They Apparated in the middle of a forest. It was dark – dawn was still hours away, in Evey's estimation – and eerily silent. She couldn't make out a single bird cry or any rustle among the trees. Greyback was still clutching her arm, painfully, and she tried to free herself once more. This time, he didn't hold her back, and she almost lost her balance as she pulled her arm away. She caught herself at the last moment, stumbling awkwardly, and shot Greyback a baleful glare, but it was lost on the werewolf. He'd pulled out a small notebook from somewhere and was patting his pockets, supposedly to find a pen.

He was obviously distracted. Evey wouldn't get a better opportunity.

She turned herself invisible and ran away from him, as fast as she could. She wished she remembered how she'd Apparated after he attacked her the first time. She had to get back to the Ministry, and quickly. Walden couldn't be dead. He must have been Stunned, nothing more. Gods, please, let him be alright.

She couldn't have run more than a few dozen feet before Greyback caught her, almost tearing out her arm as he grabbed it. Evey heard him grunt an instant later, just as the pain hit her. She remained invisible a moment longer but soon decided that it was pointless.

She considered hexing him wandlessly, but that hadn't worked before. Either Greyback was impervious to magic, unlikely as it may be, or Evey wasn't as good at wandless magic as she'd assumed. Maybe Walden and Tony had just been trying to cheer her up for being so lousy at duelling.

"Dummes Mädchen," Greyback growled as he released her. "I'm a werewolf. Do you think I need to see you to hunt you down?" Well, as far as Evey knew, werewolves only hunted by scent during the full moon. But this was Greyback. He was different from the other werewolves; Remus had mentioned it before, as had Walden and Antonin. "The stench of your fear alone could guide me easily through the woods," he said with an unpleasant leer. He frowned at her suddenly. "How did you do that?" he asked, gesturing in her general direction. Evey didn't reply, but fixed him with a flat stare instead. He muttered something under his breath and took out his notebook once more. He found a pen a moment later and jotted down a few words, then he showed her the paper. It simply read 'HMP Carchar'.

HMP? What did that stand for? The note burst into flames and Greyback let it drop nonchalantly. Just as Evey opened her mouth to enquire, she realised that they were no longer surrounded by trees, at least not on all sides. They stood near a building of considerable size – or rather, several small constructions flanking a much larger building – and ringed by a towering wall topped with barbed wire. The entrance gates looked imposing but were wide open, and there were little turrets located at regular intervals near the wall – guard towers, Evey assumed.

It was a prison.

Greyback caught her staring. "Welcome to Asgard," he said with a wide grin.

They made their way to the gates, Greyback walking beside her. At least he wasn't clutching her arm anymore. There was a sign on one gate that represented a snarling wolf with the inscription 'Vorsicht, bissiger Wolf' in crimson underneath. Caution, mean wolf, Evey thought that translated. It was probably a reference to the 'beware the dog' signs that were sometimes found in Muggle households. How amusing.

"Asgard," Evey repeated after a minute. That was one of the Nine Worlds, according to Norse mythology, and the home of the Æsir, the gods. "You think highly of yourself, don't you?" she told Greyback crookedly.

"Why shouldn't I?" he said with a shrug. "I'm Fenrir."

Evey rolled her eyes. "Right. You're a mythological wolf." He didn't actually believe himself to be the Fenrir, did he? Fenrir was a primordial demon, the son of a god and a giantess. Was Greyback delusional, on top of everything else?

"Of course not," he said. "I'm not a demon," he added with a wolfish grin. "I am god-like, however, and my namesake is known for his godly parentage."

Evey held back a snigger. So…not delusional, just megalomaniac. It wasn't much better, as far as she was concerned. She shook her head slightly and decided to change the subject. "Is it only protected by a Fidelius Charm?" she asked, pointing to the prison.

Greyback barked a sneering laugh. "Obviously not. We have all the usual Muggle-repellent wards. There are armed guards patrolling the grounds and manning the towers at all times, and there is much darker magic at work as well, thanks to our…patron. Some…creatures can walk right through the Fidelius," he said with a disgusted twist of his mouth.

Evey glanced up sharply at that, surprised that he would know. Then again, maybe he wasn't referring to the Ancients. Other magical beings or beasts – or spirits – might well have the same ability. Greyback frowned at her when he saw her expression. "I bloody knew it," he muttered. "You have a damned vampire on your side, no? Who is she? I sniffed her out, but I didn't recognise the scent under the rotten corpse's foul smell."

She? Does he think that our Ancient is a woman? If so, he'd better keep believing that. Evey gave him a blank stare, but Greyback just chuckled and waved the topic aside. "Don't be deterred by the place's grim appearance," he went on a moment later with a gesture that encompassed the whole facility. Evey couldn't make out most of it in the gloom. "It has all the best modern equipment. Great laundry service, as you'd expect, and the food is better than in an actual prison. The rooms are nice, if a little small." Bloody hell. He sounded like a hotel manager welcoming a weary tourist.

At least it will be a comfortable cell, Evey thought resignedly. She looked around but saw none of the guards he'd mentioned. There were very few lights, except on the pathway that led to the entrance of the main building. Perhaps werewolves had better night vision than other people.

They walked in silence until they reached the largest construction. In front of the solid-looking door, Greyback paused and knocked what Evey assumed was a secret knock to grant them entrance. She made sure to remember it, just in case. It might prove useful in the future, though a secret knock hardly seemed like the sort of mysterious, dark magic protection that Greyback had hinted at earlier. There had to be more to it than that.

The door opened to reveal a scrawny man of about sixty, with a scruffy beard and crooked yellow teeth. He gaped at Evey in shock. "Now, now, Gene. It's rude to stare," Greyback said chidingly.

The man seemed to come out of his trance and bowed slightly, lowering his eyes to stare at the floor instead. He didn't say anything as he scrambled out of their path and closed the door behind them.

They were following a scarcely lit corridor. Despite the obscurity, Evey saw that the interior was more welcoming than the façade. Sections of the walls were painted in bright colours, and everything seemed impeccably clean. "That was Eugene," Greyback told her a moment later. "He's a decent lad, when he's sober."

Lad? The man was older than Greyback! And why was he telling her that? She didn't care what his name was. "Do you even know my name?" she asked as the thought suddenly struck her.

Greyback paused in his tracks and turned to gaze down at her. Gods, but he was tall. She felt like a Hobbit beside him. "Now that you mention it, I realise that we haven't been properly introduced," he said brightly. "I'm Fenrir. How do you do?" he said, offering a hand for her to shake.

Evey narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring the proffered hand. He couldn't be serious. "You murdered my entire family, and you don't even know my fucking name?" she shouted indignantly.

He withdrew his hand with a sigh. "I didn't bother to check the name tag on the mailbox, I'm afraid. I didn't care, at the time, you understand," he said matter-of-factly. "I do now, though."

"You're…" She trailed off and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. The nerve of the man! If she'd had anything to stab him with, she would have given it a try, even if it meant stabbing herself in the process. She doubted that punching him would accomplish anything except bruise her knuckles, but Merlin, it was tempting. "My name," she told him acidly, "is Evangeline Kane, daughter of Aidan and Eileen." It was difficult to utter their names out loud, even now, and especially in their murderer's presence. She couldn't bring herself to say her brother's name. She didn't want to cry in front of the bloody werewolf. She needed to keep her cool.

"Pleasure," Greyback said casually. Without another word, he started walking again. Evey followed him reluctantly. What else could she do?

"If you didn't know my name," she went on after a minute, "why were you even at our house in the first place? I assumed – we all did – that you were there on Voldemort's orders."

"Not at all," he said. "Your scent called to me, and I answered its call. Nothing to do with Voldemort." Evey expected some explanation to the cryptic reply, but Greyback fell silent once more. She noted that he referred to his master by name; few Death Eaters dared. Then again, Greyback was not a proper Death Eater, merely a hired thug.

Her scent had called to him? What the hell did that even mean? Before she had time to enquire, they stepped into a vast room filled with several long tables and benches. It had to be the dining hall. By Evey's estimation, it could fit several hundred people easily. There were a few scattered men here and there, sitting alone or in groups of two or three. Every single one of them stood up when Greyback entered the room, but only one of them abandoned his table to join them. He was a tall man, although not quite of a height with Greyback. He had fair skin and tousled brown hair, and he had to be in his early thirties.

Greyback stood near the door as the other man made his way briskly toward them. He stopped some distance away and kept his grey eyes on the floor, but Evey thought that he looked quite puzzled. "This is Scabior," Greyback told her. Again, she wondered why he was introducing the man to her. "He's my second-in-command. When I'm not present, he's in charge."

"Scabior," Evey repeated. "Is that a first name or a last name?" she asked the man.

He remained silent, so she turned to frown at Greyback, who laughed. "They talk when I address them, Schatz. But they'll talk to you when I'm not around, I'm sure. Once they get used to you," he added as an afterthought.

This was becoming weirder by the minute. Why couldn't they speak freely when Greyback was there? "Have you…brainwashed them? Are they under the Imperium Curse?" Scabior gave her an incredulous, almost fearful glance, then quickly settled his eyes on the floor once more.

Greyback barked another laugh. "This is how it works around here, girlie. I'm the Alpha. Do you know what that means?"

Evey had already guessed that Greyback was their leader, but she had never thought that the term 'Alpha' might apply to a person, even if that person was a werewolf. "You're the boss, yes, I figured. But so what? Why can't they look you in the eye or talk without being prompted?"

"Because it's considered disrespectful," Greyback replied as if it were obvious. "And because I might interpret direct eye contact as an invitation to brawl, a thing that most sane people tend to avoid at all costs."

Evey wasn't sure what this meant, but she made sure to gaze into the Alpha's eyes when she spoke again. "I do hope you won't imagine that I'm being disrespectful in any way, you manky git," she told him sweetly.