In the Melancholy Moonlight

Chapter XIV: First to Last

All the things that fly by me
All the lives that I could lead
Maybe I was born for that
Or maybe I was first to last

"It Comes Back to You"
Imagine Dragons

LUCY:

The screams gave way to mournful howls. The February night was cold, but cloudless, the first night in weeks where the stars were visible. Were the werewolf a human, she would have enjoyed the sight, as the sprinkles of light seemed to stretch on forever. But the wolf didn't even notice the stars outside; its only concern was its own empty stomach.

The girl had rushed to the Shrieking Shack straight from Quidditch practice, no time to have dinner before the sun would set. She had assured her very-concerned brother she would be okay, but the wolf could not keep the promise. It scrounged the entire house looking for something, anything, finding nothing.

It launched itself at closet doors, cabinet doors, willing them to open, but they didn't budge. The wolf was destroying itself with every lunge, every pounce, every desperate claw at the doors, but it didn't care. It couldn't make itself care. Its only concern was filling the hole it felt inside, yet there was nothing. Nothing.

It howled in frustration, annoyance, anger. Hunger. The wolf eyed the wardrobe in the corner of the room, the only door it hadn't yet tried to bring down. It had a running start, snarling as it lunged at the door snout-first. The wardrobe wobbled back and forth a couple of times, but the doors did not give way. The wolf tried again and again, but the sun rose before success came. The screams began anew, and the girl who remained was battered and exhausted.

Life did not get much better after the full moon. Practices had gotten more and more intense in anticipation of the Hufflepuff match, and we practiced rain or shine. After one particularly brutal practice, Harry and I kept our heads bowed low against the rain as we hurried to the castle. Another weight now rested on our shoulders, and it wasn't just the weight of our soaking robes. Skye had announced that Professor Snape would be referee for the upcoming match against Hufflepuff.

Once in the common room, we immediately made a beeline for Hermione and Ron, who were engaged in an intense game of wizard's chess.

Ron noticed us first. "Don't talk to me for a moment, I need to concen- What's the matter with you, Harry? You look terrible."

"Snape is refereeing the next Quidditch match," he explained in a low voice.

Hermione's eyes bulged. "Don't play."

"Say you're ill," Ron said.

"Pretend to break your leg."

"Really break your leg."

Before I could speak, there was a commotion by the portrait hole. The room exploded with laughter, but I jumped to my feet and ran over to Neville, whose legs were locked together. Hermione was right behind me and performed the countercurse. I helped him to his feet and ushered him over to Ron and Harry.

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

Neville wrapped his arms around his middle. His voice was little more than a whisper. "Malfoy. I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

Hermione was horrified. "Go to Professor McGonagall! Report him!"

Neville shook his head violently, rocking back and forth slightly. "I don't want to cause more trouble."