath. How could she have been following its scent, yet not realized she was nearly on top of it?
The rain. The rain watered the scent down.
It had been more than that, though. She hadn't been paying attention, and now, unless she could think of a way to escape, she was going to pay the price. If she'd been facing a wild wolf, she might have frightened it off by transforming - but there had been no wild wolves left in this part of the world for centuries. This could only be one of Grindelwald's. For all she knew, it would take a sudden transformation as a signal to attack. If she stayed in this form, on the other hand, attack was almost certain.
While her mind raced in a circle around these equally undesirable outcomes, the wolf seemed to reach a decision. Its black lips pulled back, revealing strong, sharp fangs that looked capable of snapping her right in two, and her body involuntarily tensed in preparation to fight or flee. At the same time, somewhere high above, she heard a faint, mournful cry that sent a wave of despair through her. After all she'd endured, she was going to die here under the dark, dripping trees, with no one to bear witness but a faraway bird.
This is not fair! she thought desperately as the wolf crouched a little lower.
Another, closer call came from the unseen bird, and the wolf's ears twitched, but it did not look away. The large muscles of its haunches bunched beneath the rough fur. It was going to spring at her -
-but before it could, something white swooped down, fast and low, skimming just above its head. The wolf let out a yelp and a whine, like a dog in pain, and whipped around to snap at the attacker.
In that instant of distraction, Minerva changed shape, already clawing for her wand. As the bird soared skyward, she hurled a fierce Stunning Spell, saw it strike in a red flare, saw the wolf begin to crumple. But her abrupt transformation had knocked her off balance, and she fell too, with the hot, limp, furry weight of the wolf's body across her lower half. It was touching her - oh, ye gods, she was trapped beneath it -
Before she could panic any further, she jerked up her wand hand and gasped out a Banishing Charm. She'd cast better ones in her life, but this one worked well enough. The wolf fairly flew away from her, struck the trunk of a nearby oak hard enough to knock leaves loose from the branches, slid to the ground, and lay still.
She was free. Soaked and filthy, lightheaded with adrenaline, but free.
If she'd had her way, she would have curled up right where she was until she could stop shaking. Instead, she forced herself to her feet almost immediately. Rational thought was returning quickly now that she was human again, warning her to be careful: wolves ran in packs, after all, and where there was one, there could easily be others. They might be anywhere. How often had she lain concealed herself, in cat form, biding her time while she followed some unsuspecting target with her eyes?
I am not going to be prey, she thought. I will not. I refuse. Wand extended at arm's length, she backed up until she felt the rough, solid bark of another tree behind her. The wolf lay where it had fallen, its sides barely moving with each breath. Even at this distance, she could see the bleeding scratches the bird had left on its head and muzzle.
As if the bird could read her mind, it screeched again, almost directly above her this time. Minerva stood rigid, waiting to see if the sound would stir any movement in the trees around her, but nothing happened. Perhaps it would be safe to try for a glimpse of her rescuer, then? The bird had behaved so oddly. And that cry, now that she could focus on it, sounded eerily familiar. She ought to look.
Leaving the tree's meager protection felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff, but she made it past the overhanging branches without incident and squinted up at the sky. The rain was still falling, just a light, silvery drizzle now. And gliding down through it toward her, pale as an angel, was the most beautiful, impossible sight she had ever seen.
"Sugar," she whispered. "Oh, Sugar -"
The serene illusion ended as soon as the owl landed on her shoulder. He dug his talons in - unnecessarily hard, she thought - and flapped his wings in her face a few times before hopping down to perch on a nearby stump. His feet were stained with the wolf's blood; smears of the stuff showed up starkly against his feathers and the roll of parchment tied to his leg.
Well, that explains why he's here, at any rate, she thought. She had considered bringing Sugar along when she had gone to France in June, but not knowing how long she would be gone or how dangerous the job would be, had ended up leaving him to eat and sleep the summer away at Hogwarts. Now someone there had interrupted his holidays to send her a message, and had inadvertently saved her life. If he had not come when he had, or if it had been another owl ... well, she couldn't bear to think about what would have happened then.
Sugar, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, saw her looking at his leg and dipped his head, pecking at the parchment. Minerva reached out and pulled it free with a still-trembling hand. She started to unroll it, then reconsidered and crammed it into the pocket of her robes instead. The owl squawked in protest.
"Do I look as if I have time to read the post?" she asked. "I have to tell someone about this. Arabella, or Albus -" She broke off, flinching at the sound of his name. While facing the wolf, she had thought of nothing but survival, but now the memory of her last conversation with Albus was beginning to creep back, bringing its baggage of fury and unhappiness along with it.
Before she could grow too distracted, Sugar caught her attention again with an impatient flutter of his wings.
"I'll open it later," she promised him. "Now come." She held out her left arm; he stepped onto it, looking rather disgruntled, and clamped his talons just above her wrist. With her free hand, she raised her wand and sent a signal into the sky. Then, keeping one eye on the motionless wolf and occasionally stroking Sugar's feathers for comfort, she waited for help to arrive.