Crumple Horned Plot Bunnies
By Andrew J. Talon
Disclaimer: I do not and probably never will own Harry Potter or any other copyrighted works mentioned in this story. I am not writing this for profit.
With how lackluster the Ministry's protection was for Muggleborns and Halfbloods, it would be no surprise if they didn't protect Muggles very well from magical threats.
So an alliance with vampires, werewolves and other "Undesirables" of the Ministry would help with protecting Muggleborns and Muggles. It is in their own self interest too: Muggleborns, Werewolves, and Muggles can protect vampires during the day while vampires can protect the rest during the night and full moons. And they would put together, for lack of a better tern, a militia to protect and police themselves from multiple threats.
Death Eaters would end up facing not just wizards but also werewolf and vampire magic users.
MacNair smiled as he hefted his axe. Poxy wands were for weaklings. You needed to feel the kill. The man with the prematurely white hair shook his head as he got up from where he'd been reading a book when the door had been smashed in.
"You know, it's this kind of stupidity that really reinforces the fact that the Purebloods are on the verge of wiping themselves out due to inbreeding. You have no idea what you're getting into."
"I know that you're a muggle that decided he likes fucking animals. I wonder if she'll gnaw on your corpse for a bit before I kill her." MacNair taunted the muggle even as he advanced.
The other man stiffened, then took a deep breath through his nose and let out a sigh. "You know, you've made a few critical mistakes here. One, it's a full moon. Two, you came by yourself. And three..." There was a blue of blur and white and MacNair shrieked as his wrists were shattered, the axe falling with its haft broken. The lupine form fell back into a martial stance. "My wife isn't the werewolf in the family." (edited)
MacNair never left the Talbane household. Alive.
A second later, Reg Gamgee, a Muggleborn responder for the Alliance Militia (or "the Chief", as he sometimes half jokingly was called) Apparated to the front yard with Ferdie McKellan and George Alfson. Gamgee took the lead, a tall, sandy haired man with a beard and broad, strong shoulders. He had been an Auror once... Before he'd been sacked for poking his nose where a Muggleborn's shouldn't have been.
Now, he did this.
They approached the front door, wands out, having responded to the alarm wards going off in their little office.
Every member of the Alliance got alarm wards, keyed via the Protean Charm, to alert either their office or their neighbors that they needed help. It let them get help in seconds, minutes at worst.
A hell of a lot faster than the pathetic response times for Ministry Aurors. Reg snorted-They would arrive in time to try and count the bodies, at best.
"JOHN! MARIANNE! IT'S GAMGEE!" Reg yelled into the open door. A plain looking woman in glasses walked up, wand out.
"Oh Chief Reg!" Marianne cried. "Come quick!"
They headed into the house, Reg already prepared for the worst... Only to see a large werewolf snarling down at the bloody remains of a Death Eater.
Reg allowed himself a savage smile. George Alfson, a tall, pale man, snorted.
"Only one? Stupid bastard," George observed.
"And carrying an axe?" Ferdie laughed darkly, the redheaded witch shaking her head. "Git!"
"My John took care of him," Marianne said, shaken but smiling in love at her transformed husband, "but if you could handle the mess... if the Aurors found out-!"
"They won't," Reg said grimly. Any werewolf who killed a wizard, even if they were a Death Eater, was to be executed.
"Ferdie? George?"
They set out a plastic tarp, before levitating the body up and onto it. They wrapped the body up, before Scourgifying and cleaning the area. They grabbed every bit of clothing, mask and body they could together, putting the whole mess into a plastic bag.
"Portkey's ready, Chief," George said, holding up a piece of the Death Eater's mask. Marianne fretted, as John shuffled at her neck. She blushed, but proceeded to ask:
"Can't the Ministry track Portkeys?" She asked.
"Ones that use the Ministry leylines? Yes, absolutely," George said, "but we found leylines the Ministry doesn't use, and thus, don't track."
He smirked.
"Gotta use my Charms Mastery for something, since the Portkey Office will promote me from office runner sometime past never."
"Port him," Reg ordered. George dropped the Portkey, and the body bag vanished.
"Where'd you send him?" Marianne asked.
"A volcano," Reg said bluntly. "Looks like Macnair's son inherits early."
"Fuck him and the rest of the brood," Ferdie snorted.
She tipped her pointed hat to the Talbanes. "You lot have a good night."
"Thank you," Marianne sighed. She giggled as her transformed husband got more... Handsy. "J-Johnnnn!"
"And this is where we make a discrete exit," Reg murmured, leading his friends out. Ferdie pouted.
"Think they'd let me watch?" She asked.
"Deviant," George sniffed.
"Prude!" Ferdie huffed.
"Come on, get a move on," Reg ordered, "full moon, lots of work to do!"
"Aye Chief!"
More than that, why not Magicals making their fortunes outside the Magical World? Rejected by the bigots running the Magical World, they tried to make their way in the Muggle world. Some may have become self made millionaires. Like this gentleman here, an OC named Renard Skoll. Renard is French for "fox" and "Skoll" is Norse for "Treachery" or "Mockery", and also the name of a legendary wolf in Norse mythology. He is a wizard who got bit by Fenrir Greyback, just like Remus, and was a few years older than him. Unlike Remus though, he couldn't go to Hogwarts because he was Muggleborn.
His parents weren't well off but Renard managed to win a scholarship to study overseas in America, where he learned both engineering and magic. He invented a transistor that helped revolutionize the budding computer industry and diversified, becoming a millionaire in the mid 70s. His parents had built a kind of support network for Muggleborns as Voldemort's rise escalated, the Magical Alliance, and Renard poured his money and resources into expanding it. Helping out others screwed over by the system.
The werewolf packs of the UK sure had changed a lot in the years Remus had been away. He hadn't related to them much even when he was here. Yet Dumbledore still trusted him to act as their ambassador.
Even so, waiting in a lobby at a fancy office building in downtown London seemed an odd place to meet the alpha of the packs.
A pretty strawberry blonde woman in a smart skirt, jacket and heels walked up, carrying a clipboard.
Assistant: "Mr. Lupin? Please, this way. Mr. Skoll is expecting you."
Remus: "Ah, thank you."
The receptionists and security guards had all looked at him rather dubiously. He had smartened up his suit with some magic, but he still looked rather haggard he supposed.
He followed the beautiful woman into an executive elevator, and stood with her as the doors closed. The elevator went up. Remus frowned, sniffed the air.
Remus: "You... Seem familiar."
Assistant: "Molly Young. Ravenclaw, class of 79!"
Remus: eyes widen "Molly?! I haven't seen you in years!"
Molly: beams "It's been a while, Remus!"
Remus: "But-What are you doing here?! You had, what, six perfect OWLs?! How did your NEWTs go?"
Molly: "Wonderful! I got six there, too... But it didn't matter."
Remus: "It didn't?"
The elevator dinged, and Molly led Remus out the doors into a large office in front of an equally large window overlooking the city. There were several decorations: A guitar signed by someone named Jimmy Hendrix, a gargoyle that looked like it was from Notre Dame, a katana from Japan on the wall. At the end of the large office was a broad desk, with several chairs around it. Behind the desk was a tall, handsome man in a smart suit.
He had prominent cheekbones, olive-shaped yellow eyes, and a pointed nose. In combination with his dirty blonde hair and graying sideburns, he looked rather vulpine. He was talking on a phone, arguing with the person on the other end.
Renard: "No, no, I want the new factory set up in Thailand, not China! We went over this a hundred times! We're not selling the Commies the rope they'll hang us with! All right! That sounds good!"
Renard hung up the phone, and rose up from behind his desk. He gave Remus a toothy grin that seemed a bit mischievous.
Renard: "Ah! Remus Lupin! Good to see you!"
Renard walked up and shook Remus' hand happily. He glanced at Molly.
Renard: "Thank you Molly. I'll call if I need you."
Molly: "Thank you Renard."
Renard sat down and slipped his wand out of his sleeve. He waved it, and chicken, potatoes, salad, bread, and wine appeared on the coffee table. Remus sat on the other side.
Renard: "Go on, eat, eat! You look like you're about to chew on someone's leg!"
Remus: "Ah, thank you Mister Skoll-"
Renard: "Call me Ren!"
Remus: "Oh, well, thank you Ren!"
Remus dug in, while Renard did the same. After a while, Remus spoke.
Remus: "So... I'm glad you took the time to meet with me."
Renard: "Well, you'd been given the runaround by a few of the Pack members. Bad form on their part. Playing fetch, nasty game."
Remus: nods "A bit. So... I don't know how much you know, but... Lord Voldemort has returned."
Renard: "... I see. From the dead?"
Remus: "As close as Harry could make him."
Renard: "Ugh. I hate it when the DM pulls that crap."
Remus: "Pardon?"
Renard: "Dungeons and Dragons. It's a great game! Got into it when I was in the States, I'll have to teach you sometime."
Remus: "Ah, well, certainly. In any event, I wanted to ask you if you could persuade the werewolf packs to side with... Well, Dumbledore."
Renard was silent for a moment. Remus cleared his throat and went on.
Remus: "And, uh, you... Seem to have a lot of resources. At least one witch working for you?"
Renard: "I have several witches working for me. Molly's probably ninth prettiest, though two others became models so it's hardly fair."
Remus: "Ah, yes. I mean... Your resources would be a huge help to us!"
Renard: "To Dumbledore."
Remus: "Well, yes."
Renard: sips some wine "... And why should I want to trust Albus Dumbledore?"
Remus: surprised "W-Well... I mean... He's always treated werewolves fairly! He let me into Hogwarts-"
Renard: "No, no. That's why you trust him. Which was not at all what I was asking."
Remus: "Well... Why wouldn't you?"
Renard: "Remus... I never went to Hogwarts. My parents even went as far to go to the Ministry of Magic themselves, despite both being Muggles, after I was bitten. And they were turned away. My letter was retracted."
Remus: "I... But that...!"
Renard: "Oh, I'm sure Dumbledore did what he could... But I also can't help but feel that a werewolf boy who was a halfblood was more palatable to them. Even one who'd already received his letter."
Remus: "That's not Dumbledore's fault-!"
Renard: "Is it? He's head of the Wizenmagot. Plenty of bills have gone through, passed under his watch, that denied jobs to werewolves, to Muggleborn..."
A door opened nearby, and both men looked over. A pale girl with in black, wearing sunglasses, stumbled in. She gaped, showing off her fangs.
Girl: "Ah-Ah! S-Sorry, Mister Skoll, I just woke up and had an idea-!"
Renard: "It's fine, Isabella. You can use my computer, type it up. But you need to stop using the cot in my office-People are starting to talk."
Isabella blushes, nods, and goes to the desk to begin typing at the computer. Renard turns to Remus.
Renard: "That's Isabella Moss. She's one of my best programmers."
Remus: "A vampire?! But-But the statute of secrecy-!"
Renard: snorts "As far as the non-magical members of staff are concerned, she's some weird goth girl who pulls all nighters and sleeps during the day." He shot a wink at Isabella "And is an insatiable coffee fiend."
Isabella: "Heh. Guilty, sir!"
Remus: "But... What about you?"
Renard: "Me? I go into seclusion for one night a month, or take some Wolfsbane and go jogging with my wife. She says I'm her dog." wry smirk "She's not entirely wrong."
Remus: "I-I just... Dumbledore's done his best for us in our world-"
Renard: "Then I'd hate to see his worst. And it's your world, Remus. Not ours."
Remus: "I-I know it hasn't been entirely fair-"
Renard: "Remus. If I'd stayed in your world, doing things your way, I'd have ended up homeless, destitute, and depressed. My only salvation being the kind hand of some old wizard who wanted to use me as some sort of propaganda win with so called 'Dark Creatures'. I won't be so mean to call you his 'pet werewolf' as others have said, but... That is the perception."
Remus: "He's not all powerful-!"
Renard: "And yet, loyalty deserves to be rewarded, does it not? Molly Young did everything right. She went to Hogwarts, became a Prefect, passed all her classes, got letters of recommendation from two professors... And the best job she could get was as a clerk in the Department of Magical Education. With the hope that maybe, one day when she's old and gray, her inbred supervisor would put her up for a raise. Now? She's the best personal assistant I've ever had! I literally could not run my business without her! She finally got her MBA, and she actually deserved it!"
Remus: "But-!"
Renard: "And Isabella? She got bit when she was five, never got her Hogwarts Letter! But her parents didn't give up, they homeschooled her and did by mail secondary school! Her A levels were off the charts! I snapped her up immediately when I learned she was a vampire, got her through college, and now she makes 150,000 pounds a year doing something that might revolutionize mankind's technology!"
Isabella: blushes slightly "S-Sir! You're embarrassing me!"
Renard: "I meant every word! I'm an engineer so I still have my biases, but I'm not going to disparage the incredible work she's done! On her own merits!"
Remus: "But people are dying!"
Renard: "Yes... And I'm going to do everything I can to help prevent that. But we're not working with some ancient wizard who, at best, largely does nothing and says a whole lot of pretty platitudes."
Remus: "That's not true! He's done plenty-!"
Renard: "For you. And that's great for you, Remus. But if he thought we'd follow your example into destitution and remain victims, he's sadly mistaken. I have four werewolves on my board of directors. Not because they're werewolves, but because they were also engineers, computer experts, and-most importantly-brilliant. I have fifteen vampires, forty-six Muggleborn, thirty werewolves, and a Swedish Merman who reproduced Microsoft's base coding from a few instruction booklets in my company, at least. All doing things they love, getting paid well for it, to help the world. And we've got plenty more besides, all shunned by your little world with its endless, empty promises for change."
Remus: "But we can't beat him if we don't work together-!"
Renard: "Remus... The old men who run your world pretend like the rest of humanity is beneath their notice. While we're putting men on the moon and changing the way mankind has lived, uplifting the poor and healing the sick, you're squabbling over whose parents were more inbred."
Renard shook his head and leaned back in his chair.
Renard: "In the end, you're still playing by their rules, Remus. When you should have been playing by your own. If you had, you'd be sitting where I am."
Silence fell for a while. Renard sucked in a breath.
Renard: "I will help out, where needed Remus. But the Wizarding World as you know it has been dying for a very long time-This is just a symptom of it. And I think it deserves to die. And when you realize that? Give me a call. I'll have a job for you, and let you sort out what you want your life to be about."
Remus: "..." slowly nods "I understand. Thank you, Mister Skoll."
Renard: snort "I told you... Call me Ren."
This next part written by TempestK.
Fenrir smirked, showing his enlarged teeth as he strode through the hall of this damned muggle edifice. This upjumped little fox thought that he was the Alpha of the Packs? He was just another of Fenrir's wayward runts that had to be shown how things really worked.
(He didn't notice how... empty, the building was. That he'd been let in via an automatic door, and that there were no other people present in the lobby. Only the lingering scent of fear and unease, more than enough to satisfy him. For now.)
Stepping into the elevator like he owned it, he stabbed the button for the top floor. Someone as ostentatious as this wouldn't be anywhere else from the top. Idly Fenrir picked at his teeth with a claw-like nail. Perhaps he'd toss this Skoll off of his throne literally as well as figuratively. As the elevator reached the top and opened, Fenris' smile came back in full force. The vulpine-looking wolf was sitting at his desk, working on paperwork like he hadn't a worry in the world. Time to change that.
Fenrir moved forward... only to have the other wolf hold up a finger in the universal "just a moment" gesture. "Gimme a second, I'm almost done going through these clauses and it'll be a bitch and a half having to go through them again if I lose my place." Fenrir went goggle-eyed at the sheer audacity of this whelp. Then Skoll let the paper fall, looking at Fenrir with an unimpressed gaze. "What do you want Greyback?"
Fenrir snarled at the welp, an ugly gutteral sound. "I want you to hand over leadership of the packs, you stupid mudblooded dog. The packs need a real Alpha to lead them!"
Skoll leaned back in his chair, tapped his desk a few times as if in thought, then shook his head. "No, I don't think I will."
Fenrir's blood thundered in his ears as his rage skyrocketed at the blatant disrespect. Which is why he didn't notice the grind of stony limbs moving until it was too late. With a speed that even a werewolf would have had trouble dodging, he was grappled by heavy stone arms. The gargoyle that had been sitting on the pedastal next to him pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him off the floor. Meaning that he had no real leverage for his prodigious strength.
"Fenny, Fenny, Fenny. You have no idea how long I've been looking forward to this. But first, a little zoology lesson. See all that Alpha male bullshit? Completely untrue. Wolves in the wild are family units. It's just that the wolves that the study were based on were all from different packs, and jammed together in a zoo. So no, I'm not the 'Alpha' of the packs. I'm their leader. Something that you never had the capacity to be." Skoll got up and moved to another of the displays in his office, removing a sheathed blade of some kind from it. Fenrir didn't know what it was called, nor did he care.
"As for calling me a dog?" There was a low prolonged hiss as the blade was removed from the sheathe, Skoll idly inspecting it for a moment as Fenrir saw his own snarling reflection in the metal. "That's rich coming from the attack dog for a jumped-up Halfblood with delusions of adequacy."
Fenrir went stock still, pupils contracting to pinpoints. "What did you say?" His voice was soft, dangerous even. Skoll didn't seem to care.
"His name is Tommy Riddle. He's the last of the Gaunts, and just as crazy as the rest of his family. Not that this will concern you anymore."
Fenrir scoffed. "You don't have it in you."
Skoll paused, looking at Fenrir with a raised brow. "Now, normally, you'd be right. But there's a few factors here that change the game. One, you're one of Tommy's chief terror weapons. Remove you from the board and no more people fearing that their families will be brutalized, raped and turned in retaliation. Two, you're the architect of all of my childhood suffering, and that of countless others. You're a monster, plain and simple. And three..."
There was a flash of light, the sound of meat separating, and a gout of blood that was frozen in mid-spurt by a quick freezing charm. "The business world has always been cut throat. And I am a very good businessman."
Fenrir's head managed a half-blink before his brain realized he was dead, rolling on the floor at Skoll's feet.
"Goodbye Fenrir. You won't be missed."
That was the point that the elevator door burst open, disgorging his personal security team of vampires; each one wielding automatic pistols and sub-machine guns that were loaded with silver bullets. The head of security, Demetri, stepped forward. "Are you okay sir?"
Renard smiled as he wiped the blood on the blade off on Fenrir's body, before sheathing it with a practiced motion. "Yeah, never better."
It had been some time since Dumbledore wore a simple suit, but he thought he still pulled it off nicely. He got a few strange glances from the receptionist and the security guards, but also an admiring look or two from the cleaning lady he and young Molly passed on their way to the elevator. So he considered that fair.
Renard's office was quite understated, but he knew better than to judge by appearances. The Gargoyle was definitely of the Guardian type, bound to protect its master and enhanced with dozens of charms and spells to be as strong, tough and quick as possible. The guitar was spelled to emit Compulsion and Calming Charms when prompted, to lull an enemy into relaxing. And that wasn't even getting into the other magical and non-magical defenses all over, hidden away.
Renard's smile was still slightly uneasy as he reached out and shook Dumbledore's hand. They sat down in comfortable chairs, and Renard brought out Dumbledore's favorite brand of firewhiskey. He poured two glasses, and Dumbledore nodded his thanks before he took a sip.
"I admit, I was expecting a chillier reception," Dumbledore said, "few people seem to like having me around these days."
"Well, you made an appointment," Renard replied, sipping his own firewhiskey, "better than the Ministry wizards. That entitles you to a polite reception, at least."
Dumbledore winced.
"Yes, I heard about that," the older wizard said. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Aside from a foolish Obliviator? No," Renard said, smiling craftily. "The employee in question has a magical sibling-A Miss Orla Quirke, I believe? No violation of the statute for her to see Mister Brown summoning up a more comfortable chair."
Renard shook his head.
"I still reprimanded him though. Being that sloppy in the heart of London? Honestly."
"Good," Dumbledore said with a nod. He was silent for a time, before he spoke again.
"I admit, you are not what I expected, Renard," he said. "I haven't been keeping up with the changes you have been making. As much as I would like, anyway. Now that I have caught up... It's incredible."
Renard nodded.
"Thank you," he said. He gazed into his tumbler of firewhiskey. "I suppose I should thank you. If I'd gone to Hogwarts, I'd never have accomplished all this."
"That is but one of my many, many regrets, Renard," Dumbledore said quietly, feeling quite old indeed. "I daresay you could have been just as great if you had gone. Perhaps greater, though I will admit to a bias there."
Renard shrugged.
"I'm not losing any sleep over it," he said.
"You told Remus you were willing to help, but not to be under my command," Dumbledore said, "I'm afraid I may have given Remus the wrong information-"
"No, I'm fairly certain he had it right," Renard said dryly, "you want to run the show and let me be subordinate. That about the size of it?"
"... I am the one best suited to organize and lead," Dumbledore replied gently.
"Are you?" Renard asked, raising an eyebrow. "Fudge has been running circles around you, and he's an imbecile. And don't bother denying it, I know his NEWT records."
"I will admit his academic excellence is lacking," Dumbledore nodded, "but he is a cunning and canny politician. If you have ways to counter him, I am all ears."
Renard stared intently at Dumbledore for a time, silent. Dumbledore was silent as well. He knew this trick very well. He used it himself.
But eventually, they had to get moving. So Dumbledore broke.
"I am not asking you to become my subordinate in this. An ally would be more to my liking, in all honesty," he said. He gave him a wry smile. "I actually find your legitimate distrust of my abilities... Refreshing."
"Is that so?" Renard asked wryly.
"Fudge believes I want to be Minister. If I wanted to be, I would have taken the chair decades ago," Dumbledore said, "however, you question my ability to do any good based simply on an objective view of my track record. It's quite surprising you wouldn't hold a grudge and let that distort your thinking."
"I will admit I do retain a certain, boyhood resentment towards you, somewhere," Renard said with a shrug, "but in all honesty? The system is more to blame than any individual. And you must change the system by changing individuals within it. I know myself how difficult it can be to convince people of new ideas. Especially when they're all of the same tribe, thinking in lock step."
"And yet you think the Magical World is dying," Dumbledore pressed a bit, "that it deserves to die."
Renard chuckled softly. He looked out the window for a moment, before returning his gaze to the ancient wizard.
"My dear Dumbledore. You of all people should know that societies do not die and vanish. They die... And then are reborn, like your phoenix. But to get something better, the old has to collapse and burn away. To rise from the ashes. Do you not agree?"
"I do," Dumbledore said, "I just pray it isn't literally, in this case."
Renard chuckled.
"So do I."
This would lead to a very interesting alternate timeline, I think.
