The sun was setting over Hogwarts as Marlene and Alice gently guided a trembling Lily to their secret spot by the Black Lake. The weeping willow's branches swayed gently, creating a curtain of privacy around them as they settled on the soft grass. The golden light of dusk painted the scene in warm hues, a stark contrast to the turmoil in Lily's heart.

As soon as they were seated, Lily broke down completely. Her sobs were raw and heart-wrenching, her entire body shaking with the force of her grief. Alice immediately wrapped her arms around Lily, pulling her close, while Marlene held her hand tightly, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Oh, Lily," Marlene whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry. I can't imagine how much you're hurting right now."

She could not bring herself to state how she'd been repeatedly trying to tell her about Snape's true colors, hoping that she'd listen. Now was not the time to feed egos.

Alice stroked Lily's hair soothingly, fighting back her own tears as she watched her friend fall apart. "Let it out, Lils. We're here for you. We've got you."

Lily clung to her friends as if they were lifelines in a storm. "I trusted him," she choked out between sobs. "I defended him. And he... he called me that horrible word. How could he?"

Marlene's heart broke for her friend. She exchanged a pained look with Alice and said softly, "Lily, sweetie, I know you cared for Snape deeply. Your capacity for love and forgiveness... it's beautiful. But it's not your fault that he couldn't live up to the person you believed him to be."

Alice nodded, her voice gentle. "You saw the best in him, Lily. That's who you are. It's one of the things we love most about you. Your kindness, your ability to see the good in others... it's precious. Don't let this tarnish that part of you."

Lily's emerald eyes, usually so vibrant, were now dull with pain and swimming with tears. "I feel so lost," she whispered. "Like I don't know who I am without him. He was my link to this world, my first magical friend..."

Marlene felt her own tears spill over. She wrapped her arms around both Lily and Alice, creating a cocoon of warmth and support. "Oh, Lils. You are so much more than your connection to Snape. You're brilliant, kind, fiercely loyal... You're Lily Evans, and you're amazing all on your own."

Alice nodded emphatically, her voice thick with emotion. "Marlene's right. You've impacted so many lives here at Hogwarts, Lily, made so many connections. You're loved for who you are, not because of any connection to Snape."

Lily's sobs had quieted to hiccups, but the pain in her eyes was still raw. "I just... I keep thinking about all our memories. Were they all lies? Was he always this person, and I just refused to see it?"

Marlene stroked Lily's hair gently. "People change, Lily. The boy you knew as a child... maybe he really was that person then. But the choices he's made... they've led him down a dark path."

Alice nodded solemnly. "And it's not your responsibility to save him from those choices, Lily. You can't sacrifice yourself trying to change someone who doesn't want to change."

Lily's voice was small, vulnerable. "I feel so stupid. Everyone tried to warn me... Even you, Marlene… But"

"No," Marlene said firmly, cutting her off. "You are not stupid, Lily Evans. You're one of the most intelligent, compassionate people I know. Your ability to see the best in others is a gift, even if sometimes people don't deserve it."

Alice cupped Lily's face in her hands, looking directly into her eyes. "Lily, listen to me. You have such a big heart. You gave Snape more chances than he deserved because that's who you are. It's not a weakness to be kind."

Lily's lower lip trembled. "But it hurts so much..."

Both Marlene and Alice tightened their embrace. "Of course it does," Marlene murmured. "You're grieving, Lily. Not just the loss of a friendship, but the loss of who you thought he was. It's okay to be sad, to be angry, to feel betrayed."

Alice nodded, wiping her own tears that were falling freely now. "We're here for you, Lily. Every step of the way. You don't have to go through this alone."

As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds, the three friends sat in silence, sharing comfort and warmth, soothing the pain in Lily's heart.

"I don't know what I'd do without you both," Lily whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.

Marlene pressed a soft kiss to Lily's temple. "You'll never have to find out. We're here, always."

Alice nodded, squeezing Lily's hand. "Exactly. We've got you, Lily. And we're never going anywhere."

"Even if you can be a blockhead and refuse to listen sometimes," Marlene added teasingly, making Lily let out a watery laugh. Sharing a gentle smile with Alice, she wrapped her arms tighter around her friend and allowed her to bury her face in her hair.

It was hurting her now, but she knew how necessary it was for Lily to see Snape's true face. Her friend would only come out stronger from this. She was sure of it.

-Break-

The moonlight cast long shadows through the windows of Hogwarts as Harry, Narcissa, and Bellatrix made their way through the silent corridors. Their footsteps echoed softly off the stone walls, occasionally interrupted by the distant hooting of an owl or the ominous sound of winds blowing through the massive windows.

They ascended the massive staircase and reached the seventh floor, walking through the corridor until they reached their destination. As always, Harry stepped forward and paced before the blank wall, concentrating. An ornate door materialized out of nowhere and he pushed it open, walking inside with the two young women following behind him.

The room that greeted them was a familiar one, with intricate runic markings and a star painted on the stone floor. There was a seating area near the wall facing an ornate fireplace where embers flickered to life as they approached, casting a warm glow over the area. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick tomes that would have had a bookworm salivating at the mere sight of them.

They settled in silence, with Harry taking his place between the two witches who wasted no time in cuddling up to him. He let out a contented sigh, basking in their warmth and comfort, knowing how much they were doing the same with him as well. However, they all knew the peace could not last for long, and it was Narcissa who broached the subject.

"So, Harry," she began, her tone cautious, "about these werewolf regulations..."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. What she wanted to talk about was not something new. He had constantly pondered on the issue ever since these attacks had started, knowing how controversial a decision it had been.

"I know," he said softly. "You know how it is. It's… Well… It's complicated."

Bellatrix gently stroked his chest, her other hand wrapped around his waist as she held herself in his embrace. Her dark eyes were intense as they gazed at his tense visage. "Complicated is an understatement, isn't it? The riots have been going on for weeks now. There's been so much loss of life and property. We know this was important, but was there truly no other way?"

Harry let out a small sigh, his expression grave. "It was a calculated risk. We knew Voldemort was gaining support among werewolf communities. Greyback's influence was growing. We needed a way to create a rift between them."

"And you used the law to do it, which worked brilliantly as well. Still…" Bellatrix trailed off.

"The laws are harsh," Harry admitted. "But I knew the most radical elements will be the only ones to act out. The ones that would've aligned with Voldemort without any hesitation whatsoever. The moderate werewolves will never commit murder and arson, for they are good people at heart. They would see this radical faction as the cause of their troubles. After all, those werewolves are the ones still proving that people were right to fear them."

"Not to mention where it all came from," Narcissa added. "As far as anyone knows, this happened only because a group of rogue werewolves attacked Malfoy and his pureblood cronies, which enraged the purebloods and turned them fully against their kind."

"Exactly. The moderates will never justify a violent response, not when unprovoked murder and cannibalism triggered it," Harry said firmly.

Narcissa frowned. "Still, it's been a dangerous game, Harry. The backlash has been severe. Many innocents have"

"I know," Harry cut her off, his voice heavy with the weight of his decisions, and both Narcissa and Bellatrix tightened their grasp on him, conveying their silent support to their beloved in his time of moral fatigue. They knew what burden he was carrying, particularly after learning how he had brought so much pain and suffering upon scores of innocents who frankly did not deserve it. "Only a little bit more. Once the radicals are taken care of, we can start proposing amendments to the legislation, and I'm positive that the Wizengamot will be eager to let them pass now. The heat will have passed and with Malfoy and his people being much weaker politically, it would be easier to make justified laws. Human rights. Employment programs. It's going to be slow, but we'd be making progress with them for the first time in history."

"A bit like how you need to destroy something first to build it," Bellatrix whispered, earning a nod from her boyfriend.

"Sounds morbid, but sometimes, it's necessary," he replied. "The radicals, especially those belonging to Greyback's faction, singlehandedly worsened the already degraded reputation of werewolves through their violent and cruel tendencies. Those need to be wiped off clean from the face of this planet, and only then could we hope for some healing. The remaining werewolves want nothing but to live their lives like normal human beings, and they deserve nothing less. Just a bit more and we'll be exactly where I've been hoping for."

"And they will never join Voldemort's ranks either," Narcissa remarked. "You know… given what we've seen of the werewolves in these past few weeks, a part of me is massively relieved that Voldemort wouldn't have such a powerful faction at his fingertips. Morgana, I don't even want to imagine what kind of untold damage they'd cause if they had someone like him directing their actions. At least right now, most of their wrath has been centered on purebloods who advocated for these laws, the areas around their lands, and the businesses they own."

"That is another aspect of this endeavor that I had counted upon," Harry remarked. "With their businesses hit, it will take them a while to get back on their feet and it could allow their competitors to gain a foothold. Even if they don't take over the market, they would mostly be able to compete well now. The lesser profits those Death Eater families make, the better it is for everyone."

"There are reports of many witches and wizards from those families dying, and they've left behind women and children."

"Indeed," Harry nodded. "Which means reduced political power. Let's be honest. Those pathetic wizards have kept their wives behind the walls their entire lives, making them worth nothing more than armcandy to show off on their lavish galas and events. Now, the very same women will hold proxies for the heirs or heiresses. Quite an irony, and one that benefits us significantly. Already, our people are at work to establish a network with the women from these families, offering them aid in their hour of need. Voldemort cannot hope to win over us in the political spectrum. This debacle has ensured this. And now, he has a severe lack of elite pureblood support as well, given what happened to Malfoy and his pricks, and now many more elite purebloods as well."

"Which means what you set out to achieve has been done," Bellatrix remarked.

Harry nodded, his green eyes reflecting his determination. "More or less. There have been setbacks that I anticipated – mostly the innocents that have suffered, and I'll always shoulder the blame for it. But if it helps bring us one step closer to defeating Voldemort... it'll be worth it."

"We'll carry this burden with you, Harry," Narcissa replied, earning a firm nod from her twin. "Don't forget, more innocents would've suffered even more severely if this didn't happen. You didn't condemn them. You minimized their suffering as much as you could."

All Harry could do was sigh and lean back, taking solace in their presence. It was a thought indeed, although it brought him little comfort. He had brought suffering upon innocents after all. Did it truly matter if they would've probably suffered more if he hadn't done it? Perhaps, but it was such a morally gray area that he did not think he was the right person to answer.

All he could do was affirm himself and move forward with the consequences of the choice he had made. After all, there would be many more questionable actions he knew he would need to undertake if he wanted to end the threat of Voldemort for good.

-Break-

"All right… we should get started now," Bellatrix remarked as she extracted herself from Harry's embrace and pushed herself to her feet, holding a hand out for her twin who grabbed on and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet as well.

From his spot on the couch, Harry stared at the two young women with pursed lips.

"I still don't like that you're doing this."

"Just as we didn't want you to do it either, but you still went through with it and we understood the necessity, so we're asking you to do the same with us now," Narcissa said firmly, her eyes narrowed in a glare. Harry stared at her helplessly, silently requesting her to stop, but Narcissa was set in her path and she had decided long ago.

Turning to Bellatrix, Harry knew at first glance that he would get no help there. The brunette was even more determined than her twin, her desire to ensure they all had the highest chance to come out unscathed from the upcoming war palpable in the fierce gleam he could discern in her gaze.

"Yeah, I know what you're gonna say already," he said dryly, earning a smirk from her.

"Damn right. So be a good little boyfriend and allow us to support you like this. Also, it's our body and our right to choose."

Harry raised his hands in surrender, knowing better than to say anything untoward when they were like this.

He truly did not like them having to do this, even though he had done the same thing himself. He knew they had all the right and they were doing it only to be as supportive to him as they could possibly be, but them resorting to the same ritual did put a sour taste in his mouth, particularly when he considered the sacrifice was greater for them. He had two boons remaining, but they will only have one.

Magic worked mysteriously, and there were conditions to alchemy that would dictate the fulfillment of any ritual. He had sacrificed his ability to have more than two children, but both Narcissa and Bellatrix were giving up any chance they had to be mothers for the second time. Once they gave birth to a living child, the conditions of the ritual would be fulfilled, both for him and them, and neither could have any more children thereafter.

It was a massive risk. There had been cases in the Wizarding World wherein a child had died hours after birth because its young body could not sustain the influx of magic coursing through it. Such cases were not common but they did happen, and Merlin forbid, if something similar did happen to either of them, there was no coming back.

This was the biggest reason why Narcissa and Bellatrix had been so vehemently against him conducting this ritual, only for him to point out the necessity of the same and go ahead with it anyway. It was quite ironical how the tables had turned, for he found himself in their shoes now, wishing they turned around and declined to go ahead with the ritual.

Alas, there was no swaying them now, not when it came to doing what was necessary in their opinion over what was easy.

Silently, Harry watched as they disrobed and joined them near the site, his eyes fixated on the star that began to slowly react in quite a familiar fashion as the ritual began.

There was no turning back for any of them now.

-Break-

The full moon loomed ominously over the Scottish Highlands, its pale light illuminating the devastation below. The once-picturesque village of Glencoe lay in ruins, smoke rising from the charred remnants of cottages and shops. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning wood, mingled with the metallic tang of blood.

Auror Alastor Moody crouched behind a crumbling stone wall, his eyes darting about ceaselessly as they scanned the chaotic scene around him. Sweat beaded on his brow, mixing with the grime and soot that covered his face. His robes were torn and stained with blood – some his, most not.

"Savage, on your left!" Moody barked, his voice hoarse from hours of shouting commands.

Auror Savage, a young man with a shock of red hair, spun on his heel, wand raised. A massive werewolf, its muzzle dripping with fresh blood, was mid-leap towards him. Without hesitation, Savage fired off a Blasting Curse that caught the beast in the chest. The werewolf exploded in a gruesome spray of blood, bone, and matted fur.

Savage stumbled back, wiping gore from his face with a shaking hand. "Merlin's beard," he gasped, "We can't keep this up forever, Alastor. There's too many of them."

Moody grunted in agreement, his practiced auror eyes moving wildly to track multiple threats at once. "Stay focused, lad. Remember your training."

Across the village square, another group of aurors was locked in a fierce duel with multiple werewolves. Their faces were set in grim determination as they fended off their relentless attacks. "Incarcerous!" one of the aurors shouted, and thick ropes burst from his wand, wrapping around one of the beasts. The werewolf howled in rage, thrashing against its bonds.

The second werewolf used this moment of distraction to lunge at him. With lightning-fast reflexes, he shouted, "Diffindo!"

The curse sliced through the air, opening deep gashes across the werewolf's chest. It fell to the ground, whimpering and twitching.

A crack of Apparition cut through the din of battle. Bartemius Crouch Sr. appeared in the center of the square, his neatly pressed robes a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding him. His eyes were cold and hard as he surveyed the scene.

"Report, Moody," he demanded, striding towards the senior Auror.

Moody emerged from his cover, limping slightly. "It's a bloodbath, " he growled. "Greyback's pack hit three villages tonight. We've taken down at least two dozen, but more keep coming. They're in a frenzy like I've never seen."

As if to emphasize his point, a chorus of howls rose from the nearby forest. Crouch's face hardened, his jaw clenching. "The Ministry has authorized the use of Unforgivables," he said, his voice low and tense. "End this. Permanently."

Moody nodded grimly, turning to address the scattered Aurors. "You heard him, lads! Killing Curses authorized!"

A murmur ran through the ranks. Some looked relieved, others hesitant. Auror Emmeline Vance, her round face set in determination, was the first to act. "Avada Kedavra!" she cried, her wand pointed at an approaching werewolf. The beast dropped instantly, lifeless.

Her initiative seemed to have given them the impetus and the battle intensified as the Aurors began using the greatest lethal force there possibly was. Green flashes of light illuminated the night as Killing Curses flew. Werewolves fell left and right, but for every beast that dropped, another seemed to take its place.

In the midst of the fray, young Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt found himself cornered by three snarling werewolves. His dark skin glistened with sweat as he cast a powerful Shield Charm, buying himself precious seconds. "I need backup!" he shouted, his deep voice carrying across the battlefield.

Moody heard the call and turned to assist, but a massive grey werewolf – Fenrir Greyback himself – blocked his path. The werewolf's yellow eyes gleamed with malice as it circled the grizzled Auror.

"Come on then, you mangy mutt," Moody snarled, raising his wand.

Greyback lunged, impossibly fast, and Moody barely had time to cast a silent Confringo before the werewolf was upon him. The Blasting Curse caught Greyback in the shoulder, tearing away a chunk of flesh, but the momentum of his attack carried him forward.

Moody felt white-hot pain as Greyback's claws raked across his face. He stumbled backward, blood pouring from the deep gashes. Through the haze of pain, he saw Greyback preparing for another attack.

Suddenly, a voice rang out: "Avada Kedavra!" A jet of green light struck Greyback in the chest. The massive werewolf's eyes widened in shock before he crumpled to the ground, dead.

As Moody looked over, he found Rufus Scrimgeour standing there, his wand still raised, his tawny hair wild around his face. "Alright there, Alastor?" he asked, helping Moody to his feet.

Before Moody could respond, a piercing howl echoed through the village. The remaining werewolves, sensing the loss of their leader, began to retreat into the forest.

"Press the advantage!" Crouch shouted. "Don't let them regroup!"

The Aurors surged forward, firing curses into the fleeing pack. Howls of pain and anger filled the air as more werewolves fell.

As dawn began to break, an eerie silence settled over Glencoe. The Aurors, exhausted and bloodied, began the grim task of assessing casualties and securing the area.

Moody limped towards Crouch, his face a mask of blood from Greyback's attack. "It's over," he said gruffly. "For now."

Crouch nodded, his face impassive. "Gather the wounded. I'll contact St. Mungo's for emergency Healers." He paused, surveying the devastation around them. "And Moody... good work tonight. All of you."

Moody watched as his fellow Aurors tended to the wounded and covered the dead. The fight had been brutal, the methods extreme, but necessary. As he'd always said: Constant Vigilance. In these dark times, it was the only way to survive.

-Break-

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Alastor Moody stood amidst the ruins of Glencoe, his eyes whirring ceaselessly as they scanned the aftermath of the night's carnage. The acrid smell of smoke and blood still hung heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the Scottish Highlands. Around him, Aurors and emergency Healers from St. Mungo's moved with grim purpose, tending to the wounded and collecting the dead.

Moody's face throbbed where Greyback's claws had struck, the makeshift bandages already soaked through with blood. He'd refused immediate treatment, insisting the Healers focus on those in more dire need. Pain was an old friend to Moody; he embraced it and used it to keep his mind sharp.

He limped towards a fallen stone wall, lowering himself onto it with a grunt. From this vantage point, he could survey the entire village – or what was left of it. Cottages were reduced to smoldering rubble, the town square pockmarked with spell damage, and everywhere, he could see the unmistakable signs of savage violence perpetrated by Greyback and his beasts.

Moody's gnarled hands clenched into fists as he reflected on the night's events. The authorization of Unforgivable Curses had turned the tide, yes, but at what cost? He'd seen the hesitation in some of the younger Aurors' eyes, the momentary flicker of doubt before they cast their first Killing Curse. That hesitation could get them killed in the future, or worse, make them question their purpose, their resolve.

"Constant vigilance," he muttered to himself, his mantra a cold comfort in the face of such carnage.

His thoughts turned to Barty Crouch Sr. and the Ministry's response to the werewolf threat. The use of Unforgivables was unprecedented in peacetime, a measure typically reserved for the darkest of wars. Moody understood the necessity – he'd seen firsthand the destruction Greyback's pack had wrought – but he couldn't shake the feeling that a line had been crossed, one they couldn't uncross.

What would the fallout be? Moody wondered. The wizarding public might applaud the Ministry's decisive action now, relieved to see an end to the terror that had gripped their communities. But in time, when the fear subsided, would they look back on this night with the same certainty? Would historians judge them as protectors or oppressors?

And what of the werewolves themselves? Not all had participated in Greyback's crusade of violence. Moody had met a few over the years – decent folk cursed with a terrible affliction, struggling to maintain their humanity. He had an idea of how they would be treated in the wake of this conflict, and it did not please him one bit.

Moody's gaze shifted, focusing on a group of Aurors covering a row of bodies with sheets. Among them, unmistakable even in death, was the massive form of Fenrir Greyback. The notorious werewolf's demise should have filled Moody with satisfaction, but instead, he felt only a grim weariness.

Greyback's death would deal a significant blow to the radical werewolf movement, that Moody was certain of. The pack had lost its alpha, its driving force. But nature abhors a vacuum, and Moody had been an Auror long enough to know that someone would inevitably step up to fill Greyback's role. Would this new leader be as vicious, as committed to spreading lycanthropy as a weapon? Or might they be more moderate, potentially open to negotiation?

The grizzled Auror sighed heavily, running a hand through his sweat, dirt, grime, and blood-soaked hair. The struggle was far from over. Greyback's death might mark the end of this particular campaign, but the underlying issues remained unresolved. The marginalization of werewolves, the fear and prejudice they faced, the oppressive laws that the Wizengamot had passed – those were the kindling that had allowed Greyback's radical ideology to catch fire in the first place.

Moody's thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Rufus Scrimgeour, his tawny hair matted with blood and dirt.

"Alastor," Scrimgeour nodded, his voice gruff with exhaustion. "Crouch wants a full debrief in an hour. We're to report directly to the Minister after."

Moody grunted in acknowledgment. "Any word on casualties?"

Scrimgeour's face tightened. "Still counting. At least a dozen civilians, maybe more. We lost eighteen Aurors, another thirty critically injured."

The numbers hit Moody like a physical blow. Good witches and wizards, gone in a single night of savagery. How long could they sustain such losses? How long before the weight of this conflict broke them all?

As Scrimgeour moved on to inform the other senior Aurors, Moody pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the protest of his battered body. There would be time for rest later, time for healing and reflection. For now, there was work to be done.

He cast one last look over the ruined village, his trained eyes taking in every detail. The sun was fully up now, its warm light at odds with the grim scene it illuminated.

Life would go on, Moody knew. It always did. But as he turned to join his fellow Aurors, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were standing on the precipice of something larger, something darker. The werewolf attacks, as brutal as they were, felt like a prelude. To what, Moody couldn't say, but his instincts – honed by years in the field – told him to be prepared.

"Constant vigilance," he muttered once more, straightening his torn robes. Whatever came next, whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them head-on, unflinching. It was all he knew how to do.

As he limped towards the gathering of Aurors, ready to plan their next moves, Moody allowed himself one last thought: in the face of such darkness, such brutality, how long could the light hold out? And when the dust settled, what kind of world would they be left with?

Only time would tell. For now, there was work to be done, a report to be given, and a long, difficult road ahead.

TBC.

If you'd like to access chapters upto 3 months in advance, check out the link on my profile. Chapters 28, 29, and 30 can already be accessed.

BRB with the next update. Meanwhile, check out my other fics too. Thanks for reading!