The Scottish highlands seemed largely devoid of life, and the surface of the moor was, aside from grass and rabbits.
However something lurked deep below the surface, deep below the rabbits and grass, below the peat and roots, and yes, even below the clay and rock it lay, silent. There is a large bed of coal nearby, but that has nothing to do with this story.
This story is about how the wizarding world reaped what it had sown for so many centuries.
To that end we now go underground somewhere beneath London.
Fenrir Greyback was agitated, since he currently found himself thoroughly lost, which was unusual for any werewolf, let alone him.
He was currently stuck in what he could only guess was an advanced form of cell.
The only light in the room came from faintly glowing runes and wards.
The room itself was perfectly spherical, about five meters across, and made of some black material, presumably stone.
But Fenrir couldn't tell, since a magical shield was suspended in the air about two inches from the wall, which prevented him from touching the wall.
His frustration was heightened by the fact that he was unable to determine which way up was, since there appeared to be a gravity ward, which pulled him to the nearest wall.
He ran laps around the room, breathing heavily.
Each time his foot hit the shield it flared white, and then red after a moment, firing off a stunner spell.
He wasn't sure how long he had been at this, but it felt like an hour or so.
He had initially started this activity to try to drain the wards in order to find some means of escape, but he was beginning to tire and as he looked up, he was able to see the shield re-absorbing the stunners.
He growled in frustration.
"Bloody Hell"he muttered to himself savagely.
"That cursed shield absorbs magic to make itself stronger, so I can do this all day without making it any weaker."
He kept on, the urge to hunt rising in him.
Even though he couldn't see the moon, the wolf in his soul could feel it, like an itch that needed to be scratched, only instead of on his back, the itch was in his mind.
Though eventually even a werewolf has to stop running, and soon he stumbled from fatigue, which of course was all the opening the shield needed.
The next stunner caught him in the leg, knocking him out.
He awoke with a start some time later.
For the first time in as long has he could remember he felt alone. The primal connection to the beast no longer lurked in the dark recesses of his mind, pushing him toward aggression.
For many years he had considered the wolf that had shared his soul to be a friend, the only true friend he had in fact.
The dark, bleak cell was soon filled with the grief stricken cries of a man who has lost his only friend.
Physically he had not felt this good in years, yet he was alone, and that thought was unbearable.