Chapitre 61: Harry Potter : Chapter 60: On The Prowl II
I cast aside the guilt-bearing memory of the death of my 'father' and made my way through the newly made clearing.
I raised my wand, ready to start pulling apart the potentially useful tusks from the bloodied and gnawed skull of the boar, when I heard something.
...
I didn't wait to identify the sound, I didn't turn to get visual confirmation: I threw myself to the side, grunting in pain when I felt twin lines of fire trace themselves from my shoulder to the middle of my back.
The thin shirt I had on didn't provide the faintest protection from the attacker, and while I rolled on the ground, I blasted everything in my immediate surroundings.
I had been about to cast some magic, but I had already been in the mindset I used to manipulate reality without need for wand movements or incantations: the primal push of fear thundered across me, and beyond me, everything was thrown away.
The more or less devoured corpse of the giant boar rolled over a couple of times, the effects of the potions that I had fed it during the previous month lingering even now that it was dead, granting it some measure of resilience that went beyond what could be given merely by its bulk.
The nearest trees buckled under the pressure, their trunks groaning menacingly as the bark splintered, and the werewolf that had assaulted me was pushed back violently.
I spotted him as a grey streak under the moonlight: the larger of the two werewolves I had been attempting to cure was already bounding towards me, a mad snarl rumbling from its open maw and the ground giving under its claws.
Once again pushed by the sudden fear that dominated me, I slashed with my wand, and a weaker version of the blasting charm slowed the creature, just to give me time to rise fully to my feet, and to summon towards me the carcass of the boar.
The physical obstacle cracked under the clawing of the werewolf, and after a deep breath, I fished out a potion from my satchel, my eyes darting about in fear of the other cursed being that could be waiting in the darkness of the trees.
The moonlight glinted on the vial I threw towards the still levitating carcass that I was keeping interposed between me and the crazed werewolf, thankfully unable to think properly: otherwise, he'd have simply circled around.
I pushed once more, jabbing my wand forward while I took a step forward, my body echoing the intention of my mind and the purpose of my magic as I maintained my improvised defense, only to follow up with a sweeping motion.
From the sides of the clearing, countless broken branches followed my command and jabbed themselves into the bloodied carcass of the boar, just as the vial broke and spilled the murky green contents over the mess that I was keeping between me and the werewolf.
Following the same instinct that had made me animate a tree years before, I seared my fright and the rage it summoned into the carcass of the boar.
The branches came together, binding themselves to the skeleton underneath them thanks to my potion, and the dead boar moved in a parody of the life that had allowed him to run through the forest.
Bewildered, I stilled as the creature shook its head, its tusks scraping against the claws of the werewolf that snarled in outrage and backed off. I immediately moved to keep the enraged contruct between me and Paul: the golden glint in his eyes spoke only of madness, and I felt myself baring my teeth as an answer.
I lobbed forth a small bolt of fire that was meant to distract more than cause harm, and as the werewolf darted to the side, the unholy construct that was already coming apart under the multitude of effects that operated upon the boar's carcass moved with a deceptive speed.
The left tusk that had made an easy work of most of the forest's undergrowth and many of its trees gored the cursed wolf, and charged along with it against the nearest tree.
By chance, that oak managed to resist the immense force that was being exercised, and while the werewolf snarled through the waterfall of blood that fell from its maw.
I changed reality in a pattern that I preferred once more: the lowest branch broke off from the trunk and fell across the nape of my target, stunning it while the boar reared back, dislodging Paul before charging forward once more.
Only then I noticed that there was something wrong: What the hell am I doing?
As I scrambled to find a safe way to intervene, as I didn't want Paul to die, the reanimated boar fell apart, but not before nailing the werewolf once more to the oak, this time with its right tusk.
Under the many effects of the potions and enchantments that made it the size of a horse and capable of many other things, under the pressure of my Animation that wanted to keep the original prey as a single creature pushing against the impulse of growth that soaked the tree branches that had taken the place of corded muscles and flesh.
The boar finally stilled, my magic abandoning it as the tree branches weaved together and broke through its bones, feeding off the marrow within to stretch themselves towards the sky only to wither and die as they didn't find enough to live out of.
A cynical part of my mind reminded me of when I had fantasized about creating a Venusaur, years before, while the rest of myself was staring at the werewolf nailed to the oak tree that dominated the half-destroyed clearing.
Paul was dead.
Through what was left of my shirt, I felt the cold heaviness of the iron disk etched with runes that should have all but guaranteed a more positive ending to this hunt, and I felt nauseous. Not again.
I had rescued Paul with the precise intent of healing him: of not leaving him and Marie to fend for themselves in a muggle France ravaged by war. I had experimented endlessly on both of them with the express purpose of one day freeing them from the curse that had plagued humanity for uncountable centuries.
I clenched my hand around my wand while my other one went to the seal hanging on the iron disk sticking on what remained of my shirt.
But before I could wrap my head around the events of the night, from my left, the other werewolf prowled out of the shadows cast by the trees: the moon lit the grey of her fur and glinted viciously off her bared fangs.
With a sudden bout of clarity, I realized that I was an idiot.
I spun on myself and Apparated away.
The world compressed me and it felt as if I was being sucked through a cement straw, darkness as always closing on me while I resisted with practiced ease to the stress of the teleportation magic.
But as I pushed forward, something pulled back.
An agonized scream tore itself free from my throat while I managed to avoid failing my Apparition, I pushed until something gave, and I I landed in a sprawled mess not far from the Shadow Ash Tree that warded my house, and a burning, throbbing pain seized me: from my side there was a huge chunk of flesh missing.
My vision swam and I remained on the ground, unable to move: my muscles spasmed angrily and out of my control as the pain made my vision go black for a few seconds. In the clutches of pain, I held onto my wand and pushed everything around me like I had done in the clearing, and I hear a metallic snap.
As sight returned to me, I spotted the iron seal that I had stuck to my shirt broken by my side. But still, my body didn't answer my commands, and I was beginning to feel light-headed because of the blood loss: if only I could reach my satchel... I had everything I needed there, but it might as well been on the moon: my body refused to answer.
I buried my instinctive reactions while I attempted to clear my mind, I gritted my teeth through the unimaginable pain, and focused instead on the wand that I was still clutching in my hand: with something like desperation pushing me, I managed to recall the feel of flames, and my magic simmered as if a flame itself while I tried one last time what was my last hope.
I lost consciousness while I believed that the sun suddenly blossomed over my head in a rushing, warm wind colored by orange and golden flames.
...
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone