Hooded teenagers stood on an empty Quidditch pitch, their wand tips blazing like torches against encroaching night as they listened to a small figure on a temporary podium.
"The wolfsbane potion was a development that ought to have rendered werewolves harmless, and still could assuming the political barriers to reconciliation fall away. Lies are still preached about their filthiness, lack of morality, and their base predatory urges."
The speaker stopped for a moment to take a sip of water, and eyed the hooded crowd warily.
"Some of these fears stem from the truth - the wolfsbane potion does not moderate the dangerous properties of werewolf-inflicted wounds. It does not help that the wolfsbane potion is hard to brew and has hard-to-acquire ingredients - and tastes terrible. Secret werewolves may not have the means to take the potion."
Here the figure paused to hopefully let the injustice sink into his listeners.
"Integrations have been attempted before but have generally been unsuccessful - known werewolves are barely employable. Even after Umbridge, resistance to integrating werewolves remains due to the dangers they pose - not to mention their well-documented role in kidnapping children and murdering innocents during the Wizarding War. Lamentably, even in the twenty-first century, the werewolves remain a stubborn outlier of resistance among the other more-or-less successful outreaches to traditionally marginalized magical creatures.
"These fears are what has given rise to the Inquisition, fears of a conspiracy that many werewolves live among wizards in secret and convert others in secrecy, making the true werewolf population unknown, and growing."
"But this enmity gets us nowhere. We need to…"
Howls erupted from the Forest. The children screamed, running back toward the castle in terror.
"Cowards," sneered the figure on the podium. It turned towards the menacing shapes dashing out from the tree line.
"Come then. I welcome the chase."