Disclaimer: characters and world belong to JK Rowling. The writing, OCs and plot belong to me. Certain elements are inspired by other fanfiction authors (listed at end).
WARNING: gory images, violence, implied/heavily referenced rape, referenced past child abuse, alcohol, implied sex, language
— (NOTHING EXPLICIT THOUGH)
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SILVER
BULLETS
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PROLOGUE
November 4th, 1982
(morning of the hunter's moon)
You don't need silver bullets to kill a werewolf.
A quick curse does it just fine, even a potion. Beheading, if you fancy being dramatic. Anything to stop a human's heart works for a beast.
It doesn't stop the Ministry.
Burning, shooting in a fiery stream as it rips through the chest and into the heart, then past and to the other side. A plink as it strikes the back wall. A gasp from the wolf in question.
Pain for a moment.
Then it's over and the wolf slumps in a heap.
Picked up from the floor by cold, uncaring hands. They don't know its name. They won't look at its face for fear of seeing any shred of humanity in its slack features. For fear of being left with remorse.
The body, scars and blood and jutting bones, dragged out the door and gone.
There's a pool of blood on the floor. There's a splatter on the wall behind. There's a single silver bullet rolling back and forth on the floor. They'll cover the blood with more of their paint, pretending again this process doesn't exist at all.
You don't need silver bullets to kill a werewolf, but it works all the same.