Chapter One: The Rise of Fenris Ulf

Author note: This story is the fifty-third in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "A Grief Observed".

Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, or Merlin.

Jules swallowed, backing up into Lou as the werewolves surrounded them, a vicious, anticipatory gleam in several canine eyes. Barefoot and clad in night clothes, neither cop had so much as a stick to hold off their attackers.

"Been nice knowing you, Jules."

"Right back atcha, Lou."

One of the werewolves growled, saliva dripped from its fangs as it drooled. Another padded forward, an eager whine escaping.

Thump.

The earth trembled as a minotaur landed between the officers and their attackers, bellowing. A massive axe lifted, the minotaur's tail lashing as he settled into position; one huge hoof scraped the ground and razor sharp horns gleamed a pearly hue in the moonlight as the man-bull lowered his head with a derisive snort.

Wolf howls shattered the air, yips, snarls, and yelps of challenge; the werewolves struggled to turn back an assault on two fronts as the minotaur took advantage of the distraction to attack, his axe finding its mark in a particularly foolish werewolf who tried to take the Fell Creature on by itself.

As the battle began to rage around them, Jules yanked Lou towards her, trying to get them both behind the minotaur. The howl chilled her blood; the largest of the werewolves sprang at her partner, exposed and unarmed.

"Lou!"

The tan-skinned constable was slammed to the ground, the werewolf snarling in triumph as its jaws opened to bite its helpless victim.

Jules screamed denial.

Only to watch the werewolf go flying as another animal attacked from the side, shrieking pure fury. The constable caught a flash of wings, an eagle's head and beak, and ripping, rending talons as the new arrival landed between Lou and his attacker.

Wings snapped outwards as the gryphon voiced an eerie screech-snarl and faced off with the livid werewolf. The brunette's breath caught as she took in the small, still moment before single combat.

The wings were crippled.

33 hours earlier

The motley group slinking through the back alleys of Magical Toronto hardly drew a second glance. A few wizards, noting the group, picked up their pace and kept their wands at hand – in this ragged part of town, spellfire in response to an askance look was not uncommon. But criminals possess a keen sense of self-preservation – and crossing a werewolf pack was decidedly against those instincts.

The werewolves themselves hardly cared that they were so readily identifiable…they took pride in their condition, in their curse, and eagerly looked forward to the day they would triumph over the wizards who oppressed them so. But while the werewolves held their pack in high regard, many were starting to become…disenchanted…with their self appointed leader.

Fenris Ulf, successor to the notorious Fenrir Grayback, surveyed his pack with a sense of bitterness; he knew his grasp on power was weak, tenuous. Oh, how he cursed the day he'd allowed a wizard to dictate to his pack. He'd been promised the freedom to bite at will, hunting amongst the best Muggles and Muggleborns for new pack members. Had even, with Moffet's blessing, picked out two prime candidates to bite as the Moon of War rose.

The Muggles had ruined everything, snatching back his packmates before the moon could finish rising. Worse, they had turned back the attack on the Embassy, turning the tide against Moffet's Neo Death Eaters and slaughtering all save Fenris's young cub, now forever beyond his reach. It was thanks to them that Fenris's pack now stood on the brink of collapse, thanks to them that he'd had to put down five challengers in the moons since that debacle, thanks to them that events had gone so very, very wrong.

A growl escaped as the remnants of the once proud pack assembled in the burned out, ramshackle factory. Now they were beaten and downcast, whimpering and whining for what scraps they could find. An emissary had approached them a week earlier on behalf of the Neo Death Eaters' new leader – at Ulf's command, his pack had ripped the man to shreds.

"Never again," he declared to the wizard's corpse. "Never again will we be tricked by your kind. Used by your kind."

The lusty cheer had been the last…until now.

A howl drew the pack's attention. Slitted yellow eyes regarded the assembly. "Never again," he announced, echoing his prior speech. "Never again will we bow to wizards." A snort; he paced back and forth on the worn out, splintered platform he'd found in the scorched building. "The packs of this misbegotten city crawl on their bellies, begging for whatever trash the wizards and Muggles see fit to toss. They betray us!"

Howls of agreement echoed.

"The wizards think to break us," Fenris snarled. "They think to tame us, granting us treats in return for tricks. Tricks that betray our kind. Tricks that allow Muggles to take our packmates."

"They were the Muggles' packmates," a lone voice objected in the middle of the furious howls.

Fenris stiffened; the werewolf stood erect and almost frozen as he turned his head to regard the female. Roughly chopped black hair stood out around pale blue eyes and delicate features. The scars of her sire ran across her face and she was as ragged as the rest of them, but strength shone in her thin features.

The older, larger werewolf bounded down, growling, a growl echoed by their packmates. More wolf than man, Fenris's teeth were pointed, his fingernails long and sharp, and his blond hair hung from his head – a greasy, limp, unwashed mane of thin, reedy strands. "What did you say?" the pack leader questioned, his tone dangerously soft.

The female whined, tilting her head to expose her neck, but defiance never left her eyes. "They were the Muggles' packmates," she repeated. "The Muggles came to get their packmates back; they didn't even touch us."

Fenris smiled, fangs flashing in that smile. "So you think we should leave our packmates in the hands of…Muggles? Slink away into the night with our tails between our legs?"

Jeers met his proposal; the female paled, but held still.

Still smiling, Fenris turned his back. "By the next full moon, we will have what's ours!" he declared. Cheers rose, drowning out the pained yelp as his Beta put the female in her place. "But I am a generous wolf," Fenris continued smoothly, turning back to the rebellious female. "You may bite our new female packmate."

Color drained from the young werewolf's face. But as her pack howled approval and jeered at her, she dared not rebel again. So instead she bowed her head. "Yes, sire," she whispered.

Fenris's smile widened. Turning away again, he added, "Deal with her."

"No, please," the female cried, only to scream as the pack descended.

Deija, Alpha Female of Toronto's Scarborough pack, ducked her head and swallowed a whine as she entered the Toronto Auror Division. In the months since the new division's establishment, three of her packmates had come to the Aurors for help – and gotten it. It was enough for the middle-aged werewolf to risk the journey herself.

Inside the door, she glanced around, trembling inside at how many people flowed through the building's atrium. "Strategic Response Unit," a dark-skinned woman at the nearby desk said; Deija jumped, then realized the woman was talking to someone else. Dark eyes narrowed and the woman's hand moved; an alarm went off. "Team Three, hot call. Team Three, hot call."

Deija hung back until the Muggle officers had been given the details of the 'hot call' and left, then crept forward, anxiety plain.

"Hi, welcome to the Strategic Response Unit, can I help you?"

"I am looking for the Auror Division." Deija's heart pounded…if the woman didn't know…

But the woman smiled and stood up to point down the hallway to Deija's left. "Go down there, hang a right, and you'll be right there. Next time, just ask for the special division…everyone here knows what that means."

"Thank you," Deija murmured, inclining her head to the Muggle woman. Inside a thread of tension uncurled…perhaps this wouldn't be so bad…

Commander Anne Locksley regarded the werewolf in her office, expression still. "You're sure?"

"Yes, Madame," the werewolf replied. "My Beta and four others were attacked last night by Fenris Ulf's pack." Her lips pursed. "We would have handled it within the packs, but for one thing my Beta overheard as she played dead."

"Ulf's pack intends to take two new pack members this full moon," Locksley finished, repeating what the werewolf had already told her. "Do you know who?"

"I cannot say for certain, Madame, but I think it likely Ulf has not forgotten his last visit to our territory."

Ah. "Moffet," Locksley hissed under her breath, earning a solemn nod from the werewolf. Drumming her fingers, the Commander debated her options, finally giving a firm nod. "You may leave this with me – you have my word of honor that we will not leave you defenseless before Ulf and his kind."

"His kind?" Both question and challenge.

Locksley smiled grimly. "You stand with us; he stands with Moffet's ilk."

Understanding shone and the werewolf rumbled in soft satisfaction. "I shall tell my Alpha," she promised. "And we shall keep ourselves caged this full moon."

"You don't every full moon?"

"We have warded an old farmstead far from civilization – we usually spend our full moons there. But we will not this full moon; we will not chance encountering you and yours." With that and a slight curtsy, the werewolf departed.

The witch gazed after her, then shook herself and reached for her phone. They didn't have much time.

Though her Auror's confidence had been shaken to its core during the serial killer debacle, Giles' mind was still as keen as ever. No sooner had Locksley laid out the facts then he blew his breath out and ran a hand through his hair. "Callaghan and Young. That's who they took last time."

"They'll try to take 'em again," Roy agreed, his expression furious and shuttered. "We've got to warn them."

"Yes," Locksley agreed softly, "but I would like to know more about last time. This werewolf made it sound as if more than just a Wild Hunt was thwarted."

Both Aurors froze, confirming her suspicions.

"Explain."

Slowly, the details came out, leaving Locksley reeling. A war between magic and technology? A missile killing most of the Canadian Auror Division in one strike? Massacres as the Muggles fought back against those they saw as the enemy? It sounded utterly unbelievable. Pure fantasy. Even more unbelievable was the tale of how it had been stopped. Time travel – breaking the most fundamental laws of time travel. Essentially using both past and future selves to halt a war and save millions of lives.

When her Aurors finished, Anne Locksley was shaking. And wondering, all over again, what in Merlin's name had she and Brian been thinking, to keep Team One in their world. It had nearly been their deaths – it had been their salvation. Oh, dear sweet Merlin, she needed Firewhiskey…

"What if we use them as bait?" Giles suggested abruptly. "Stop them from getting kidnapped, but put them out there to draw Ulf in?"

"Parker would go nuts," Roy argued.

"I don't think so," Giles countered, thoughtful. "It was one thing to let the pack go back during that whole…thing. But they're coming back here, threatening law enforcement, threatening to break the Statute. We stop them this month, they just come back next month or a couple months from now. Let's finish this now; we pick the time and place, hit 'em with everything we got and stop this cold."

"End it now, before anyone on our side gets hurt." Though uncertain, Roy voiced his partner's unspoken conclusion. "You really think Parker will go for it?"

"Let's ask him," Giles suggested.

Both men looked to their superior. She wrestled with herself – most Aurors stayed far, far away from werewolves during the full moon and for good reason. But at length she inclined her head in permission. Her men were right – this had to end one way or another before it got any worse.