(Fenrir Greyback - PoV)

Standing across the street from The Slaughtered Calf, I can't help the low growl that rumbles out at the thought of the place.

Potential clients wanting to meet up to discuss a job offer is quite common, and Knockturn Alley is the go-to place. Seedy bars, shit-tier restaurants, dark alleys, I swear I've seen em' all over the years. But this? This is a first.

The Calf may technically be in the Alley, but it is about as far from low brow as you can get. No, it is one of those places where there other patrons of this side of the world go to have their fun. The rich, the influential. The old families, with their old money. Those who don't mind spending hundreds of galleons on a whim, or some fucked up fetish. The Calf serves anything one requests. Dragon, Nundu, Unicorn, Merfolk. Werewolf.

...

Looking once more at the fancy invitation in hand, I remind myself that if they really wanted me for their tables they would have tried sending a hit, or worse, capture squad. Or just made the letter a damned portkey, I've seen more than enough idiots fall for that over the years. No, this is yet another rich bastard wanting someone else to do their dirty work.

I snort at the thought of the soft, weak-willed bastards, hiding in the manors while someone else does their work. Pathetic.

Still, I wonder who got Parkinson's panties in a twist this time. Or maybe it was Notts? Or Malfoy? Really, the whole crowd tends to run together, pathetic bastards looking down on me one and all.

Frowning, I reconsider.

No, they would never bother with this. They always meet me in the lowliest dump they know. Inviting me here at least pretends civility, respect. Then again, a place where I could literally be on the menu? That suggests the opposite.

Ugh, fucking power games.

Fuck it, whoever they are, they clearly have money to burn. May as well see what they want. At the bare minimum, I get a damn good meal out of it. I wonder what Nundu tastes like?

Strolling across the street, I barge through the fancy doors without care, taking in the interior at a glance.

Ugh, what the fuck is it with these rich bastards that makes them decorate so badly. Gold this, gold that, bah. Expensive does not mean pretty, fuckwits.

"Can I...help you?" the foppish twat standing at a...booth thing, whatever those are called, near the entrance asks, looking down his nose at me.

I can feel the security types moving into position just out of most people's sight, so I guess all this gaudy shit is good for something at least.

I give the...concergi? Foppish fuck. I give the foppish fuck my least trustworthy grin, were-enhanced canines in full display, causing him to jerk back as I approach threateningly.

"I do believe so. I've an invitation, like, see?" I brandish the letter.

I grab his hand as he reaches in to take the letter, leaning in real close, still smiling widely.

"I'll be wanting that back, yeah?"

The now sweating fop nods quickly before I release his hand, allowing him to jerk away.

Turning, I address one of the security wizards behind me, wands in hand, though aimed down and away.

"Bit twitchy this one, eh? I thought this place was supposed to have good customer service? Not impressed lads, not impressed."

Especially with how close they are standing. Never a good idea in general, but I am not even trying to hide the fact I am a were. I could easily kill the fop and then the both of them before they could get a spell off. Sure they probably have backup that might get me after, but that won't save their sorry hides now will it?

I suppose they do look mighty young, must be new hires. Still, what is Hogwarts even teaching? Whatever, good news for me. Funny though, a few minutes ago I was worried about this being a trap. Now I'm considering getting a few of the boys and knocking the place over. Someone has clearly started skimping on the security types in the last few years.

The black-haired one sneers at me and starts to reply before the fop speaks up behind me.

"Ah, yes sir, everything appears to be in order."

Black hair's mouth shuts with a click, and he settles for a glare.

I make eye contact with him, straightening my tattered jacket and letting my smile widen before turning back to the fop.

"Sounds good my man, sounds good."

He hands me the letter, which I tuck away in my coat as he continues.

"Kara here will lead you to your table, sir, in our private rooms. Your partner for this evening has already arrived."

I take in the perky blonde in a too-small top.

"Hi, I'm Kara! I will be your server this evening. If you will follow me?"

"Yes ma'am!"

Quickly, I turn back to the security guys.

"I take it back. The service?"

I give them a thumbs up.

"Doing great guys," I assure them, before hurrying after the swaying hips.

Sway sway sway.

*knock knock*

Hmm?

Oh, we've arrived. Damn.

Entering, I find the customary hooded figure sipping a drink at a fancy-ass table. At least the room is halfway tolerable, compared to the rest of the place.

Dropping into the seat across from him, I make myself comfortable while Kara hovers nearby.

"Would you like to order now, or take some time to discuss it?"

"Oh, I am ready now, I do believe. Yourself, my friend?" the figure asks, their voice filtered through multiple charms so that I cannot get a hint of their true voice even with my enhanced hearing. Someone seems to have a set of proper Unspeakable robes, not the cheap imitations most use, damn.

"Well, I admit, I never tried Nundu before. Got anything good with it?" I ask.

"We do indeed!" the girl replies cheerfully. "We have a bit of variety, but might I suggest our Nundu steak?"

I laugh, girl has me pegged, not that that's hard.

"Sounds good, sounds good."

"Rare?" She asks, with a mischievous smile.

"You know it. And some of ol' Ogden's Firewhiskey."

She nods, making her notes.

"I can get you some Ogdens if you want, but we have an in-house brand as well? I have never heard a complaint about it."

Oh? I hadn't even considered that...

"Ah what the hell, lets give it a shot."

Damn, that's a hell of a smile, the Calf may be slacking on security but not serving staff.

I'd only need to bite her once, but I would like to do a lot more than that...

"There. We. Go. And you sir?" she turns to Mr. Mysterious Benefactor.

"A small Nundu steak sounds excellent actually. Medium rare."

"Anything else?"

"That will be all, thank you."

"Ok then, I will be back with your order shortly! If you need anything just ring the bell!"

I take a moment to appreciate the sight as she disappears out the door before turning my attention to the wizard across the table now that we are alone.

"So, gotta admit, not a place I've ever met someone to do business."

"No? Where do you usually meet?"

"Hah. You know the type, pretty much anywhere else in Knockturn. Shitty bars. Roach motels. Restaurants with fried rat on the menu. Alleyways."

The figure nods.

"I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised, given your condition. Still, I was under the impression you are at least occasionally hired by a more wealthy clientele?"

I scoff before replying.

"So? Far as they are concerned that is where I belong, just another "mangey mutt"."

The figure sighs.

"Of course, they would rather walk through a sewer before they give an ounce of respect to another," they say, before shaking their head.

"Sounds about right," I agree. "So, what do you want?"

"A murder," they admit.

Well, nice of them to just come on out and say it, instead of dancing around the bush for half a fucking hour.

"More specifically, a brutal murder, if possible."

"Oh?"

Sounds like someone wants an example made, instead of a problem removed. Revenge maybe?

"Actually, while I don't mind magic being used specifically, I do want the death to be as physical, bloody, and visceral as possible."

"Ahhhh. I see, I see."

"Yes. Naturally, you were the very first person I thought of."

"Hah! Well, it is nice to have such a reputation amongst the community."

Really, for all the downsides (like the wanted posters, the Aurors, the hit wizards, etcetera) there are upsides. Such as the fact I don't need to seek out clients. No, they come to me, like so.

Anyhow, find some wizard, take em' down, with or without magic, then rip em' apart? Make a real show of it?

"Yeah, I can do that. Know I tend to charge a bit extra for special requests, but I can absolutely do that."

The robed figure waves a hand dismissively.

"Money is hardly a concern."

I don't bother to hide my smile.

I like those words. Those are good words.

"Well, I certainly like the sound of that. I'm going to need a name though, unless you just want me to pick some shmuck out at random. Which, I mean, I can certainly do that too."

I frown slightly.

"I...actually have done that too, sadly enough. Uh, you...aren't like that, are you?"

The guy paying that time just dropped his pants above the body and went at it right there in the street. Obviously got caught and arrested for it, so no repeat business which...I'm still not sure if I am disappointed about that or not. Because seriously, what the fuck?

The client stares at me for a moment before replying.

"I am not sure what you are referring to, and I suspect I do not want to know. But no, I do not want you murdering random people in the street. The name is Hugo Flint."

I nod a couple of times.

Flint huh? That makes things slightly more annoying but is far from a deal-breaker.

Flint was a Death Eater during the war, and had enough pull to get away with it after, but only just. One of the mid-level guys. Old family, but not old money. Hung around the old crowd, but always as a toady, never as someone with power.

"Flint..." I say, tasting the name. "A bit higher profile than I usually go for, you know? My uh, usual clients might take interest."

"Oh, they will," Robes says, surprisingly, "but they will not do anything about it."

Well, that is some reassurance. However, it also says that some serious politics is going on, which is not good. I don't tend to keep up with things, and that may be biting me in the ass right soon.

Fucking politics...

"Mr. Flint made a mistake some time ago, you see. He stepped on the wrong toes. And it seems the world is in need of a reminder, that there are some toes, that you do not step on."

As they speak the final words, the wizard floods the room with their fucking magic, trying to intimidate me, the fucker!

The beast snarls, and I want nothing more than to rip the bastard's fucking throat out, money or no money...

Except, for two facts.

One, it is a lot of magic.

Far more than some piddling two-bit Knockturn thug can turn out. Or a security guard. Or hit wizard, or what have you. No, this is someone actually fucking dangerous and prepared for me. Something proven by the second thing.

They have fucking wards up. When they decide to flex their magic, they also let them shine. I don't know what the fuck they do, but I am willing to bet that if I touch them, I won't like what will happen to me. Not from someone meeting a werewolf at the Slaughtered Calf to request a murder. Specifically a brutal murder, as an example. No, I bet those are something particularly nasty.

Slowly, slowly, I reign the beast back in, regaining control of myself.

It is, fortunately, easier, as fuckhead pulled their magic back in, and is quietly observing, sipping their bottle of fancy shit.

Speaking of, where is my whiskey?

"Impressive. Despite your reputation for savagery, you do have excellent control. Perhaps because you give in to your nature, and thus have a positive bond? Have you considered writing a book?"

Staring at the fucker in front of me, I can't help it, I just start laughing at the absurdity of that idea.

"AHHHHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAA!"

Me! Write a book!

HA!

I barely hear the door chime and have quieted down to chuckles by the time it opens and Kara enters, shirt tight as ever. Damn girl.

"Your steaks, sirs!"

She sets the food down and hands me my whiskey.

"If there is anything else, just let me know, ok?"

Robes gives her a polite nod, but I just wave her off, no longer particularly in the mood for playing.

No, what I need now is whiskey.

Taking a long burning gulp, and...well damn. The girl was right, this is a damn sight better than Ogdens. I'd say they should sell this outside the restaurant, but it wouldn't matter, I couldn't afford it.

After I second drink the bottle slams on the table.

"Good shit," I have to admit.

"They do earn their gold," Mystery Wizard replies, cutting a piece of steak.

I grumble a bit before trying my own.

It's amazing.

There's a sort of tang to the meat I've never tasted in anything else. And of course, it is cooked fucking perfectly.

"You seem unhappy? Is there something wrong with the food?"

"Of fucking course not! It's perfect!" I bitch like an entitled fucking schoolgirl.

Robes puts their silverware down.

"Then what seems to be the problem?"

"You! The fuck do you want?"

"I already told you what I want. I was simply going to wait until after the meal to finish the discussion. As you said, the food is worth the wait, no?"

"You don't...fuck!"

I barely refrain from knocking a hole in the wall. This is the sort of place that may put a hit out on me for doing so.

I take a deep breath.

"You are clearly some kind of nasty fucker, you don't need someone else to kill for you. So why?"

"Why do you think your more upscale clients hire you?"

I can't help the sneer as I reply, "Please, those guys aren't shit. Don't want to get their hands dirty."

"They are certainly weaker than me, but they are more than capable of killing those they send you after, no?"

I stop to think about most of the people I've killed for, say, Parkinson. Yeah, he may be a loudmouth loser but, most of the people he had me kill were even more worthless.

"The second part is more important. Not getting one's hands dirty. Most of society looks down upon killing, often even when justified. So when an upstanding member of society wants someone dead? They tend to use indirect methods, even if they are more than capable of doing the deed themselves. It is not about weakness, it is about expediency."

"Sounds like society is shit."

Robes nods.

"It can be, there are ever so many annoying limitations. But there are perks as well."

"Like?"

"Like Nundu steak?"

I look down at my steak for several seconds before sighing.

Man has a point.

Grabbing my fork, I pick up what's left and tear into it.

Fucking wizards. One day...One day.

It doesn't take long to finish, and once my plate is clear I sit back and drain a good third of the bottle of whiskey.

Good, good shit.

"Alright then. Hugo Flint, you said?"

Mysterio nods.

"I am sure there will be the usual murder investigation, but assuming he is killed in Knockturn, no one will look particularly hard. Less than usual even. His direct family may make some noise, but they don't hold any real power. No one else will do anything. Any other objections?"

I rub my chin, considering.

"Payment?"

Drawing a bag from their robes, they throw it my way. A big bag. The clink of coins brings a smile to my face. Given the size, I open it up expecting to find Sickles, but instead the golden shine of fat, beautiful Galleons greets me, and I can't help but whistle.

Merlin's balls, this is several times more money than I have ever held before.

"He will be splattered across the alley in no time, boss," I promise.

Fuck my earlier hesitations, for this kind of money I'll happily make a damn show of it.

Robes toasts me with his wine.

Stuffing the money in my coat and grabbing the bottle of whiskey I make my way out.

Now the question is, do I head home? Or should I hang around a while and see if I can't follow Kara home after she gets off.