CHAPTER 30: MASKS AND MOTIVATIONS
On my way to Knockturn Alley, I pulled on a well-worn, nondescript cloak that would blend into the murky backdrop of the infamous alley. As an extra precaution, I applied a glamour to obscure my features entirely—a soft distortion around the edges of my face made even my fake appearance unrecognizable. To complete the disguise, I cast a notice-me-not charm, ensuring that casual observers would unconsciously look away. With these layers of protection in place, I felt ready to visit the darker side of the wizarding world.
Before leaving, I turned to SAL, perched elegantly on the back of my chair. "Alright, SAL, it's time for our plan. Are you ready for your part?"
She tilted her head, her dark, intelligent eyes gleaming. With a soft rustle of feathers, she gave an approving chirp. I reached out to gently stroke her head. "I'll shrink you down to pocket size, but I promise you'll get your favorite treats when we're done. I've stocked up on the extra-fatty salmon you love."
SAL clicked her beak softly, a sign of agreement, though she wasn't thrilled about being confined. "I know it's uncomfortable," I added, my tone earnest. "But you're my friend, and I want you safe. And pampering you later is the least I can do."
With a nod of approval from SAL, I cast the shrinking charm and carefully placed her in the inside pocket of my cloak, ensuring she had enough space to move comfortably. Feeling her warmth close to my chest, I set off.
The Leaky Cauldron was bustling as usual, the mix of tourists and regular patrons creating a lively atmosphere. I moved swiftly through the crowd, keeping my head down and my footsteps light. Once I entered Diagon Alley, the contrast was palpable—the cheerful chaos here stood in stark opposition to my destination. The storefronts' colorful displays of cauldrons, books, and brooms began to fade as I approached the shadowy entrance to Knockturn Alley.
The moment I stepped into the narrow, winding street, it was as though I'd entered another world. The air felt heavier, laced with the acrid tang of unspoken danger. Cracked cobblestones and grimy storefronts painted a picture of neglect, while furtive figures flitted from one shadow to another.
It didn't take long before I attracted attention. A trio of scruffy-looking men sauntered towards me, their sneers displaying yellowed teeth. The tallest one, sporting a jagged scar across his face, stepped forward, blocking my path.
"Oi, look what we've got 'ere," he drawled, his voice thick with malice. "Looks like someone's wandered too far from Diagon, eh, boys?"
The others snickered, one of them cracking his knuckles ominously.
I didn't respond. Instead, I let my hood obscure most of my face, except for my eyes. Channeling a trick I'd practiced, I made them glow with a fiery intensity that pierced through the shadows. At the same time, I focused a sharp burst of Legilimency into their minds—a fleeting glimpse of terror designed to unsettle them.
The effect was immediate. The tallest man faltered, his cocky grin melting into a mask of unease. The second man stumbled backward, his face pale, and the third... well, he promptly wet himself before collapsing in a trembling heap.
The corner of my mouth twitched beneath my hood, but I forced myself to maintain composure. I strode past them without a word, leaving the alleyway silent save for their stammering excuses to each other.
No one dared to approach me after that. The oppressive atmosphere of Knockturn Alley pressed down harder with each step, but I felt a thrill of confidence. Soon, I reached my destination: a rundown tavern tucked away in a dim corner.
The White Wyvern wasn't inviting, to say the least. Its grimy windows and crooked sign made it clear this was a place where secrets thrived and questions went unasked. I pushed open the door, stepping into a room that reeked of stale ale and damp wood. The interior was as bleak as the outside, with a palette of brown, gray, and black dominating the space. The patrons—many of them hunched over their drinks—seemed as worn down as the furniture.
I approached the bar, where a heavily tattooed man wiped a dirty glass with a cloth that looked no cleaner. He glanced up, his eyes narrowing as he assessed me. "What'll it be?" he asked gruffly, his voice low enough to discourage small talk.
"I'm here to see Geri," I said, keeping my tone steady and direct.
The bartender's gaze lingered on me for a moment, as though he was trying to determine if I was worth the effort—or trouble. After a pause, he slid a tarnished brass key across the counter. "Room 4," he muttered, jerking his chin toward the rickety staircase at the back of the tavern.
I pocketed the key with a curt nod and turned away. The weight of a dozen suspicious eyes followed me as I crossed the room, my steps muffled by the sticky, uneven floorboards. Every creak of the ancient wood underfoot seemed to echo in the dimly lit space.
The staircase groaned under my weight as I ascended, adding a dissonant soundtrack to the oppressive stillness of the tavern. Once I reached the landing, I paused in front of the door to Room 4. My instincts hummed with tension, and I tightened my grip on my wand, tucked securely beneath my cloak.
Taking a deep breath, I cast a quick Homenum Revelio. A faint pulse of magic confirmed my suspicions—there were six individuals outside, strategically positioned around the building. Inside the room, three figures waited, their presences distinct against the backdrop of faint magical traces left by years of shady dealings.
Good. At least now I knew what I was walking into—or out of, if it came to that. I activated my self-created magic sense, extending an invisible web of awareness across the space. It allowed me to visualize the entire area in my mind's eye, making it nearly impossible for anyone to sneak up on me unnoticed.
As I stood there, one thought nagged at me. Would it hurt for anyone to liven this place up a bit? The peeling paint, grimy windows, and general air of decay were depressingly typical for wizarding locales involved in illegal dealings. It was as if wizards collectively believed that skulking in filth was a requirement for shady business.
Even Diagon Alley, supposedly the magical community's crown jewel, was only a shade better. The cobblestones were perpetually dirty, and half the storefronts could have done with a good scrubbing. Was it too much to ask for criminals to take pride in their hideouts? There were plenty of illegal places in the Muggle world that oozed class and sophistication—why not here?
I sighed, brushing the thought aside. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I mentally chided myself. Focus. You're here for a reason, not an interior design critique.
Key in hand, I quietly unlocked the door. My glamour and cloaked form meant I appeared as little more than a shadow as I stepped inside.
The room was as drab as the rest of the tavern, though slightly less decrepit. A small table sat in the center, with a single flickering lantern casting uneven light. Three cloaked figures occupied the space. Two stood, their broad shoulders and imposing builds marking them as muscle. They flanked a smaller figure seated in a chair at the far end of the room.
Their silence was unnerving, though it was clear they were expecting me.
I closed the door behind me with deliberate care, leaning slightly against it as if casual. My senses remained attuned to the faint movements of the six individuals outside. It was a calculated risk being here—one wrong move and this meeting could easily turn into a fight.
"So," I began, my voice low but steady. "I assume one of you is Geri. I'd hate to think I walked into the wrong room after all that trouble downstairs."
The seated figure shifted slightly, tilting their head in acknowledgment. Their voice, smooth and edged with caution, responded. "You've got the right room. I trust you're here for business?"
"Depends," I replied coolly, allowing a faint smirk to touch my lips beneath my hood. "That would be up to you, wouldn't it?"
One of the standing figures took a step forward, their boots thudding heavily against the floor. A faint growl escaped their throat, but the seated figure raised a hand, silencing them. "Let's keep this civil," they said sharply before turning their attention back to me. "Now, shall we get down to it?"
nodded once, my fingers brushing the reassuring weight of my wand as I stepped further into the room. Whatever came next, I was ready.
"It would appear that you are Geri, yes?" I asked, closing the door behind me with deliberate care, my tone even but edged with curiosity.
"And you must be Mr. Folster," came the reply. The voice was a woman's, smooth but with a trace of something sharper—authority or challenge, perhaps.
I pulled down my hood to reveal the older, glamoured appearance I had adopted for this encounter. "In the flesh," I said with a faint, calculated smile. "Now, what can I do for three werewolves such as yourselves? Although I've published Lycanthropy: A Guide to Understanding and Coexistence, I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting any of you. My work was based on research, not personal connections."
The woman leaned forward slightly, her shadowed face still obscured by her cloak. "We need help," she stated, her voice firm, laced with both pride and defiance. "You claim werewolves can live amongst everyone else. We want you to prove it. Help us, and prove you mean what you wrote."
Ah, so that's her game. I did a subtle sweep of her surface thoughts with Legilimency, careful not to tip her off. What I found wasn't surprising—this wasn't a request. It was a test. She wasn't just asking for assistance; she was demanding it, a challenge for me to prove myself worthy of their cooperation.
The corner of my mouth twitched as I considered my response. She might think she holds the cards, but she clearly underestimated me. My plans to improve the treatment of those afflicted with lycanthropy were already in motion and would succeed regardless of whether this particular werewolf decided to be part of them.
"A lot of people need help," I said evenly, my smile fading as my tone shifted to one of pure professionalism. "So, tell me—why should I help you? Someone I know nothing about. Someone whose face and identity remain hidden. Your motives are unclear, your goals unspoken. And while I won't begrudge your choice of venue, considering your... limited options, I will point out the six individuals you have stationed outside, and the two behind you who seem a little too eager to pounce. Meanwhile, I came here alone—a show of trust you've chosen not to reciprocate."
"You dare speak that way to our lady, you f—!" the brute on her right growled, stepping forward menacingly. He didn't get far.
I raised my hand, channeling magic with a quick, fluid motion. A wordless Depulso sent him hurtling backward into the wall with a resounding crash. Dust rained down from the ceiling as he slumped to the floor, dazed but conscious.
The room fell deathly silent. The other werewolf at the woman's side tensed, his hands balling into fists, but she raised a hand, halting him before he could act.
"Impressive," she said, her voice steady, though I caught the faintest tremor of surprise. "Perhaps there's more to you than we assumed."
I lowered my hand, keeping my stance relaxed but my wand hand ready beneath my cloak. "I'd advise you to remember that I came here to talk, not to fight. I'm not here to prove myself to you, nor am I inclined to help anyone who tries to intimidate me into compliance."
She tilted her head slightly, as though reassessing me. "Very well," she said at last, her tone cooling but losing none of its authority. "Let's start again. I am Geri, and these are my people. We've read your book, and we believe it might offer us a way to live as you claim—among others, without fear or prejudice. But words in a book aren't enough. Actions speak louder. We need someone who understands what we're up against, someone who can help us navigate the laws and the stigma. That's why we're here."
"Better," I acknowledged, my voice calm but firm. "But if you want my help, we'll do this my way. No ambushes. No veiled threats. If you're serious about change, then prove it—not with demands, but with trust."
Geri studied me for a long moment before finally nodding. "Agreed. Let's see what you have to offer."
I paused in the empty alleyway as the four figures closed in, their hoods concealing their faces but doing nothing to mask the aggression radiating from their body language. Their movements were deliberate, menacing, but I remained still, watching them with an expression of mild boredom.
The leader stepped forward, his voice a low snarl that echoed in the narrow street. "You reject our lady, insult her by doing so, risk her death, and you think you can just leave!?"
I tilted my head slightly, letting his words hang in the air before responding. "Your lady came to me," I said evenly, my tone calm but cutting. "She made demands, gave no reason for me to comply, and allowed you lot to pull this little stunt. And now, you think barking threats will somehow compel me to change my mind?"
The werewolf growled, taking another step closer, his hands curling into fists. I didn't move, but the faintest smile played on my lips. "Do you know why your tactics fail so miserably?" I continued, my voice dropping an octave, colder than before. "Because you act like predators trying to intimidate prey. But you've misjudged me. I'm not prey."
The air around us grew still, heavy, as I let my magic seep out once more. The street seemed to darken, and the werewolves visibly flinched as the pressure mounted. My eyes flared like twin embers beneath the shadow of my hood, the fiery glow illuminating their startled faces.
"Let me be very clear," I said, each word sharp and deliberate. "If your lady truly wants help, she'll have to do better than sending lackeys to threaten me. She'll need to show respect, transparency, and—most importantly—competence. Until then, you can all consider this conversation over."
The leader, emboldened by his anger, lunged forward with a feral snarl. I stepped to the side with fluid grace, my movements almost lazy as I avoided his strike. With a flick of my wrist, a pulse of magic sent him sprawling to the ground, groaning as he clutched his ribs.
The other three hesitated, their confidence visibly shaken. I turned to face them, my expression unyielding. "Go back to your lady," I commanded, my voice reverberating with power. "Tell her that if she wants my assistance, she'll need to earn it. And tell her to choose her representatives more wisely next time."
The werewolf on the ground staggered to his feet, glaring at me but wisely choosing not to attack again. With reluctant nods, the others helped him retreat into the shadows, their bravado extinguished.
I watched them go, my stance relaxing slightly but my senses still alert. Once I was sure they were gone, I turned back toward the main street, pulling my hood tighter over my head.
"Pitiful," I muttered under my breath. "If they're the best the werewolves have to offer, it's no wonder they've struggled to find allies."
Her words hung in the air like a thunderclap, the weight of her last name echoing through the cracked and trembling street. I paused, my foot still planted on the fractured ground, the energy in the air thick with tension.
Grayback. Of course. That explained the arrogance, the posturing, and the complete lack of tact. But it also changed things—slightly.
I turned my head toward her slowly, the fire in my eyes dimming just enough to gauge her expression. She was desperate, her gray eyes wide with fear and pleading. Yet there was something else there too—pride, or perhaps shame disguised as defiance.
"Grayback, you say?" I murmured, my voice calm but dangerous, like the lull before a storm. "And why should that name mean anything to me? Your father, Fenrir, was a rabid dog—a monster who spread death and fear indiscriminately. If anything, your name is an argument against sparing you."
The smaller werewolves behind her stiffened at my words, but Geri didn't flinch. Instead, she took a step forward, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not my father," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "I want to undo his legacy, not continue it. That's why I came to you. I've read your work. I believed you might understand."
I snorted, my patience wearing thin. "Understand? You come to me with demands and threats, bring half-trained thugs to ambush me, and then invoke your name as if it's a badge of honor. You have a funny way of asking for understanding."
Geri took another step forward, ignoring the disapproving murmurs from her companions. "You're right. We went about this the wrong way. But you're the only one who's spoken out about helping us—about treating us like people, not beasts."
Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I'm begging you—give us a chance to prove we're more than my father's legacy. Please."
The desperation in her tone gave me pause. I studied her closely, letting silence stretch between us as my mind worked through the situation. Despite her earlier arrogance, there was sincerity in her plea. She wanted to break free from Fenrir's shadow, and that much, at least, was worth considering.
Finally, I sighed, the fire in my eyes extinguishing completely. "One chance," I said coldly, my tone leaving no room for negotiation. "If you or your pack make one more misstep—one more threat, one more act of idiocy—it's over. You'll lose any hope of my help, and you'll deal with the consequences yourselves."
Geri exhaled a shaky breath of relief and nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You won't regret this."
"We'll see about that," I replied, brushing past her and the others. "If you want my help, prove you're worth it. I'll be in touch when—and if—I decide how to proceed."
Without waiting for a response, I turned and strode away, my cloak billowing behind me. As I left the broken street and the battered werewolves behind, I couldn't help but wonder if I was making a mistake. Trusting anyone, let alone someone with a name like Grayback, was a gamble.
The air felt thick, oppressive, as my words settled into the shattered street. The remaining werewolves were frozen, their trembling forms barely able to meet my gaze, while Geri stared at my outstretched hand, her gray eyes wide with a mix of fear, awe, and reluctant resolve. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, and for a brief second, I wondered if she'd refuse. If she had any spine at all.
Then, with trembling fingers, she reached out and took my hand.
The surge of magic that followed was instantaneous, raw and primal, as if the very essence of our beings clashed and intertwined in that single gesture. I channeled my intent into the binding spell, my words carrying the weight of unshakable finality.
"Do you, Geri Grayback, swear on your life and magic to serve my purpose and follow my orders until I release you from this vow? To act with loyalty, discipline, and the intent to aid in the betterment of both your kind and wizarding society?"
Her lips parted, hesitant at first, before she steeled herself and replied, her voice quivering but firm. "I swear."
The bond solidified with a pulse of light, visible only for a moment before fading. A faint shimmer lingered around our joined hands, a silent reminder of the unbreakable promise that now tied her fate to mine. I released her hand and stepped back, my gaze flicking to the others.
"And you three," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "Consider this your mercy. I'll spare you, but step out of line again, and I'll make sure you wish I hadn't."
They nodded hastily, their defiance shattered by the events of the night.
Turning back to Geri, I regarded her coldly. "Your first task is simple. Inform your pack—your pack—that the old ways are dead. If they resist, make them understand, or remove them entirely. I'll not waste my time on those who cling to the remnants of Fenrir's madness."
She nodded shakily, still recovering from the magical toll of the vow. "Understood."
"Good," I replied, my tone as dismissive as it was final. "Now leave. I have more pressing matters than babysitting a pack of rabid pups."
Without another word, I turned and walked away, the fractured street echoing beneath my boots. This wasn't how I had planned to spend my evening, but perhaps it wasn't a complete waste.
The weight of the day's events pressed down on me as I finally let my head sink into the pillow. My mind churned, replaying every detail of the encounter with Geri Grayback and her ragtag pack. Though I hadn't expected my evening to take such a turn, I couldn't deny the potential usefulness of Geri's loyalty—conditional though it might be.
Her final words echoed in my thoughts: "I understand, master."
It wasn't the title I sought or even cared for, but if it helped solidify her commitment, I wouldn't waste time correcting her. She was desperate, yes, but desperation had a way of driving people to extremes—loyalty, betrayal, or even something more complicated. I'd have to keep an eye on her and test her resolve further.
The image of her unkempt appearance flashed in my mind. Tomorrow, we'd remedy that. If Geri Grayback was to be of any use, she needed to look and act the part. Respectability mattered in this fractured society, and while her raw determination intrigued me, presentation would be key if she hoped to influence others in the future.
The vow we'd made thrummed faintly in my mind, a magical thread tethering her life to my purpose. For now, that thread held firm, binding her to the cause I'd chosen. But I knew all too well how quickly loyalty could shift under the weight of conflicting desires. I would need to tread carefully.
As my eyes began to close, a single thought solidified: I would either forge Geri Grayback into a formidable ally or leave her shattered in my wake. There would be no middle ground.
And with that, I drifted into sleep, knowing that tomorrow would bring its own set of challenges—and opportunities.
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