It wasn't as bad as Evey had feared. Greyback was gone, for one thing. Before leaving, he'd told her that she could feel free to wander around the prison and meet everyone. She would be safe around his minions, he'd assured her, though he hadn't used that term, of course.
Greyback's word meaning nothing to Evey, she'd spent the first days of her captivity in her cell, but Scabior had soon let her know that if she wanted to eat, she could bloody well get her own food. They weren't her servants, he said. Evey had skipped the next meal, but her stomach wouldn't allow her to skip another, so she was forced to join everyone in the dining hall for supper. An ominous hush had fallen when she'd entered the room, all the men present staring at her, some of them open-mouthed. Evey had ignored them as best she could, sitting down at the end of a mostly unoccupied table until she realised that she had to fetch her meal at the counter. She could feel every eye on her as she hurried to find a tray. The room was utterly silent. The werewolves didn't even whisper to each other. Evey even wondered if they were holding their breaths.
The food consisted mainly of meat, and it was very rare, but Evey didn't mind. There was even dessert – a plain vanilla pudding. It wasn't even close to Mrs Weasley's preparations, but it wasn't bad, either. Everyone left her alone as she ate, quickly so she could go back to her cell as soon as she was done. She hoped that she wouldn't have to wash the dishes afterward. Apparently, they had worked out a system to decide who would take care of the various chores, Scabior explained when she returned her empty tray to the counter. Greyback hadn't said anything about involving her, however, so Scabior told her to keep out of it. They could manage without her, thank you very much. Well, Evey certainly wasn't about to complain.
She explored the prison, but she didn't leave the main building. She didn't try to escape. It seemed pointless, considering how quickly Greyback had caught up to her that first day. She had to assume that the others would get her without much trouble, either.
After a few days of ignoring everyone and being ignored in return – though thoroughly scrutinised, from a distance – Evey decided that she might as well attempt to get to know some of the werewolves, to gather information at the very least. No one seemed eager to engage her in conversation, however; they were reluctant to answer her questions and were blatantly uncomfortable around her. Scabior was just as close-mouthed as usual, unless Evey had specific questions about life at the prison, and how she fitted into it – his muttered answer: she didn't.
And then, during Evey's fourth breakfast in the dining hall – she was carefully counting down the days she spent in Asgard – a short, skinny man asked if he could sit beside her. He looked friendly enough, so Evey gestured for him to proceed. He didn't ask anything about her, who she was or why she was here, but talked at length about himself. Evey assumed that Greyback had forbidden them to ask questions. His name was Jabbar, he was twenty-seven and had been in Asgard for two years. He'd been turned at a late age, at least according to Greyback, who preferred to bite his wolves when they were toddlers.
They were soon joined by several more werewolves. Evey noted that they didn't seem to gather according to race or age, or even their city – or country – of origin. She was introduced to the others and Jabbar was happy to regale her with funny anecdotes about everyone. He was quite a chatterbox, unlike most of his companions. When they were done eating, he offered to give Evey a tour of the facility, which she gratefully accepted. She might pick up some clues as to how she could get the hell out of here. Some of the others decided to tag along.
The prison was even larger than Evey had imagined. Jabbar told her that there were three hundred werewolves living at Asgard at the moment. Three hundred werewolves. The thought filled Evey with dismay. Jabbar added that the prison was located in Wales, in Snowdonia. She wondered at the fact that he was allowed to reveal that information, but realised that there was no way she could let anyone know, and the Fidelius would likely prevent her from repeating it in any case, if she managed to escape some day. Still, Evey found it strange that there was a prison in the reservation – Walden had told her that the largest part of Snowdonia belonged to the wizarding world and was home to many species of magical creatures – but, apparently, it had been a facility used mainly during World War II by the Muggle secret services. Jabbar said that they'd even discovered torture chambers in the lower levels, which were now sealed off.
When they were done exploring the main building, Jabbar accompanied her outside and continued his guided tour. "This is where we keep wolves who are having difficulties controlling themselves during the full moon," he explained as they passed what looked like a small brick warehouse.
The windows were obscured so that Evey couldn't distinguish anything inside. "What do you mean, those who can't control themselves? I thought werewolves lost all ability to think or act lucidly when transformed."
That brought sniggers and emphatic shakes of the head from the others. "Control and discipline are the first things the Alpha teaches those who want to join his pack – that is to say, the werewolves he didn't turn himself," Jabbar told her. "The kids are usually better at it. They're more...adaptable."
"The…kids?" Evey repeated with a frown. "You mean werewolves who are about my age?" From what she'd seen so far, the age groups seemed evenly divided: there were boys who were slightly younger than she was, men who could be grandfathers, and every age category in between.
Jabbar and his mates laughed candidly. "No, I mean the cubs." He pointed to a multi-coloured building a little further away. "Come, I'll show you."
When they got closer, Evey could only stare in disbelief. Merlin, there really were children. Not just teenagers, but little ones, as young as 4 or 5. Bloody hell.
Jabbar must have picked up her current mood, although Evey herself wasn't certain how she felt. "Don't worry, they're perfectly safe here," he said reassuringly. "There's always someone to look after them, day and night. There are twenty-two cubs at present. They usually move in the main building when they're 16 – more or less, it depends. Some mature faster than others," he went on with a smirk directed at one of his friends.
Some of the children were reading, Evey could see through the window, while others were apparently working on papers, using Muggle pens and pencils. The smaller kids were playing with various toys – quietly, so as not to bother their elders. "From age 6, they have classes in the morning," Jabbar explained, "except on Sunday. They have homework, though," he added. "The younger ones are taught to read as soon as they're able, but everyone learns how to be a proper werewolf. Fenrir often tutors them himself, especially the newcomers."
"Did he bite them all?" Evey asked with a grimace of revulsion. "Did he take them from their homes himself, or does he send you to do his bidding?" she added nastily. They were being nice to her, but she couldn't help feeling that they weren't treating the matter as they should. These kids had been kidnapped, wrenched from their families, for Merlin's sake! And she didn't even want to think about what might have befallen said families.
Jabbar and his friends weren't laughing anymore, but they didn't look angry, either. Evey thought she saw pity – pity! – in Jabbar's eyes. "It's not like that. The Alpha only takes in orphans, or children who live in abusive households. Look," he went on earnestly, "we're aware of what everyone thinks of the boss out there. We all know the reputation he's made for himself in the wizarding world, since he openly allied with Voldemort during the First War. But you have to understand that he's nothing like that. He's not some bloodthirsty lunatic. He doesn't hate Muggles. He doesn't even hate wizards."
Like hell he didn't. Then again, Evey didn't know much about Greyback at all – nor did she care to. "If he's not a bloodthirsty lunatic, why did he slaughter my family?" she asked pointedly, arms crossed over her chest. They were all staring at her, frowning. Greyback hadn't told anyone the truth, had he? Hypocritical prick. And of course they weren't going to believe her. They would never believe it unless it came from their precious Alpha.
Well, she was wrong about that. "Yeah, Scabior told us about that, but…he seemed to think that they must have disrespected Fenrir, somehow." The man who'd spoken, Croyd, must have realised that Evey was surprised by his reaction. "Oh, we believe you, love. It's just…we've heard the stories, same as everyone else, of what he did during the war, but he had a purpose, then, no matter what everyone thinks. Voldemort is just a means to an end, you see. To further the cause," he said matter-of-factly.
The cause? "What Croyd's trying to say," Jabbar said, "is that maybe Fenrir acted on Voldemort's orders. Not sure why Voldemort would want you or your family dead, but that's another problem entirely. I'm not condoning anything," he added hastily when he saw the look on her face. "But to be fair, you have no idea what it's like to be a werewolf. Fenrir is trying to change our status in the wizarding world, so that we can be seen as people in our own right and not be persecuted anymore. So that we can go to school like anyone else, have access to the same benefits as the next bloke. Is that really too much to ask?"
Evey didn't know where to start. "First of all, my parents and brother were Muggles. They didn't even know that Greyback existed, so they couldn't have offended him in any way." She looked at them all levelly. "And Greyback already told me that Voldemort wasn't involved. He said it was my scent that caused him to act as he did, whatever that means," she said with a contemptuous sniff. "Secondly, how in the blazes is killing people going to help with your image in any way?" she said, incredulity tinting her voice. "How does it aid your…cause?"
"It's not the killing that helps, it's Voldemort himself," Croyd muttered. "We don't like the bloody snake any more than you do, you know, but he promised us equal rights, when he rises to power. Nobody else ever promised us that. Hell, no one's ever bothered to even mention us."
Evey slowly massaged her temples. "You must be the only people in the universe who still believe in promises made by power-hungry men who seek to rule over everyone else. In the Muggle world, we call them politicians," she said with a smirk. "Seriously, how can you trust a word Voldemort says? Don't you know how he treats those he calls Half-breeds, or magical beings in general? He despises everyone who isn't a Pure-blood witch or wizard. He might make use of them, mind, but he considers them as expendables, and in the end he will discard them – or destroy them, depending on his mood at the time, I suspect. And that includes werewolves." How could they not understand this? "Don't you see that Voldemort is taking advantage of Greyback, of you? Now, I'm willing to accept that perhaps Greyback has been magically influenced, but why does everyone here happily plays along with it all as if associating with Grindelwald's heir were perfectly normal? He can't have gotten to all of you," she said with a trace of despair.
"We're not under anyone's spell!" Croyd barked at her, fists clenching at his sides. He moved to take a step forward, but froze mid-motion when Jabbar let out a low growl. Croyd retreated quickly, eyes downcast.
Evey didn't flinch at his vehemence. She'd managed to keep her cool around Greyback; she certainly wasn't about to let herself be intimated by a mere subordinate. "Then you must be plain stupid," she said with a twisted smile. Without waiting for a retort, she turned on her heels and made her way back to her cell – without getting lost once, she noted proudly.