Cody The Pikachu: Hey there, everyone, and welcome back to the Nightfang Potter series! Beside me here is my helper in the series, Avatar Korra!

Korra: Great to be here, Cody! I'm looking forward to reading this story from head to tail. So...are we gonna put the main summary here?

Cody: Nah. It would take too long. I know it would mean a lot to the readers to see what it's about, but like I said before, it would take too long. That, and everyone would know what it's about due to reading Order Of The Phoenix. But what you CAN do, Korra, is help with the disclaimer. If you want to, that is.

Korra: Sure. Let's get started!

Disclaimer: Cody The Pikachu (he's called that now) doesn't own Harry Potter or Warrior Cats. They both belong to J.K. Rowling and Erin Hunter.

Publishing Date: November 26, 2013

Both: Enjoy Nightfang Potter And The Order Of The White Lotus!

...

Tubby Traumatized

The hottest day of greenleaf so far was ending, and a drowsy silence lay over the large houses of Wrangell Island in Alaska. Monsters that usually gleamed now stood grimy in their driveways, and once-green lawns lay dry and yellowing; the use of hoses had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual outdoor activities, the Twolegs and animals had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze; the wild animals had to do whatever it took to cool off. The only being left outdoors was a cat, a Maine Coon and British Shorthair mix, lying flat on his back in a flower bed outside number six.

He was a skinny longhaired black cat who had the haggard look of a stray cat. His groomed fur was now patchy, his claws were chipped, and he was panting. Nightfang Potter's appearance did not endear the neighbors and several kittypets, who thought untidiness should be illegal by law, but since he hid away behind a large holly bush, he was quite invisible to passersby. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his relatives or owner stuck their heads out of the living room window and looked straight down into the flower bed below.

On the whole, Nightfang thought he would be praised on his idea. Of course, it wasn't easy lying on the hot hard earth, but at least nobody was glaring at him, growling so loudly that he could not hear the news or shooting nasty questions at him; this had happened whenever he tried sitting down in the living room and watching television with his relatives and the family dog, Buck.

As if this thought had fluttered through the window, Bristle Dursley, Nightfang's gray British Shorthair uncle, suddenly spoke. "Glad to see the boy's stopped butting in. Where is he?"

"I don't know," gray British Shorthair Tulip replied icily. "Not in the house."

"Watching the news," Bristle growled scathingly. "I'd like to know what he's up to. As if a cat cares what's on the news. Tubby doesn't even know what's going on, doubt he knows who the President of America is! Anyway, it's not like there'd be anything about his lot on our news-"

"Shh! The window's open!"

"Oh...sorry dear."

There was silence after that. Nightfang listened to a jingle about some Frosted Flakes breakfast cereal while he watched Fig, a strange old gray tabby she-cat from nearby, amble slowly past. The old ferret-loving cat was frowning and muttering to herself. Nightfang was happy that he was safe behind the bush, for Fig had recently started asking him around for cream whenever she met him roaming the streets.

She had just gone around the corner before Bristle meowed, "Tubs out for tea?"

"At the Polkisses'," Tulip sighed fondly. "He's such a popular little boy."

Nightfang rolled his eyes. The Dursleys really were stupid about their son Tubby. They had swallowed his lies about having tea with a different member of his gang every night of greenleaf. He knew too well that Tubby had not been to tea anywhere: he and his gang spent every evening wrecking the park, hitting on uninterested she-cats, and beating up kits and other small animals. Nightfang had seen them beat up a kit during his evening walks around the area since he had spent most of greenleaf wandering the streets, hunting for newspapers from the trash.

The opening notes of the music that heralded the five o'clock news reached Nightfang's ears, and he sank his claws into the ground. After a moon of waiting, perhaps this would be the night.

"Record numbers of stranded vacationers fill airports as the Mexican baggage-handler's strike reaches its second week..."

"I'd give them lifelong siesta, that's what I would do," Bristle grumbled over the end of the newsreader's sentence.

Out in the flower bed, Nightfang dug his large forepaws into the earth. If anything had happened, it would surely have been the first item on the news. Death and destruction were more important than stranded vacationers in a Mexican airport.

He let out a slow breath and stared up at the bright blue sky. Every day this greenleaf had been tense. The expectation, the temporary relief, and then the mounting tension again...it was always growing more insistent all the time. But why did nothing happen yet?

The black cat kept listening in case there was a small clue that Twolegs would not expect, an mysterious vanishing or some accident... but the baggage-handlers' strike was followed by news on the drought in the Southeast ("I hope he's listening next door with his sprinklers on at three in the morning!" Bristle snarled), a helicopter that almost crashed in a national park near the city of Anchorage, then a famous Twoleg actress's divorce from her famous husband ("As if we're interested in their repugnant affairs," Tulip sniffed hypocritically).

Nightfang closed his eyes against the blazing evening sky as the newsreader said, "And finally, Babe, a six-month old baby African elephant, has found a brand new way of keeping cool this summer. Babe, who lives at the Metroparks Zoo in Cleveland, Ohio, has learned to throw water bottles over his back with his trunk and dump the water all over himself! His keepers went to find out more for the rest of the herd..."

Nightfang rolled cautiously to a crouch, preparing to crawl out from under the window. Right now, important news like attacks, vanishings, and even demon bears were more important than baby elephants.

Just then, an echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gun; a bluebird took off from a roof and flew out of sight. There was a shriek, a roaring oath, and the sound of breaking glass from the Dursleys' living room. Waiting for this signal, Nightfang jumped to his paws and unsheathed his claws, raising the tail-wand he put on his tail. But before he could get up fully, he tread on a thorn, making him yowl in pain and Tulip scream even louder.

Nightfang felt like his head was split in two; eyes streaming, he swayed, trying to focus on the street and see the source of the noise. But just as he staggered upright again, a huge weight knocked him to the ground and rolled him over onto his back. Just as Nightfang was about to react, he felt two meaty forepaws press hard onto his throat.

"Put...it...away!" Bristle snarled into his nephew's ear. "Now!"

"Get...off me!" Nightfang choked. "Now!"

For a few seconds, they struggled, Nightfang kicking at the British Shorthair's fat belly. Then the pain in Nightfang's head gave a nasty throb, and Bristle hissed as he let him go as if he had just received an electric shock. Some invisible force seemed to have surged through the black tom, making him impossible to hold to the ground.

Panting, Nightfang rolled over the bush, got up, and stared around. There was no sign of the maker of the loud cracking noise, but there were several Twoleg and cat faces peering through various windows. Nightfang leapt onto the open windowsill, where his owner Daniel was looking down at both cats in concern, and tried to look innocent.

"Lovely evening!" Bristle called as he followed him, waving at a neighbor glaring from behind her net curtains. "Did you hear that car backfire? Gave Tulip and me quite a scare!"

He continued to grin in a horrible manic way until all the neighbors disappeared from their windows, but then the grin became a scowl of rage as he flicked his tail for Nightfang to come back towards him. So Nightfang sat there on the windowsill just to stay out of reach of being clawed by his uncle.

"What the devil do you mean by it, boy?!" Bristle hissed in a croaky voice of fury.

"What're you talking about?" Nightfang asked coldly, looking left and right up the street.

"Making a racket like a gun right outside our house!"

Nightfang stayed where he was. "I didn't say or do anything."

Tulip appeared beside Bristle, her squashed face looking livid as she spat, "Why were you under our window?"

Bristle nodded. "Yes, good point, Tulip! What were you dong under our window, boy?" he growled at Nightfang.

"Listening to the news," Nightfang muttered in a stoic voice.

His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage. "Again?"

"It changes every day."

"Don't get clever with us, boy!" Bristle snapped. "I want to know what you're really up to...and don't you dare give me any more of this listening to the news foolishness. You know perfectly well that your lot..."

"Careful!" Tulip breathed, so Bristle lowered his voice so that Nightfang could barely hear him, "...that your group doesn't get on our news!"

Nightfang shrugged. "Well, that's all you know."

The Dursley cats goggled at him for a few seconds. Then Tulip hissed, "We know you're a nasty little liar. What are all those...owls..." She had also lowered her voice so that Nightfang had to read the words. "...doing if they're not bringing you news?"

Bristle snorted in triumph. "Ha! Get out of that one, boy! As if we didn't know you get all your news from those pestilential buzzards!"

Nightfang faltered for a moment. It cost him something to tell the truth this time despite his aunt and uncle not knowing how bad it felt to admit it.

"They aren't bringing me news," Nightfang finally replied dully.

"I don't believe it," Tulip sniffed at once.

"No more do I," Bristle added forcefully.

"We know you're up to something."

"We're not stupid, you know."

Nightfang snorted, feeling his temper rise; it had done so often these days. Finally, he growled, "Well, that's good for me then, isn't it?"

And before the Dursley cats or Daniel could call him back, he leapt out of the windowsill, ran across the front lawn, and darted away up the street. He guessed they would yowl at him, but Nightfang wasn't worried about that.

He was in trouble now; he knew it. He would have to face them later and pay the price for his disrespect, but he did not care at the moment. There was something else on his mind.

Nightfang was sure that the cracking noise was made by someone Apparating or Disapparating. It was the sound Bobby the flying lemur made whenever he vanished. Was it possible that his primate friend was here in Wrangell Island? Could he be following him? As he thought of this, he stared back down the street, but it was completely empty again, and Nightfang was sure that Bobby did not know how to be invisible.

He walked on, hardly aware of the route he was taking, for he had roamed these streets so often lately that his paws carried him to his hangouts routinely. He often glanced over his shoulder. Someone magical had been near him as he laid under the holly bush. Why hadn't they spoken to him, why hadn't they made contact, and why were they hiding?

And then, as his frustration hit the highest point, his confidence seeped away.

Perhaps it wasn't a magical sound after all. Perhaps he was so frantic for a sign of contact from his true world that he was overreacting to normal noises. But he was so sure that it hadn't been the sound of something breaking into a house. Nightfang felt a dull sinking feeling in his belly, and the feeling of futility that plagued him all greenleaf rolled over him again.

He would wake up early in the morning to pay the owl that brought the Daily Warrior...but was there any point in reading it? Nightfang would look at the front page before throwing it away in disgust. When the mouse-brains who created the newspaper finally realized that Red Helmet had returned, it would be headline news, and THAT was the only kind Nightfang cared about.

If he was lucky, there would be owls with letters from his best friends, Redstone Weasley and Fawnwillow Granger. But any expectation he had that their letters would bring him news had long since been ruined.

But will they see him? Nobody seemed bothered with a precise date. Fawnwillow had jotted "We'll be seeing you soon" inside his birthday card, but how soon was soon? As far as Nightfang knew from the vague hints in their letters, she and Redstone were in the same place, apparently at Redstone's place. He could hardly bear to think of the pair of them having fun at the Tunnels when he was stuck in Wrangell Island. In fact, he was so angry at them that he had thrown both their birthday presents of candy away unopened. But he had lamented this after eating the stale cat food Daniel had provided for dinner that night.

And what were they busy with? Why wasn't he busy? Hadn't he proved himself adept to handling more than they? Had they forgotten what he had done? He had entered that cemetery and saw Oakheart Diggory being murdered and had been tied to that tombstone and nearly killed.

Don't think about that, Nightfang told himself sternly for the millionth time. It was bad enough that he kept revisiting the graveyard in his recent nightmares, without dwelling on it in his waking moments too. He had to get over it and move on.

He turned a corner into Grave Street and padded down the road, looking at the mountains from across the water and thinking of his godfather. At least Padfoot seemed to understand how Nightfang felt. Admittedly, his letters were just as empty as his friends', but at least they held words of caution and consolation instead of tempting hints.

"I know this must be frustrating for you, but be patient." "Keep your eyes open, and everything will be okay." Be careful, and don't do anything rash."

Nightfang crossed Grave Street, turned into another nameless road, and headed towards the dark forest path ahead. He had done as Padfoot told him, resisted the temptation to pack his stuff and set off for the Tunnels by himself.

In fact, Nightfang thought his behavior had been good since he felt frustrated and angry at being in this new home for this long, reduced to hiding in flowers and hoping to hear something that might point to what Red Helmet was doing. Still, it was annoying to be told not to be rash by a cat who had served twelve years in the cat prison, Alcatraz, escaped, tried to commit the murder he had been convicted for in the first place, and then went on the run with a hippogriff.

Nightfang jumped over the locked park gate and set off across the parched grass. The park in the forest was as empty as the surrounding streets. When he reached the swings, he leapt up onto the slide, which was like a slippery rock, sat down, and looked to the stars appearing in the sky.

He would not be able to hide in the flower bed again. Tomorrow he would have to try a new way of listening to the news. In the meantime, he had nothing to look forward to but another restless and disturbed night. Even if he escaped nightmares about Oakheart, he had disturbing dreams about long dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and locked doors, which he supposed had something to do with the trapped feeling he had when he was awake.

Often, the old scar on his forehead pricked uncomfortably, but he did not fool himself that his friends or godfather found it interesting anymore. In the past, his scar hurting had warned that Red Helmet was getting stronger again. But now that he was back, they would probably remind him that its regular irritation was to be expected.

The injustice welled up inside him so much that he wanted to yowl to the Alaskan sky with fury. If it hasn't been for him, nobody would even have known Red Helmet was back!

He did not know how long he had been on the slide before the sound of cats meowing interrupted his thoughts. The streetlamps from the Thunderpath were casting a misty glow strong enough to form several cats making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud crude metal song, making them laugh.

Tubby was as big as ever, but a year of dieting and a new talent had shaped quite a change in his physique. As Bristle proudly told anyone who would listen, Tubby had just become the Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Wrestling Champion of Juneau. "The princely sport," as Bristle called it, had made Tubby even more intimidating than he had seemed to Nightfang back at obedience school when he had been Tubby's moving target.

Nightfang was not afraid of his cousin anymore, but he didn't think that Tubby learning to claw harder and more accurately was cause for celebration. Neighborhood cats all around were scared of him, even more terrified than they were of "that Potter cat" who, they had been warned, was a tough gangster who attended St. Cassius's Locked Center for Hopelessly Criminal Cats.

He watched the cats crossing the grass and wondered whom they beat up tonight. Look round, Nightfang found himself thinking. Come on, turn around…I'm all alone. Come on at me.

If they saw him, they would have run for him, and what would Tubby do? He wouldn't want to lose face in front of the gang, but he was still terrified of provoking Nightfang. It would be fun to watch Tubby's tight spot: to taunt him, watch him, powerless to respond. And if any of the others tried fighting too, Nightfang would be ready.

Let them try, he thought, unsheathing his claws. I'd love a good fight...especially those who made my life hell.

But they did not turn around nor see him, though they were almost at the railings. Nightfang kept down the impulse to yowl after them. Seeking a fight was not a smart move to do. He must not use magic or else would be risking expulsion again.

Tubby's gang's voices died; they were out of sight, heading along Magnolia Road. This made Nightfang think dully, There you go, Padfoot. Nothing rash. I kept my nose clean. Exactly the opposite of what you'd have done.

He got up to his paws and stretched his forelegs. Daniel seemed to feel that that whenever his cats turned up was the right time to be home, and any time after that was much too late. Daniel had decided to lock either cat outside again, so, stifling a yawn, still scowling, Nightfang set off toward the park gate.

Like the previous street, this one was full of square houses with mowed lawns, owned by square owners who drove monsters similar to Daniel's van. Nightfang preferred going by here at night, when the curtain windows made patches of jewel-like colors in the darkness and he would not hear critical mutters about his "criminal" appearance when he passed by. He walked so fast that halfway along the way, Tubby's gang came into view again; they were saying their farewells at the entrance of the area. Nightfang climbed up a low pine tree and waited.

"He squealed like a rat, didn't he?" one cat was saying, to guffaws from the others.

"Nice right hook, Big T," Jimmy Polkiens praised.

"Same time tomorrow?" Tubby grunted.

"Round at my place. My owner's out for the night," another cat replied.

Tubby responded, "See you then."

"Bye Tub!"

"See ya, Big T!"

Nightfang waited for the gang to move on before leaping down from the tree branch. When their voices had faded, he headed around the corner and soon came within hailing distance of Tubby, who was strolling along at his ease, whistling tunelessly.

"Hey, Big T!"

Tubby turned around and glared at him. "Oh," he grunted, "It's you."

"How long have been Big T?"

"Shut it," Tubby growled, turning away again.

Nightfang just grinned and walked beside his cousin. "Cool name. But to me, you'll always be Wittle Tubbykins."

"SHUT IT!" Tubby snapped, his ugly flat face turning to glare at him.

"Don't the guys know that's what your mom calls you?" Nightfang taunted.

Tubby growled, "Shut your face."

Nightfang pretended to gasp in offense. "You can't tell her to shut her face. So what about 'Pumpkin' and 'Tubby Wubby'? Can I use them too?"

The large gray tom said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Nightfang seemed to be demanding all of his self-control.

"So who've you been beating up tonight?" Nightfang asked. "Another small dog? I know you beat up the Evans' Yorkie dog two nights ago."

"He was asking for it," Tubby snarled.

Nightfang nodded. "Oh really? What'd he do? Did he piss on your tail?"

Tubby muttered, "No. He cheeked me."

"Really? Did he say you look like a pig walking on its hind legs?" Nightfang asked. "If so, then that's not cheek, Tub. It's true."

His cousin merely made a small growl in his throat. It made Nightfang happy to know how angry Tubby was now. He felt like he was channeling his ire into his cousin, the only outlet around.

They turned right down towards the forest path where Nightfang saw Padfoot a quarter-moon ago. It was empty and much darker than the streets because there were no streetlamps; the only noise outside were crickets chirping and bats squeaking. Their pawsteps were stifled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

"Think you're tough carrying that, don't you?" Tubby hissed after a few seconds.

"What?"

"That...thing you're hiding."

Nightfang just grinned again. "Not as stupid as you look, are you, Tub? But I suppose if you really were that stupid, you wouldn't walk and talk at the same time."

With that, he raised his tail until the tail-wand was shown. He saw Tubby look sideways at it as he mewled, "You're not allowed, I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak obedience school you go to."

"How'd you know they haven't changed the rules, Big T?" Nightfang purred.

"They haven't," Tubby replied, though he didn't sound convinced. But as Nightfang laughed softly, the gray cat snarled, "You don't have the guts to fight me without that thing, have you?"

"While you just need four pals behind you before you can kick a dog. Pretty brave," Nightfang shot back sarcastically, a grin on his face. "You know that wrestling title you keep talking about? How old was your foe? Seven? Eight? And about the breed...Maine Coon? Another Manx?"

Tubby spat, "He was five and a pit bull. He was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him, and he was twice as heavy. I'll Dad you had that thing out."

Nightfang chuckled. "Aww, running to Daddy? Is his cute wittle wrestling champion frightened of nasty wittle Snowy's weapon?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" Tubby suddenly sneered.

"This is night, Tubby Wubby," Nightfang chuckled. "That's what we call it when the sky goes all dark like this."

"I mean when you're in bed!"

The two cats stopped their walking as Nightfang stared at his cousin in confusion. Despite not having much light, he could tell that Tubby was wearing a strangely dominant sneer.

The black cat meowed in confusion, "What do you mean, I'm not brave in bed? Am I supposed to be scared of blankets or something?"

Tubby sneered breathlessly, "You've been one to talk about being brave. I heard you talking in your sleep. Moaning."

"What do you mean?" Nightfang asked again. "What the hell are you meowing about?"

But there was an icy feeling in his belly now as the good feeling faded away. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.

Tubby gave a harsh fox-like bark of laughter then made a high-pitched whimpering voice. "Don't kill Oakheart! Don't kill Oakheart! Who's he, your boyfriend?"

"I...no...no! You're lying!" Nightfang mewed automatically. But he knew Tubby wasn't lying in spite of the protesting.

"Dad, help me! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo-hoo!"

Nightfang unsheathed his claws. "Shut up...shut up, Tubby. I'm warning you!"

"Come and help me, Dad! Come and help me...oi! Get off of me!"

Nightfang had sprung at him and knocked him to the ground, pinning him there with one paw on his throat. As he lifted his tail-wand and pointed it at him, Nightfang felt fourteen years' hatred of his cousin pounding in his veins and heart. He would love to strike now, to jinx Tubby so hard that he would have to crawl home like a toad, struck dumb and sprouting warty skin.

"Don't ever talk about that again," Nightfang snarled, keeping him pinned there. "Don't you DARE talk about that around me ever again. Do you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

"Do you understand me?!"

"Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM-"

Just then, Tubby gave a shuddering gasp, as if he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless, the stars, moon, and streetlamps having vanished. The distant grumble of monsters and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness as though some giant hand had dropped an icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

For a moment, Nightfang thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he had been resisting as hard as he could. But his reason caught up with his instincts: he didn't have the power to control the stars. He looked around, trying to see something, but the dark pressed on his eyes like a weightless wad of moss.

Tubby's terrified voice whined into Nightfang's ear. "W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and stay still!"

"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I-"

"Shut UP!"

Nightfang grew as still as a board, turning his eyes left and right as he sniffed around. The cold was so intense that he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his legs, and his tail was standing up; this was extremely weird despite it being greenleaf. He opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing.

No...no way, he thought in horror. They can't be here...not near Juneau... He strained his ears to hear them before he saw them.

"I'll t-tell Dad!" Tubby whimpered. "W-where are you? What are you d-do-?"

Nightfang hissed, "Will you shut up?! I'm trying to-"

But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading.

There was something in the woods apart from themselves, something that was drawing hoarse rattling breaths. Nightfang felt a horrible jolt of dread in his heart as he stood trembling in the freezing air.

"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Tubby, I said shut-"

Claws sliced into the side of his head, almost carrying off of his paws. White lights popped in front of Nightfang's bright green eyes. For the second time, he felt like his head was cut in two; in the next moment, he had landed hard on the ground.

"Fucking idiot!" Nightfang yowled, his eyes watering with pain as he scrambled to his paws. As he licked his paw to swipe the blood away, he heard Tubby blundering away, hitting the alley fence and stumbling.

"TUBBY, GET BACK HERE! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Tubby stopped moving. At the same moment, Nightfang felt a chill behind him that could mean only one thing. There was more than one of those things around here now.

With a yowl, he called, "Tubby, shut up! Whatever you do, shut up!" Nightfang flicked his tail-wand once and muttered, "Lumos!"

He had said the spell right away, desperate for light to help him. To his relief, light flared just kit-steps away from his head; the tail-wand tip had ignited into a white light. Nightfang snatched it up to put it on his tail, scrambled to his paws, and turned around...and felt his belly heave.

A large hooded figure was gliding smoothly toward him, taller than a Twoleg. It was hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes sucking on the night as it came towards the two cats.

Stumbling backward, Nightfang lifted his tail-wand, yowling, "Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery fragment of vapor shot from the tip of the tail-wand. When it saw this, the Dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly. Nightfang retreated farther as the Dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain and leaving him unable to think.

Concentrate...

A pair of gray greasy scabbed hands slid from inside the robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Nightfang's ears, forcing him to step back even further.

"Expecto Patronum!"

His voice sounded so dim and distant. Another wisp of silver smoke, much feebler than the last one, drifted from the tail-wand. He couldn't do it anymore; he couldn't get the spell to work.

Just then, there was laughter in his head, shrill high laughter. He could smell the Dementor's putrid coldness and feel it filling his own lungs and choking him. Think... he hissed to himself. Think of something happy...

But there was no happiness in his heart. The Dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat. The high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a deeper colder voice spoke clear inside his head: "Bow to death, Nightfang...it will be quick or even painless. I would not know, for I have never died." He was never going to see his two best friends ever again...

And their faces burst into his mind as he fought for breath

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A large silver stag erupted from the tip of the tail-wand. Its antlers caught the Dementor where the heart should have been, and it was thrown backward, weightless as darkness. As the stag charged some more, the Dementor swooped away, bat-like and defeated.

"Come on, this way!" Nightfang called to the stag. Wheeling around, he sprinted down the forest path, holding his tail-wand up. "Tubby? TUBBY! Where are you?!"

He had barely run a few steps when he reached them: Tubby was curled and cowering on the ground, curled up in a ball. A second Dementor was crouching low over the fat gray cat, gripping his paw in its slimy hands, prizing them slowly and almost lovingly apart. Then it began to lower its hooded head toward his face as though about to kiss him.

"GET IT!" Nightfang roared.

With a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag came galloping back past him. The Dementor's eyeless face was barely near Tubby's whiskers when the silver antlers caught it; it was thrown up in the air and soared away and was absorbed into the darkness like the first. The stag trotted up to the entrance to the forest path and dissolved into the mist.

Moon, stars, and streetlamps finally burst back into life, and a warm breeze swept the island. The pine trees rustled in neighboring gardens, and the mundane rumble of monsters filled the air once again. Nightfang sat still, all his senses vibrating, as he started taking in the unexpected return to normality. After a moment, he became aware that his pelt was sticking to him due to the returning heat of greenleaf. He could not believe what he had just seen.

Dementors...here...on Wrangell Island...

Tubby was curled up in a ball on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Nightfang crouched down to see if he was in a fit state to get up, but then heard running footsteps behind him. Instinctively, he raised his tail-wand again and spun around to face the newcomer.

Fig had come panting into sight. Her grizzled gray tabby pelt was crinkling in the breeze as her Twoleg chased after her, a clanking string shopping bag swinging from its wrist and its feet halfway out of tartan carpet slippers. Nightfang tried to hide his tail-wand, but-

"Don't put that away, mouse-brain!" Fig suddenly shrieked at him. "Dementors here in Alaska! What next?! Oh I'm going to kill Dung Fletcher!"

To be continued...

...

Cody The Pikachu: Well, here we go! This is the first chapter done, and we have a LOT more to finish! First a Dementor attack, now what next? Just remember: it's going to be a mix of the book and movie of the fifth Harry Potter book.

Korra: But there aren't much differences between them in the beginning. Except maybe a few lines or so.

Cody: Yeah, you're right. But we're all gonna get through with this, I promise you. Now would you like to read the review part?

Korra: Sure. Anything for a friend. (To the readers) Read and review this story, folks! Anyone who does will receive a virtual plush doll of their favorite Harry Potter in their Nightfang Potter form. We do not allow flames or I'll douse them with WaterBending, but we DO welcome advice, questions of any kind, and even some constructive criticism. Just as long as it's not harsh, of course.

Both: See ya next time! And have a Happy Thanksgiving!