The werewolves were making a bee-line for us, Fenrir shifting into his beast form outside of the Full Moon. Fleur took to flight, throwing down fireballs that Fenrir was easily evading due to the distance. A jet of purple light blasted into her left wing and she fell to the ground, hard. The fall was no more than 20 or 30 meters, but the sound of the impact told me that she'd be out of the fight for the rest of the day. "Granger..." she wheezed, "grab your shit and go..." A wet, slick cough told me that she'd need a mediwitch sooner than later. I turned my eyes away as I saw blood spatter out of her mouth; it was almost too much for me to bear.