I'd like to thank my beta readers, thekingofsweden1 and rpeh for betaing! The story has been improved a lot thanks to their help!


Chapter 53: Blood and Ashes

The Dark Lord Voldemort was enraged. Fenrir Greyback dead! Killed by a traitor even! He threw the Daily Prophet down on his desk and took a deep breath. He couldn't let his rage rule him. He was a wizard, a genius! Not some animal ruled by emotions, like werewolves. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to calm down.

It was no catastrophe. Greyback had become far too impulsive, far too demanding lately. Far too arrogant as well. He would have had to be disposed of soon anyway. And his death at the wand of a British witch would be laid at the feet of his enemies. Especially with the way the Daily Prophet celebrated it. The werewolves would blame the Ministry, not a dead witch.

But that didn't solve his need for more people. Or Monsters. Curse fodder. The mercenaries on the continent were too cowardly, or too greedy. They thought he was losing the war, and demanded outrageous rates, and would desert him at the first opportunity. Even Hathaway's gold wouldn't go far in those circumstances.

He could create more Inferi, but that was not just time-consuming, but required corpses. Fresh corpses. Unlike Grindelwald, he couldn't use muggle corpses either - without a muggle war in Europe to hide his actions, the ICW would become involved if he gathered enough muggles for an army of inferi. Or tried to smuggle Inferi created in Africa to Britain.

He could send the Dementors out, but that would mean they'd have less impact when he needed them to scare his enemies into hiding behind their wards. And after they disobeyed, he had lost his trust in them.

No, the Scandinavian werewolves were still his best bet. Numerous, aggressive, quick to fight, and disposable. He would have to send out one of the more reasonable werewolves in his ranks to take up Greyback's mission, but… something more might be needed to drive up recruitment. The Scandinavians were outraged at the treatment werewolves received in Britain, but so far their responses had not been much worse than in the years before the war. Harsher laws alone didn't seem enough to prod them into action, and the death of a foreigner might not be enough either. They might, in private, even welcome such measures, since it tended to drive up immigration.

Voldemort would have to create a reason to not only outrage, but enrage the beasts, if he wanted them to flock to his banner. He paced in his office, thinking. Animals were ruled by their instincts. And there was one instinct dominating them.

Smiling, the Dark Lord sat down at his desk again. He had plans to make.


The longhouse exploded behind her. Stone fragments and wooden splinters hit her, knocking her down. She tried to get up, to flee, to reach the edge of the anti-apparition wards, but her legs would not respond. Then the pain and blood came. Her left leg was crushed beneath a severed beam, pinning her in place. She was bleeding from several wounds and her right eye wouldn't open… or was gone. Her wand… she needed her wand!. It was lying on the ground just beyond her reach, no matter how much she stretched. Just when she touched it with the tip of her fingers, a boot came down on it, breaking it and crushing her hand. She was still screaming in pain when the boot smashed into her chest, breaking her ribs. Again and again, until she was coughing blood and struggling to breathe.

Then she heard the howls. Werewolves. It wasn't the full moon… But why hadn't she transformed? The howls grew louder, the wolves were coming closer. All that blood must be driving them into a frenzy. They would… they would…

Paige Caldwell woke up with a scream. Another nightmare. She was shaking, and told herself that she hadn't been caught. Hadn't been killed. The longhouse had exploded, and that had kept the others from pursuing her. She had managed to leave the village, and apparate away.

She closed her eyes, sitting up on the bed of the muggle vacation home she had broken into a few days ago until she didn't feel anymore as if she had been running for hours. She was safe, the werewolf told herself. No one knew where she was. No one would find her.

But she was hurt. The wounds she had suffered in her fight with Greyback hadn't healed yet. Despite the potions she had used. The bandages were bloody again, though less than the day before. A cleaning spell fixed them up.

She stood up and padded on bare feet to the kitchen. There was still some food left in the muggle ice box. But that was it - the house had no pantry. Sooner or later she would have to go out and find some food. But more importantly, she would have to prepare for the full moon. She had no Wolfsbane left, and if she ran free while transformed, she'd be caught.

Sitting down and munching on canned meat, she shivered. If not for Umbridge, she'd be dead. The witch had sacrificed herself for Paige. And now she was all alone.


"Good day, Mister Perriwinkle and Miss Grey." Albus Dumbledore nodded at the two Hit-Wizards standing guard outside the office of the Minister for Magic while he entered for his meeting with Cornelius and Amelia. "Hello, Cornelius."

"Albus! Have a seat. Some tea?" The Minister stood up to shake his hand, then summoned a tea service from the table in the corner of his office. He had lost some weight, Albus noted, but looked healthy otherwise. And confident.

"With pleasure." Albus pointed at one cup, and it filled and floated towards him, hovering at his side. Before he could take a sip, Amelia entered as well. The Head of the DMLE looked determined, but stressed. Unsurprising, with so much of the war effort weighing on her shoulders.

"Cornelius, Albus." The witch nodded at them both and sat down. "So, what did you want to discuss?" she asked the Headmaster, obviously unwilling to partake in idle chat.

He could oblige her. "I have concerns about the policy towards werewolves in Britain," Albus said. "The growing hostility against them, born from the rather paranoid fear of those unfortunate individuals affected by the curse, keeps driving many of them into the arms of Voldemort. The laws that were recently passed do make the situation even worse." 'Protective custody' was the term used in the proposals, but it effectively meant that any werewolf could be locked up if they represented a danger to the public - which just about everyone did, according to the law.

Cornelius lost his smile. "Albus… the public demands action. They are afraid of those dark creatures, and would lose faith in the Ministry if we ignored their concerns. The scandal in the Wizengamot shocked many people - if not even our parliament is safe, no one is safe." The Minister spread his hands. "If the Ministry does nothing, the people would hunt them down themselves. You know how ugly that would turn, especially in the middle of a war."

Albus knew that, very well, but he shook his head. "And yet those laws and policies create and perpetuate the very problem they are supposed to address. They help the Dark Lord far more than they protect the public since they facilitate his recruiting efforts."

Amelia was frowning. "Werewolves are among the most numerous followers of the Dark Lord, and responsible for many crimes and atrocities. Even before those new laws were passed, they flocked to him." She looked straight at him. "I do not deny that those new laws make the situation worse, with regards to that, but at the same time, they allow us to prevent werewolves from joining Voldemort."

"By locking them up as if they already were criminals," Albus said.

Amelia had the grace to flinch slightly, but she didn't budge. Albus hadn't expected her to. She wouldn't break or ignore the law. Not for werewolves. Cornelius was generally more flexible, but he also craved the approval of the public. The Headmaster sighed. "There's also the international situation to consider."

That made Cornelius's eyes widen. "The Scandinavians? What have you heard from your man there?"

Albus didn't bother correcting the Minister's assumption that his envoy - Aberforth would curse him, should he hear that - was responsible for the demise of Greyback. And his brother was currently in Scandinavia. "Not surprisingly, the Scandinavians are very concerned, even outraged, about the recent changes. This despite the fact that more British werewolves have started to emigrate."

"Cursed werewolf pets," Cornelius muttered under his breath. Louder, he said: "They have been 'outraged' about our treatment of werewolves for decades. Is there any chance they'll actually attack us?"

Albus shook his head. "Unless things grow even worse, I doubt it. For all their bluster and eagerness to do battle, the Scandinavians haven't been involved in a war since Grindelwald, and their forces lack the experience our Aurors and Hit-Wizards have. Although individuals will be moved to join the Dark Lord in an attempt to strike back at what they see as us oppressing their kin."

"We can handle a few more werewolves fighting for the Dark Lord," Amelia stated. "More than a few, even."

Albus knew she was correct, but Britain would also lose more witches and wizards. And in battles that could be avoided. "While I do not doubt the skill and courage of our wands, I also think that it would be better if they didn't fight battles that could be avoided with a more gentle touch towards werewolves."

Amelia frowned. "Too many Werewolves swelled the Dark Lord's numbers even before the latest laws restricting them were passed. They'd still join him even if we repealed those laws right now."

"We'd be seen as weak, and animals attack the weak," Cornelius added, shaking his head. "Once the Dark Lord and his followers have been dealt with, we can take another look at those laws. With that threat to Britain gone, the people will be more receptive to such changes."

"Though we'll not let any supporter of Voldemort escape justice." Amelia's expression clearly told Albus that this time, unlike after the end of the first war, there wouldn't be much if any leniency. He couldn't help but wonder whether things would be different if the Dark Lord's followers were still mostly composed of pureblood wizards and witches. No, Amelia was not the most gentle or merciful witch, but she was no bigot. She would uphold the law, no matter what.

Sighing, he stood up. He wouldn't succeed with his proposal. "Well, I still think this is a mistake, but Cornelius is correct, we cannot afford to show division right now." The Minister had said something else, but Albus didn't think he'd correct him.

But once Voldemort was beaten, those laws would be repealed. Albus would see to it.


The Dark Lord Voldemort, using polyjuice to disguise himself, wandered through Diagon Alley. If those sheep knew that the Dark Lord himself walked among them, able to snuff out their pathetic lives without effort… He passed two red-robed Aurors on patrol, giving them no more care than the two children staring at the Quidditch Supplies' display. They mattered about as much to him. Even if he should be revealed, the odds of the Ministry's forces being able to stop him, much less kill him, before he could leave were slim. Only one wizard was close to his equal, after all. And the old man would not rush into action - the incident at Hathaway's had shown that. Voldemort would have ample time to leave.

But he wasn't here for a mere demonstration of his power. He was here to implement his latest plan. He couldn't trust anyone else with this, of course. Not even his Bella. As devoted as she was, she was a bit too impulsive for this kind of task. Too passionate where a cool head was required. He smiled, knowing she would be waiting anxiously for his return.

Then he drew his wand. To someone looking at him, it would appear as if he was using it to levitate a snack next to his head, and playing around with it a bit. In reality, the cauldron cake was charmed to react to his wand's movement, masking his casting. Another charm would carry his whispers to a target's ear.

Smiling broadly, he started to cast.

"Imperio!"


Kenneth Fenbrick watched the clock on the wall on their office. Still another thirty minutes until their shift ended. He felt a bit nervous. This evening, he'd confess - talk to - his partner, Bertha Limmington during dinner. About his feelings for her. The two had started to take their meals together more often. He didn't remember how it had begun, but lately, they ate dinner together more often than not. And they didn't talk about business nearly as often. A good sign, the Auror thought. Even or especially if Bertha made fun of him.

Ten more minutes. He wasn't quite biting his nails, but he was using his wand to banish crumpled paper aeroplanes at flying paper aeroplanes.

"Are you bored?"

He glanced over at Bertha, who was dutifully writing their report of today's investigation - nothing suspicious found in the shop they had searched and buried the slightly guilty feeling. "Just target practise," he said, with a cheeky smile. It had once impressed an instructor enough to let him get away with having slacked off, but more often, it had caused him additional trouble.

Bertha shook her head and sighed. "I'm certain that if we're attacked by paper aeroplanes, you'll rise to the occasion without trouble."

He wasn't certain if she was angry with him or not, but that had been a joke. Grinning, he answered: "Oh, some of those aeroplanes are dangerous… they carry orders, or worse, summons to a meeting!"

"You're not really using official memos for this, are you?" She asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well…" He wasn't, of course, but it was fun to fake it.

The alert interrupted him. Bones's voice rang through the entire floor. "All Wands, report to the floo central. A mob is attacking the Werewolf Holding Centre!"

"Merlin's balls!" Kenneth cursed as he jumped to his feet and ordered his robe closed with a flick of his wand. Just five more minutes… He glanced at his partner, whose earlier mirth - well-hidden of course - had been replaced by the cool professionalism everyone else thought was her real self. She briefly nodded to him while opening the door. Duty called.


The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled when he saw the Werewolf Holding Centre getting pelted with spells from several dozen wizards and witches. He hadn't imperiused even half of them; the rest had followed them on their own. That would make the whole incident look even more convincing.

Though a mob just attacking the building wasn't enough for his goals. He needed more. And he would provide it. Disillusioned, he started on the wards. The building was new, and the wards were still weak. Barely above those of an average home. He broke through them in a minute, then turned his attention to the main entrance. The doors were spelled to resist damage, but once again, not strong enough. His Blasting Curse blew them away and showered the guards and employees behind them with splinters.

A roar went through the mob, and the first rank started to advance. A Hit-Wizard stepped into the breach, wand flashing. One of the first attackers fell, bleeding. Voldemort smiled widely - he couldn't have planned this any better. He killed the guard with a Piercing Curse, then shouted: "Get the werewolves and the werewolf lovers!"

The mob took the cry up, and surged forward. Voldemort dropped his disillusion spell and led a dozen of them to the holding cells. He had a fire to start.


When Kenneth Fenbrick stepped out of the Floo connection in the Werewolf Holding Centre, he heard screams and explosions, and smelled smoke. It looked like part of the building was burning. The Auror cursed. "How could a mob have broken through the wards so quickly? Was everyone asleep on their post?" He moved to the door, after a squad of Hit-Wizards who had, in their typical fashion, charged ahead.

"Unlikely," Bertha Limmington said, stepping to his side. Both ignored the shaking clerk at the wall. He didn't look like he could remember his own name right now, much less provide useful information.

"Which means, there's bound to be a couple of wands in this mess who know how to fight." Kenneth ground his teeth. They could either hit everyone who pointed a wand at them as hard as possible, possibly killing a few idiots who just followed the rest, or they'd risk getting killed themselves after underestimating a dark wizard or witch. Great.

They left the Floo room, and entered a madhouse. He couldn't see where the Hit-Wizards in front of him had gone. Several bodies lay on the ground, Both Ministry employees and civilians. The stench of smoke grew stronger, and Kenneth realised that it smelled like burning flesh. "Merlin…"

"They have reached the holding cells then. We have to hurry." Bertha looked grim - for her.

Kenneth nodded, and turned to the Aurors and Hit-Wizards behind him. "Let's go!" As expected, the Hit-Wizards behind him charged ahead. Probably trying to show up the Aurors. Kenneth didn't mind. Better them than him when it came to soaking up curses.

Their ad-hoc group descended the main stairs, where another body lay. That had been a werewolf, or had been mistaken for one - at least Kenneth hoped the mob wouldn't have treated a Ministry guard like this.

The entrance to the cell block was partially covered by smoke now, and the screaming had grown louder - and more desperate. Kenneth cast a Bubble-Head Charm. He didn't check if Bertha followed his example; she would have done it already. From ahead, spells flew at them, one striking the shield of a Hit-Wizard.

"Death to the werewolves and the werewolf lovers!" someone screamed so loudly, he must have used an Amplifying Charm. A dozen voices took up the scream though.

Jenkins, a new Auror, muttered: "Hecate have mercy! There are children in there!"

One of the Hit-Wizards fired a curse at the entrance, and muttered: "Cubs you mean."

Kenneth didn't think it was funny, but half the group laughed. Then a dozen screaming civilians charged them, and no one was laughing anymore.

He cast a Piercing Curse at one wizard wildly sending curses at them, and his spell went straight through the man's shield, hitting him in the shoulder. His follow-up stunner hit as well, but so did a Cutting Curse from Jenkins.

The other charging idiots didn't fare any better. The Hit-Wizards didn't even bother with stunners, and the Aurors in their group were obviously not taking any chances. "Bloody mess," Kenneth muttered. "Jenkins, try to save the ones still alive. The rest of you - charge!"

They entered the cell block, and Kenneth felt as if his blood froze in his veins. That was no ordinary fire, that was Fiendfyre! Someone had cast Fiendfyre on the cells closest to the entrance, and it was making its way through the cells. The cells holding werewolves! Children among them! They were screaming, begging for help, but Kenneth knew they couldn't stop the cursed fire in time to save them. Just then, the fire entered another cell. The two men inside pressed themselves against the bars of the door in a futile attempt to escape. The flames reached out to them, set them ablaze, and they screamed as they burned to death.

"We need to get through the wall from the other side!" Bertha yelled, shaking Kenneth out of his daze.

"Yes!" Kenneth grabbed two Hit-Wizards. They'd not be able to do anything against the fire anyway, but they'd be able to blast a wall just fine.

The small group ran up the stairs again, then towards the main entrance. It had been blasted apart from the outside and the two guards there - grey-robed Hit-Wizards - had been killed. That hadn't been the work of those idiots they had just taken down.

Kenneth was panting when they stopped at the other side of the building. Bertha glanced from one corner to the other, then pointed her wand at the wall in the middle. "Aim for this point."

Kenneth nodded. He trusted his partner to pick the right spot. She was a Ravenclaw through and through.

"Confringo!"

"Reducto!"

The two Hit-Wizards had hesitated, but followed their example.

"Reducto!"

"Bombarda!"

The wall was solid, and not all the wards strengthening it had been dissolved. It took three salvoes until it was breached. At once, smoke started to rise from the hole, and they heard screams. Kenneth charged ahead this time, jumping down to the cell block's floor. The fire had claimed two more cells on each side. Eight more people dead. He didn't want to think of how many had already burned to death. He had to save the living. "Reducto!" His spell blew the door off the cell closest to the fire. The two witches there, ran out, shaking and in panic. "Levitate them up!" he yelled at the Hit-Wizards while aiming at the next door.

Bertha opened the cell on the other side. "Alohomora!"

So the cells hadn't been spelled against the Unlocking Charm. Kenneth would have complained about the lax standards, if he hadn't been busy opening the remaining cells. Soon two dozen werewolves, five children among them, were crowding the end of the cell block's hallway, trying to climb up while the Hit-Wizards pulled them up with Levitation Charms on their clothes.

And the Fiendfyre was getting closer. Kenneth could feel the heat now. "Why's it advancing through stone and metal?" he asked while casting Aguamenti. Bertha joined him. The water didn't do much, but it slowed the fire down somewhat.

"It must have been cast by an exceptionally strong wizard," Bertha explained, and Kenneth thought he detect more than a hint of fear in her voice. He took out his broom and was about to unshrink it. She stopped him though. "It'll create a stampede towards us."

"We're running out of time," he said as the fire filled another two cells. Behind them, two werewolves had grabbed the children and thrown them up. Another was pressed against the wall, giving the rest a leg up. Half a dozen remained, and the fire was closing. The hole was too small, he realised. And the wards on the wall prevented them from transfiguring it to create stairs.

Two more werewolves were pulled up, one was levitated. Three left, and Kenneth and his partner. The fire reached the last cells, and started towards them. Kenneth unshrunk his broom, grabbed Bertha, and mounted it. As he started to fly up, he saw that the werewolf at the wall was just pushing up the last one to safety. Kenneth didn't look when he raced up, to the hole, barely evading the tendrils of flame reaching for him and Bertha.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

He glanced back and saw Bertha had managed to lift the last one, the one who had pushed so many others up, right before the flames would have reached him.

For a moment, Kenneth was elated. They had done it! Then he saw the threadbare robe of the werewolf rip. The tattered remains flew towards Bertha, still pulled by her spell, while the man started to fall. He was swallowed by the blaze that was now filling the entire cell block before he could scream.


Kenneth landed on the grass, near the rescued werewolves. It was far enough from the wall that he didn't feel the heat anymore. He felt devastated. To fail at saving that man, who had saved so many others, hit harder than failing to save all those poor bastards who had burned to death, trapped in their cells. They had been so close… he was certain he'd not forget the expression on the man's face as he fell to his death for a long time.

Bertha was feeling worse though, he could tell. She was a perfectionist, she would be berating herself for not repairing the man's robes before levitating them. Even though that would have cost so much time, the Fiendfyre would have reached him before she could have cast the Levitation Charm. And yet she would still blame herself for failing to save the man.

Kenneth didn't think, didn't say anything, he simply reached out, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her into his arms. His partner made a surprised sound, but didn't push him away, or protest. She leaned into him, and shuddered.

The moment didn't last though. A shout cut through the crying from the children and the mumbled attempts of the older werewolves to console them. "Stop!"

Kenneth looked up saw one of the Hit-Wizards was pointing his wand at a werewolf who had started to walk away.

The man snarled. "What? You're going to lock me up again so I can be burned to death? Wasn't that enough for you?" He gestured at the burning building.

The Hit-Wizard blinked. "We saved you!"

"Saved us so you can lock us up again?" Another werewolf shouted. The children cried louder.

Bertha pushed away from Kenneth, her face expressionless again. This was turning ugly. Uglier.

"You can't just leave!" The other Hit-Wizard was covering the other werewolves, but they started to spread out.

"Why not? Haven't you killed enough of us?"

"We saved you, we didn't kill you!" The wizard moved towards his partner. Doctrine when faced with a wandless opponent was to gain distance. But there were a lot of wandless werewolves. And they were moving.

"Calm down! This was the work of criminals, not of the Ministry. They broke in and killed you and the guards," Kenneth said, hoping to defuse the situation.

"It was you who locked us up! We never did anything to you!" a woman spoke up, holding a girl. "And now half my family is dead!" she shouted, tears running down her cheek.

A girl started to run, away from the building. Kenneth tensed, but he couldn't cast at the girl. He glanced at Bertha. His by-the-book partner was hesitating as well. That more than anything else told him that his gut was right.

The girl didn't get far, a red spell - a stunner - from a Hit-Wizard struck her down. And set off the werewolves. Half of them started to run away as well, scattering. The other half roared and charged the Hit-Wizards - and the Aurors.

"Confringo!" Kenneth sent a blasting curse at the ground between the werewolves and him and his partner. It drove them back, but not for long.

Bertha was casting as well, stunning a young werewolf trying to flank them. There were too many though. Two more were running at them, and another was coming at Kenneth. A stunner took that one down, and Bertha conjured a quick wall to block the two on her side.

The majority of the werewolves though rushed the Hit-Wizards who had cast at the girl. Before Kenneth's eyes the two disappeared under the mass of the attackers. He couldn't help them though - enough of the crazed werewolves were attacking him and Bertha.

The two Aurors fell back, using transfiguration, stunners and conjured obstacles to keep the werewolves at bay. He tried to apparate, but someone must have cast Anti-Apparition Jinxes over the area. Kenneth pulled his broom out. If they could fly up, they'd be safe.

"Bombarda Maxima!"

The earth under the werewolves pursuing him and Bertha exploded. The Shielding Charms of the two Aurors protected them, but their wandless attackers were shredded. Kenneth looked up and saw two Hit-Wizards on brooms, just as another Blasting Curse hit the next cluster of werewolves. He was about to shout at them to stop, then he saw the remains of the two Hit-Wizards who had been with them and knew it would be futile. Hit-Wizards were not Aurors. They weren't trained to take risks to stun instead of kill. And after seeing two of their own dead on the ground, they wouldn't even try.

Instead he stunned the closest werewolf, and then the next. It was all he and Bertha could do.

He didn't see the reporter and the photographer covering the whole massacre until it was over.


At breakfast in the Great Hall, Remus Lupin stared at the Daily Prophet's front page. 'Werewolf Holding Centre Attacked!'. The pictures in the article beneath the headline showed bodies. Lots of bodies. Hit-Wizards, Ministry employees, wizards and witches. They didn't show the dead werewolves though. He was certain they would have been shown, had they been transformed. But outside a full moon, werewolves looked like normal wizards and witches. Were normal wizards and witches. And the British public wasn't supposed to see that.

He read the article, and felt bile rise from his stomach. A mob stormed the building and set the cell block afire. Dozens had burned to death, trapped in their cells. Helpless without their wands, they would have been forced to watch their doom approach. The lucky ones would have suffocated from the smoke before the fire reached them. The others… he closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to control himself. It was still a few days to the full moon, but he felt his temper changing already. And this… there had been children in that prison too. Children whose only 'crime' had been to be bitten by a werewolf. Like he had been.

He looked at the House tables. The students were clustered around those who had subscriptions for the Daily Prophet, as usual when there was big news. He saw Harry look at him, concerned, and nodded, trying to reassure the boy that he was holding up.

It was difficult though. If his secret had been revealed, if his curse had been exposed, then he could have been in one of those cells, burning to death. Killed by a mob who saw him as a beast. He felt both anger at that, and shame that he was hiding in his own, privileged position while others with his affliction suffered.

He returned his attention to the article. 'Werewolves used the opportunity to escape from custody', 'measures taken to capture them before they endanger others'. And speculation that the 'mob' was actually made up of imperiused victims of the Dark Lord, used in an attempt to break out the werewolves so they could fight for him. Bloody fools! He was almost growling with frustration and anger before he checked himself. He couldn't lose control. Not now, not here.

The professor glanced at the editorial and ground his teeth. It was a thinly-veiled call on the Ministry to hunt the werewolves down with lethal means. He threw the newspaper down and stood up. He had to get out. Calm down. Vent his rage. Whatever. He couldn't stay there.

On the way out, he overheard one fourth year Gryffindor say: "I'm certain the Professor will hunt those werewolves down!", and he almost ran from the Great Hall to his quarters.

Sirius was already waiting there, in his favorite armchair. "Morning, Moony." His friend wasn't smiling.

Remus closed the door and cast a privacy charm on it. "You've read the Prophet."

"I did. Nasty business."

"Yes."

There was no offer to 'talk about it'. Nor did Sirius try to calm him down. His best, his only real friend, simply was there while Remus raged, vented, and hit the walls of his room with his fists until his hands bled and he was exhausted his rage spent, for now.

Just like his friend had been there for him, as Padfoot, in the Shrieking Shack.


Hermione Granger worried that her boyfriend would not be able to keep his temper under control as so many of their fellow Gryffindors ranted about 'dangerous werewolves'. She understood, of course - the bias against werewolves was a stain on Wizarding Britain. One of many, sadly. She would have called the caste system the worst stain, but with children being killed just for suffering from a curse, and the public applauding, she was hard-pressed to uphold that.

Katie Bell made a remark about being afraid with so many beasts free, and the full moon so close, and she felt Harry tense up. Maybe she should cast a privacy spell that kept outside noises out next time.

The witch leaned over, brushing her lips against his ear, and whispered: "If only they knew that one of their most popular teachers actually was a werewolf."

He turned his head, brushed his lips over hers and whispered back: "They probably would try to drive him out, or kill him."

She hated to agree with him, but did it anyway, nodding while she pursed her lips. "They'd try."

They'd succeed, of course - if they formed a mob. Which was rather likely. She understood the fear of werewolves. Without Wolfsbane, they were murderous beasts under the full moon, craving human flesh and blood. And if a victim survived, they'd be cursed themselves. A truly insidious cycle. And no one could forget that werewolves were the Dark Lord's most numerous supporters, proving to be murderers even without transforming, as the Hogwarts Express Massacre had shown all too clearly.

And yet they were victims. Of a dark curse, and of society. Hermione could understand that some of them would want to lash out against a people who shunned and reviled them. But she would never excuse or forgive anyone who joined a monster who wanted to murder people just for being born to the wrong parents.

She summoned a scone from a floating basket and took another sip from her orange juice, charmed to look like pumpkin juice. At the end of the day, it was simple: Anyone who helped Voldemort was her and Harry's enemy. And she would deal with those enemies.


Harry Potter exchanged a glance with Ron. There were far more people waiting for the Hogwarts Self-Defense Club to start than usual. A product of the werewolf scare, no doubt. He didn't quite feel the urge to curse half his house as strongly as during breakfast, but he still resented them. So much ignorance! So much bigotry! As if every werewolf wanted to join Voldemort and murder people. He knew he was being unfair, somewhat at least. There had been a lot of werewolves among those who had massacred students on the Hogwarts Express, but that didn't mean every werewolf was like that. He took a deep breath. He wouldn't get angry again. If Remus could control himself, only a few days from the full moon, then he could do the same.

"Blimey! Remus will hate this." Ron shook his head. Harry shot him a glare. His friend coughed. "So many new students. He'll be swamped with work." It wasn't the best recovery, but it'd do.

"We'll be swamped too," Harry commented. To change the mood, he added: "You'll not be able to flirt with Parkinson as much as you usually do."

"What?" Ron gaped at him.

"Did I say 'flirt'? I meant 'duel', of course." Harry grinned.

"She's one of the few witches who actually takes training seriously, and doesn't try to flirt with me," Ron said, narrowing his eyes.

Harry scoffed. "Please. You act completely different when you're duelling her than when you're duelling me. Or anyone else." If Ron were to act like that with Hermione...

"Of course! Different targets need different tactics."

"That's what you're calling it in sixth year, I see." Harry felt his mood lift a bit. Teasing his friend was helping. "And Brown has been seen with Katie lately." Who was quite scared of werewolves, he knew.

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's not as we're a couple. We've just had some fun. She didn't move in with me."

Harry coughed. "Anyway, more teaching, less 'duelling' today. At least during the session."

His improved mood was ruined again as soon as he saw Remus and Sirius arrive though - his godfather looked much too serious to be alright. Which meant, seeing as Harry himself had no real trouble, Remus was not doing well.

And Harry had no idea how he could help the man.


Ron Weasley kept glancing at Pansy, at Parkinson, while Remus explained about the best ways to deal with werewolves. He could understand why Harry thought he was flirting. Somewhat. The Slytherin witch was cute, kind of. When she wasn't sneering. And she had been brave during the attack on the Express, everyone said that. But she also had been Malfoy's girlfriend for years. Which meant she had either terrible taste, or no brains, or both. And she was a Slytherin. On the other hand, she had dumped the idiot. Eventually.

Duelling her was fun though. She wasn't quite as good as Hermione, but she knew how to fight. And she didn't try to flirt with him - she took training seriously. It still was fun though.

The witch started to look around, and their eyes met. She seemed surprised for a moment. Then she grinned, before looking away and paying rapt attention to Remus, as if she was one of the idiot girls who thought he was so romantic because they believed he was hunting the werewolves who killed his family each full moon.

Ron wondered, while Remus went over things he already knew, if he should ask the witch out. Just to mess with Harry. He wouldn't have to feel guilty about using the girl either - they were in sixth year, after all, and such things were expected. Hermione would not approve, of course. She would lecture him. Maybe - the girl was awfully busy with Dumbledore, when she wasn't studying, training, or sleeping with Harry.

And yet he hesitated. It was one thing to sleep with Lavender. Both of them knew it wasn't serious, and they were not just both Gryffindors, but also close friends to the Patils. Or had been. But to do the same with Parkinson? He couldn't say why, but he knew that was different.

And he'd duel her again, Harry's comments be damned. It was fun.


While the students started to filter out of the room, the lesson ending, Pansy Parkinson thought Ron Weasley was acting weird. First he glanced at her, then he ignored her. If he wasn't sleeping with Brown and they were not in sixth year, and a Gryffindor, she'd thought he had a crush on her and was simply shy.

In any case, the lesson - or session - had been quite informative. They learned several ways to battle werewolves. Professor Lupin was an expert in that area, and it showed. Though Pansy was not really certain if she truly believed that the mild-mannered man hunted werewolves each month. Though he had been a Gryffindor as well, and such actions would fit the mould.

But with all the werewolf drills, she hadn't managed to duel Weasley, and to her surprise, realised she had been looking forward to it more than to learning how to deal with werewolves. She frowned. She wasn't about to let some werewolves keep her from what she wanted. Instead of following the rest of her house out of the room, she made a beeline towards Weasley.

"We haven't duelled yet today," she told him right away. Not the best display of manners, but acceptable given their surroundings.

His eyes lit up, and whatever puzzlement she had seen in his eyes before vanished. "Indeed, we haven't, have we?" he answered while he drew his wand and waved to the duelling platform in the middle of the room.

Pansy smiled at him, and nodded, taking the lead. Potter mumbled: "Not again!", and his retainer gave her a look that probably should have been intimidating, but Pansy didn't care. Life was too short to worry about everyone and their opinion, and she had a duel to win.

They waited until all of the students but Potter's friends, and of course Greg, had filed out. Or would have, if Greengrass and Tracey hadn't decided to stay as well. Pansy licked her lips in anticipation. She had been thinking about a few ways to pull one over on the Gryffindor.

Potter and his mistress were whispering, until Weasley and Pansy had taken up their positions. Then they quieted down. Lovegood, unsurprisingly, had to be elbowed by Antar to stop commenting on 'Nargles', and Greengrass… was sulking after her latest proposal for a threesome had been refused. Potter had become rather skilled at that, even though his lover still looked like she wanted to transfigure Greengrass into a toad each time the blonde twit made a pass at them.

Then Potter stepped forward. "Bow!"

Pansy smiled - a formal duel! Even better! They bowed.

"Wands ready!"

Her wand rose into the 'guard' position. She grinned at her opponent, and was once again matched.

"Start!"

At once Pansy conjured a wall in front of her, not to protect her, but to shield her from view. She moved to the side and managed to cast a Shield Charm and a Disillusionment Charm before the wall was reduced to cinders and dust by two Reductor Curses from Weasley. Still, she should have enough time to…

"Homenum Revelio!"

She felt more than saw herself become visible again, but she was already casting. If Weasley had taken the time to reduce her wall, he couldn't have… he could! Her stunner splashed harmlessly against his shield. In response, she was hit with a Disarming Charm that almost pushed her off her feet despite her own Shielding Charm.

Pansy shrieked as if she was scared, and mumbled "Serpensortia", conjuring a snake behind Weasley. If she could fool him… he banished the rubble of her own wall at her, and he shield shattered under the impact.

She retaliated with another stunner, but he dodged it - and he spotted her snake before it had reached him! A Cutting Curse split it in twain, but left him open for another spell. Finally, his shield went down, and she dodged his own stunner… only to suddenly slip on a patch of ice that hadn't been there before and fall off the duelling platform, on the stone floor. Hard. Then his next stunner hit.

When she was woken, she hurt much less than expected. Someone - Granger probably - had treated her bruises. Weasley offered her his hand to help get up, and she took it.

"Technically, Parkinson won, since Ron cast at her when she was already outside the ring, which in a formal duel is an immediate disqualification, if done so unprovoked," Granger said. Potter agreed with his future concubine, but Pansy simply shook her head while she looked at Weasley. She knew that their duels wouldn't be decided by technicalities.


The Dark Lord Voldemort rose from his bed, taking care not to wake up his lover, when the Snowy Owl arrived at his window, carrying the latest newspapers from Scandinavia. He dropped a few sickles in the pouch of the owl, then let her fly off again and took a look at the headlines.

They were perfect. 'British mob massacres children!' 'Werewolves burned alive in prison!' 'Britain starting to exterminate werewolves!' The pictures were beautiful too. Dead children on the ground, fleeing werewolves cut down from above and behind, ragged prisoners blown up by Blasting Curses, and horribly burned corpses. All of them werewolves. He read the articles, and chuckled. Where the Daily Prophet of the day before had focused on the dead guards and a possible plot by the Dark Lord, the Nordic newspapers focused on dead werewolves, and speculated about the government letting the mob enter the prison to kill the werewolves.

"Milord?" Bella had woken up. His lover rose from their shared bed and walked over to him, not bothering to put on any clothes.

"Good news, Bella." He handed her the newspapers. "All is going according to plan."

She glanced at them, then smiled, before her face fell. "I wish I could have helped you."

He shook his head as he lifted her chin so she'd face him. "You are the only one I can trust, my love. With my secrets, and my life." She was the last of his inner circle. The last of his old comrades. Brave, powerful, and utterly devoted. She was irreplaceable.

She would stand at his side once he ruled Britain. His Bella.

He wiped the tears from her eyes and kissed her while he guided her back to his bed.


Aberforth Dumbledore felt like cursing his brother when he glanced at the headlines of the newspapers sold in Oslo. Couldn't he keep his Ministry under control? How could a mob from Diagon Alley's flotsam storm a prison? Had the Ministry workers forgotten to guard and ward the place?

If Greyback was still alive and the news of his demise not true, then his mission just became far more difficult. Judging by the comments he overheard from passersby reading the newspapers, they were ready to form a lynch mob. At least he wasn't known as a British wizard - he was traveling incognito due to the results of his first visit, decades ago. With his beard and hair dyed, he looked younger, or so he thought. He could only hope there were no other British around; the locals' blood was up.

At the next corner, a wizard who was literally frothing at the mouth, gesturing wildly and shouting about the need to 'save our brethren in Britain from certain death' - and many seemed to agree with the sentiment. Hopefully, most of that was mere bluster, and not an actual willingness to travel and fight in Britain's civil war.

Though Aberforth knew from personal experience just how prone to violence Scandinavian werewolves were. And everyone knew how much they hated the rest of Magical Europe for considering werewolves dark creatures. And so did their part to keep the stereotype alive.

And since the idiots back home had decided to let a bunch of 'respected citizens' burn werewolves alive, the Dark Lord would have an easy time recruiting them for his ranks. He shook his head and made his way to the public Floo connections. He needed to know if Greyback was actually dead. And if there were more agents of the Dark Lord left. Greyback hadn't been known for traveling without a pack, after all.

An hour and a few galleons later, he was standing in a small, old village surrounded by forests. The central longhouse, meeting spot for the community, was in ruins - a result of the fight between Greyback and 'British agents', or so he had heard in Oslo. The wooden statues depicting the gods supposedly watching over the communities were still or again standing, not that the gods had done a good job.

A group of locals was watching him, openly and with suspicion in their eyes. Understandable, given that apparently two foreign witches had broken hospitality and attacked Greyback. Though of course, that was simply what he had heard.

He started towards the ruins, which caused the group of 'observers' to to cut him off and stop him. He let them - for now.

"Hey! What do you want here?" the apparent leader, clad in traditional Scandinavian clothes, said.

"I've heard two witches caused this," Aberforth said, waving at the ruins. "I believe they are fugitives with a bounty on their head."

"You're a bounty hunter?" the man asked, sneering.

For a moment, Aberforth was back in 1962, when he had visited the country for the first and, until this visit, last time. For all their claims of worshipping some nebulous 'hunt', they hadn't taken well to him chasing one of Grindelwald's old lieutenants through the Nordic country. And he hadn't been patient enough to avoid needless fights. It had been a rather bloody affair.

That had been decades ago though. Aberforth had changed since then, even if the culture in Scandinavia hadn't. He nodded. "I'm under contract."

The men - probably all werewolves, they looked rather uncouth, although all Scandinavians looked like that in his opinion - tensed up. The leader said, sneering: "One of them is already dead. The other's fled. We won't tolerate anyone causing trouble, do you understand?"

The old wizard nodded. "I'm not looking for trouble. Just looking to see if that article told the truth. I don't suppose the bodies are still around?"

"No."

Aberforth hadn't expected anything else. They would have been burned on a pyre too. "Did anyone see the witch who fled?"

The leader nodded. "Many did."

The British wizard pulled out a picture of Caldwell and Umbridge. "Did they look like this?"

All three peered at it, then discussed something in their native language, before one of them spoke up in English. "Yes, they did."

"And the younger witch escaped?"

"She bled, but the other witch sacrificed herself to stop us, after killing Greyback."

Aberforth's opinion of the village sunk even lower. Umbridge and Caldwell were not exactly powerful witches. "I see."

"She apparated away," the leader added, as if to excuse their failure.

The third, who had been silent so far, suddenly spoke. "You're not British, are you?"

"No." Aberforth said and glared at the man. "I'm from Greece."

"But you're working for the British. Who else would have put a bounty on the two witches?"

He didn't like the turn this talk had taken. "Would that be a problem?"

"Hell, yes! We hate the murdering British bastards!"

"Child killer!"

"Hang him from the sacred tree!"

As Wands were drawn and Aberforth was about to teach the three a lasting lesson, he still blamed his brother for this predicament.