A group of students sat in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, the warmth doing little to dispel the cold atmosphere that permeated the castle. The events outside had shaken every person inside, the news that trickled in making them struggle to find anything positive in recent developments.

James' eyes were dark with concern as he ran a hand through his perpetually messy black hair. "I can't believe it's come to this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Using Unforgivables... it's madness."

Sirius was sprawled in an armchair opposite James, his aristocratic features set in a scowl. He nodded grimly, having been as shocked when he'd read the article. "It's all gone bonkers," he muttered, his fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically. "I know taking those rabid mutts down was important, but Unforgivables… that's going too far."

Frank looked torn as he gazed at the fireplace. His eyes glowed with reflected ambers and he sighed, turning around. "But what choice did they have?" he asked, his expression grave. "Greyback and his pack... they were monsters. They were killing innocent people, children even. Dozens of aurors are either dead or out of service because of that one attack." He paused, swallowing hard. "I knew someone in Glencoe... they barely managed to survive the werewolf attack. If the Aurors hadn't used everything at their disposal..."

He trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought. Everyone grimaced at the thought, knowing more aurors and civilians would have been either killed or turned if the aurors had not resorted to permanent solutions.

Beside him, his girlfriend Alice sat cross-legged on the couch, her heart-shaped face creased with worry. She squeezed his arm comfortingly as she spoke up, "It's not just about Greyback though, is it? He's dead, and what remains of his pack is probably on the run. But this won't end so easily. What about the other werewolves? The ones who weren't part of his attacks? They'll suffer for this too."

"They were already going to suffer. Those laws made sure of that," Harry interjected with a frown. "There is nothing anyone could have done about the werewolves who chose to attack innocents, and I'm sure you'll all agree that they deserved to be put down for everything they've done, and not only over the past few weeks."

"But using the Unforgivables, Harry?" Alice asked softly, making him grimace.

"That is a genuine concern, and something I never thought they would do against the werewolves," Harry replied, sighing. "This is going to have far-reaching consequences. The Ministry's actions might have stopped Greyback and his pack, but at what cost?"

James leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "That's what worries me," he admitted. "It's like we've opened Pandora's box. Where do we draw the line now? If Unforgivables are okay against werewolves, what's next? Using them against any criminal?"

Sirius barked out a humorless laugh. "Oh, I'm sure my dear mother would be thrilled," he said bitterly. "Bet she's raising a toast to Barty Crouch right now, the old hag."

"And then you wonder why people think you're wild and crass," a new female voice chided gently and they looked over to see Marlene walk over and plant herself on the arm of the chair Sirius sat in. The boy grimaced and leaned away, not that the blonde cared as she made herself comfortable, resting her elbow on the chair's backrest.

There were a few amused looks directed at the pair, everyone having already seen how they both seemed to be tiptoeing around each other since the school year had begun. However, it seemed Marlene had had enough of his running away as she had begun to make approaches whenever she could. She had not missed how Sirius had changed this year, having seen him with no one, nor had she heard him frequenting broom closets like a deviant.

"I overheard Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Flitwick earlier," Alice began, her voice low. "They're worried that werewolf students won't be allowed at Hogwarts anymore."

Frank let out a small sigh. "It is really that surprising? People don't have a very good opinion of werewolves now. It's even worse than it was before."

James and Sirius exchanged a concerned glance, both thinking of their friend Remus. Harry had told them that arrangements had been made for students who had been forced to leave Hogwarts so that they could continue their studies, but they had hoped that Remus could come back to Hogwarts once this saga cooled down. However, they were not so sure about it anymore.

"It's all such a mess," Marlene said softly, feeling Sirius glance at her out of the corner of his eye. "I mean… I understand why they did it, I do. But using Unforgivables... it feels like the protectors lost something important. Like they compromised a part of themselves. It's about principle, you get what I mean?"

Alice nodded vehemently. "You're right. The aurors are supposed to fight without resorting to the tactics of those terrorists. There are many spells to kill that don't call for those vile emotions. How does that make the aurors and our Ministry by extension any better than the same vile wizards they claim to protect us from?"

"That's not fair, Alice," Frank interjected, his tone measured but firm. "The Aurors were protecting innocent people. It's not the same as using Dark magic for personal gain or out of cruelty."

"Isn't it?" She challenged, her eyes flashing. "Once you start justifying it, where does it end? Today it's to stop Greyback, tomorrow it's to question suspects, and before you know it, we're no better than the people we're fighting against."

James held up a hand, trying to calm the rising tensions. "Look, we're all upset, and rightly so. But arguing with each other isn't going to help. We need to think about what happens next, and how we can learn from this situation."

Alice grimaced slightly but nodded, reaching out to clasp her boyfriend's hand apologetically. "You're right. I'm sorry, Frank."

Frank shook his head and pulled her close.

Harry smiled at his friend, although it did not reach his eyes. His expression betrayed nothing of the turmoil within.

He had orchestrated this conflict from the shadows, manipulating events to ensure this confrontation would occur. It was a necessary evil, he told himself, to prevent a far darker future. But hearing the pain and confusion in the voices of his friends, coupled with the news that had kept trickling in of innocents suffering in the attacks, Harry was yet again forced to question the path he had chosen.

The cost weighed heavily on his conscience. He had been affirming it to himself, how it had been a necessary evil and how he could not keep dwelling on whether it was the right choice, but he could not help it. The use of Unforgivable Curses had crossed a moral line, blurring the distinction between those who upheld the law and those who broke it.

Lounging in his chair, Harry shifted his gaze to the fireplace, watching the embers pop as the small log burned and fell in. He felt the concerned glances of his friends directed at him and heard Sirius and Marlene shifting beside him, the girl undoubtedly trying to pull Sirius away for a private talk that she had been asking for a while now. A small frown spread across his face and he couldn't help but wonder: in changing the future, had he inadvertently set the stage for a different, equally dark path?

The aftermath of this entire saga was just beginning to unfold. The anti-werewolf legislation was already a law, and public sentiment was against the werewolves. St. Mungo's was overwhelmed with people either seeking treatment for lycanthropy, or those grievously injured in the attacks that had been taking place. He heard the voices of his girlfriends, telling him how even worse would have happened if the werewolves had joined Voldemort's cause, and although it did assuage him slightly, it was in no way enough. The guilt kept gnawing at him like a relentless termite being given an infected log.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he felt a weird silence envelop the group. Brows furrowed, he shifted his gaze from the fire to his friends, and his eyes widened slightly when he saw the cause.

It was Lily. She stood near the couch, her face set in a mask of perfect neutrality as she kept her gaze on James who stared at her in surprise. Slowly, his face mirrored hers as he kept a calm outlook, though the slight bobbing of his throat indicated otherwise.

Lily's voice was clipped as she said, "You were right about Snape. I should have believed you."

Everyone watched on, dead silent, as James slowly leaned back, straightening in his seat as he regarded the redhead. His expression did not change, although his eyes hardened imperceptibly. "What changed?" He asked in as level a tone as he could muster.

Lily's gaze briefly flickered over to Marlene who sat on the armrest of Sirius' chair and Alice who was nestled comfortably beside Frank. Both the girls gave her encouraging nods, conveying their silent support.

However, Lily seemed to falter as she said softly, "I'd rather not."

"Oh come off it, Lily," Marlene groaned in exasperation. "It's happened. It's done. You can't let it affect you so much anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Sirius asked firmly, and Marlene glanced at him, sighing.

"Snape fucked up and showed his true colors," she said sharply. "Did exactly what I'd been saying. Defended this wretched werewolf law, saying how they're dangerous beasts who should be put down and what not! And if that was not enough, the bastard called Lily a…"

She trailed off, and Harry's eyes hardened, narrowing in suspicion.

"What did he call her?" He asked, his voice almost a growl.

Marlene's eyes widened at the tone but she remained resolute and firm, even though she could feel Lily's hand on the back of her dress, as if telling her it was enough. However, Marlene was not done. Casting her gaze around, she sneered, "The filthy bastard called her that bloody M-word."

Harry's eyes flashed in rage, his gaze shifting to Lily who let out a defeated sigh and pulled her hand away from Marlene. Meanwhile, everyone seated around stared at the blonde in shock. Their faces hardened, jaws clenching.

Marlene continued, her voice low but clear. "And that's not all. He pulled his wand on Lily in the library. Would've cursed her if I didn't blindside him first."

James remained outwardly calm, although inwardly, his rage boiled. His mind raced with violent thoughts as he imagined confronting Snape, putting him under all the curses he had learned in the past few months since starting his magical practice with Harry. He yearned to make the bastard pay for everything he'd said and done. Yet, his face betrayed nothing, and he remained impassive. The only indication of his rage was the tightening of his eyes and the way his jaw was clenched hard.

Sirius could not contain a low growl that rumbled from his throat, and he was promptly silenced by a sharp look from James. Meanwhile, Harry gazed outside the open window, his face a carefully controlled mask and his eyes burning with intensity and rage that mirrored James' hidden fury.

Lily's shoulders hunched slightly as she released a small sigh. "It doesn't matter now," she said flatly. "I was wrong. You were right. I apologized to Marlene, and it makes sense I do the same with you as well. I'm… sorry for not believing you."

Her apology hung in the air, and it seemed as if James almost ignored it. Finally, he nodded curtly, and with a deceptively calm voice, he ground out, "When?"

"Yesterday," Marlene supplied, ignoring Lily's sigh once again.

James remained seated, even though every muscle in his body screamed for him to move, to act. When he spoke, his voice was low and even, betraying none of the fury that raged within. "If he comes near you again-"

"He won't," Lily interrupted firmly.

The air was thick with tension, unresolved emotions shining through in both their gazes. This was the first time they had exchanged a word since James' confession, and everyone in attendance felt that a deep, meaningful conversation was necessary for the pair.

James nodded again. "Good," he said simply.

Lily nodded curtly and turned away, her composed mask threatening to break before she caught herself once again. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and walked away, leaving behind a deathly quiet group of students who stared at each other in stunned silence.

James' eyes met Harry's, and a silent understanding passed between them. Both knew what the other was thinking – they would ensure Snape would never threaten or even try to come close to Lily again.

Around them, their friends watched the silent exchange and they all knew what was coming, and as they thought about it, they could not deny that it would be sorely deserved.

-Break-

The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Knockturn Alley loomed like a decaying giant against the ink-black sky. A sliver of moon peeked through tattered clouds, casting an eerie glow on the crumbling brickwork. The very air seemed oppressive, hanging heavily with the acrid scent of dark magic.

Inside the warehouse, the cavernous space buzzed with tension. Dust motes danced in shafts of sickly lamplights that did little to dispel the deep shadows that clung to every corner. The assembled crowd stood divided, two factions eyeing each other with a mixture of suspicion and hatred.

On one side, the remnants of the Silver Fang stood in rigid formation. Their polished silver masks glinted ominously in the dim light, reflecting distorted images of their adversaries. Beneath the masks, their jaws clenched in disgust and fear. Their hands gripped their wands so tightly that their knuckles turned white, and they stood ready to unleash spells at a moment's notice. These were purebloods and sympathizers, dedicated to eradicating the werewolf threat by any means necessary.

Opposite them, the Lunar Liberation Front seethed with barely contained rage. These were the radicals who championed werewolf rights, many of them family members of those turned or killed in the recent conflicts. Their eyes blazed with righteous anger, and scars from battles both magical and mundane marked many of their faces. They wore no uniforms, but each bore a silver crescent moon pinned to their robes – a mockery of their enemies' imagery.

Both groups had received anonymous messages, each promising a solution to their shared conflict. The parchments had appeared in a flash of green flame, the ink seeming to writhe on the page as if alive. Neither side knew the other would be present, and the air crackled with the potential for explosive violence. Both sides were wondering why the other was here, and the suspicion that this was an ambush had long taken root in their hearts. However, shockingly, they found they could not muster the courage to cast a spell, their arms shaking the moment they raised their wands to unleash carnage.

There was an odd sort of terror permeating the air, a feeling that they would lose their heads the moment they stepped out of line. The fear was palpable in their demeanor, their eyes darting about even as they glared at the other faction, searching relentlessly for the source of this distress.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the warehouse as a cloaked figure materialized in the center of the room from the inky darkness of their surroundings. It seemed as if the shadows around the room themselves had coalesced into human form. It was a humanoid figure, adorning long, black robes that seemed to flow around him as if extensions of the shadows themselves. The figure was covered in black from head to foot, his face hidden beneath the veil that seemed to suck the very light that threatened to expose him.

Lord Voldemort's pale, yet handsome visage remained hidden, yet his crimson orbs gleamed in the half-light as he surveyed the gathered extremists. Those deathly eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire, boring into each person present as if peering directly into their souls.

For a long moment, there was nothing but a deathly silence, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, and yet, it carried to every ear with crystal clarity, as silky and as dangerous as a venomous serpent's kiss of death.

"I wonder," he began, the corners of his mouth curling into a thin smile, "what you all see in each other. The Silver Fang, noble defenders of purity, yet driven to such brutality. And the Lunar Liberation Front, sympathizers of the highest order who proclaim yourselves to be the paragon of virtue, yet hoping to tear down what they can never be."

He paused for a moment, his red eyes glowing in the dim light. His audience remained silent, although he could see the defiance in the eyes of many. All it did was amuse him.

"You know what I believe?" he continued, spreading his long-fingered hands wide in a gesture of welcome. "You stand divided, yet you share a common purpose. Both sides seek to reshape our world, to carve out your place in it through strength and will."

Murmurs rippled through both factions like wind through dry leaves. There was no lack of people who leaned forward, drawn in by the Dark Lord's ever-present charisma, while there were those who shrank back, unnerved by the sheer unnaturalness that seemed to ooze off him.

Voldemort allowed a cruel smile to play across his lips before continuing, savoring the palpable fear and curiosity that permeated the air.

"And now," Voldemort continued, his voice smooth and laced with venom, "you find yourselves in a predicament. Weeks of bloodshed, lives lost… and yet nothing gained." His tone turned mocking. "The great Fenrir Greyback, torn apart like the beast he was. The Ministry grows bold again, the purebloods rebuild their estates, while your people are hunted. Do you not see? You are losing."

There were smirks from the Silver Fang directed at their adversaries who growled low in their throats, glaring.

"And you," Voldemort continued, glancing at the smug group of witches and wizards. "You believe you've won already. Arrogance of the highest order… Greyback is dead indeed, but do you truly believe the remaining werewolves would give up so easily? You will perish a hundred times over before you could ever hope to eradicate their entire race."

Eyeing both the groups, Voldemort smirked. "I see fools before me… Manipulated by the Ministry with ease… your focus shifted to what does not even matter! Both of you believe the predicament of the werewolves is the concern, easily overlooking the bigger picture."

A man from the Silver Fang stepped forward, his voice steady but laced with arrogance. "What the hell are you talking about? We all know what's important here! The threat"

"Silence."

The word was a whip crack, and the man's breath caught in his throat. He staggered back, clutching his neck as though an invisible hand were choking the air from his lungs. Voldemort straightened, his long, black robes sweeping the ground as he glided forward. The cold fury in his eyes sent a chill through the room.

"The Ministry," he spat the word as if it tasted foul, "would have you fight each other, wasting your strength on petty squabbles while they consolidate their power. Inventing new grievances to keep you occupied while they enjoy the money you give them, the power you inadvertently devote to them, the pathetic laws they have you uphold… You believe they deserve so much consideration? Why, I ask?"

There was absolute silence as both factions stared at the choking wizard with wide eyes.

"There is only power, but it comes in more than one form," Voldemort continued. "There is power truly wielded by individuals who are the chosen," he whispered, waving a hand over the choking man who gasped and breathed heavily, feeling as if he'd just returned from touching the outstretched palm of Death herself. "And there is power people put in others because they do not know better. There is only one kind of power that matters, and I believe you know by know which one I am talking about."

The man gazed fearfully at Voldemort as he staggered back, stumbling as he lost his footing. A few of his aides righted him as he almost fell, gazing at the Dark Lord who kept staring at them in amusement.

"You all are being taken advantage of, and you don't even see it. What have you all gained from this quarrel, I ask. Power? Wealth? Prestige? Even a word of praise? Your potentials are being taken for granted, and you have no idea."

He turned to the Silver Fang members, his robes swirling around him like living shadows. "You, who would protect our world from the beast that lurks in the shadows. Your dedication is admirable, but short-sighted." Several of the masked figures straightened, pride warring with unease in their postures.

Voldemort's gaze swept to the Lunar Liberation Front, his red eyes locking with the uncertain stares that met his gaze. "And you, who fight for those society has cast aside, who refuse to let injustice stand unchallenged. Your passion is a weapon, but one without proper direction." A few of the members clenched their fists, while others glanced around uneasily.

As Voldemort began to pace, his movements fluid and mesmerizing, a commotion erupted from the Silver Fang ranks. The crowd parted like water as a tall wizard in gleaming silver robes pushed his way to the front. His polished mask reflected the wand light, giving the impression of a face wreathed in flames.

"This is madness!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the warehouse walls. With a dramatic flourish, he ripped off his mask to reveal a face contorted with rage. Aristocratic features twisted into a sneer as he glared at Voldemort. "Octavius Selwyn, at your service," he announced with mocking courtesy. "And we'll never align ourselves with these blood traitors or a Dark Lord! Have you all forgotten what the werewolves have done? The children they've murdered, the families they've torn apart?"

Before Voldemort could respond, an angry shout came from the Lunar Liberation Front. A woman with a jagged scar running from her left eye to her jaw pushed forward, her wand raised threateningly. "How dare you, Selwyn!" she spat, her voice trembling with fury. "It's bigots like you who created this conflict! How many innocent lives have you ruined with your 'noble' crusade?" Her eyes flicked to Voldemort, narrowing dangerously. "And we'll never bow to the likes of you, asshole! We fight for justice, not power!"

The warehouse erupted into chaos. Silver Fang members raised their wands, silver light glinting off the tips. The Lunar Liberation Front responded in kind, a cacophony of angry shouts and half-cast spells filling the air. It seemed that violence was mere seconds away from exploding.

Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously, but his lips curved into a terrible smile. The air around him seemed to darken, the temperature dropping several degrees in an instant. "Ah," he said softly, his voice somehow cutting through the din like a knife, "I was hoping for some more... volunteers."

With a speed that belied his serpentine appearance, Voldemort's wand flashed. Octavius Selwyn froze mid-tirade, his eyes widening in terror as his silver robes began to ripple and flow. The polished metal liquefied, running like quicksilver over his skin. His screams echoed through the warehouse as he collapsed, the molten silver searing into his flesh, branding intricate patterns of agony across his body.

In the same fluid motion, Voldemort turned to the woman from the Lunar Liberation Front. "Crucio," he hissed almost lazily as if swatting an irritating fly. She dropped to the ground, her defiant expression transforming into one of pure agony. Her body contorted unnaturally, bones creaking as they were bent to impossible angles by the force of the Unforgivable Curse.

The warehouse fell deathly silent save for the harrowing cries and sizzling flesh of the two victims. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning skin and the copper tang of blood. Voldemort surveyed the room, his red eyes gleaming with malevolent satisfaction as they swept over the horrified faces of both factions.

"Now then," he continued as if there had been no interruption, his voice as smooth and cold as ice, "as I was saying. Imagine what you could accomplish if you put aside your differences and embraced a greater purpose." He began to pace again, stepping over the twitching forms of Selwyn and the woman as if they were nothing more than discarded rubbish.

"The Ministry hates you both – and rightly so. Your actions have been lackluster, resembling those of mere thugs instead of people with a sense of purpose. They should tremble at the thought of purebloods who would take matters into their own hands, who would protect their heritage at any cost." Several of the Silver Fang members nodded grudgingly, their eyes darting between Voldemort and their fallen comrade.

"And you," he turned to the Lunar Liberation Front, many of whom were still breathing heavily from the near-battle, "you should strike terror into their hearts with your relentless pursuit of change, your refusal to be bound by their petty laws and prejudices." A few of the members straightened, pride warring with lingering suspicion in their eyes.

"And if you cannot gain a purpose on your own, both of you, I invite you to be united under my banner," Voldemort's voice rose, filling the warehouse with dark promise, "Put your petty differences aside, reach out for what you want, and together, we could reshape the very foundations of magical society."

With a grand sweep of his wand, he conjured vivid illusions that danced in the air before them. The images shimmered and shifted, showing scenes of a world transformed:

Werewolves and humans coexisted peacefully, the former no longer hunted or feared, but integrated into society under strict control. In another scene, pureblood families sat safely in their manors, their ancestral homes protected by wards that pulsed with dark power. Children played in gardens free from the fear of attack, their laughter a stark contrast to the battles that had raged mere weeks before.

The illusions shifted again, showing the Ministry of Magic in ruins, its oppressive laws and corrupt officials swept away. In its place rose a new order, where strength and magical ability were valued above all else. Former enemies stood side by side, united in their dominion over those they deemed inferior.

"Join me," Voldemort hissed, his charisma palpable even in the wake of his cruelty, "and I will give you the world you dream of. A world where you are no longer outcasts or vigilantes, but the rightful rulers of all magical kind."

His wand twitched towards the still-twitching forms on the ground, and the beautiful illusions twisted into nightmarish scenes of carnage and despair. Werewolves rampaged unchecked through streets littered with bodies. Pureblood manors burned, and ancient family lines were extinguished in flames of retribution. The Ministry's forces marched relentlessly, crushing all who stood in their path.

"Resist..." Voldemort let the word hang in the air, dripping with threat and malice, "and face a fate far worse than you can imagine."

A tense silence fell, broken only by the labored breathing of the two punished dissenters. Eyes darted back and forth, weighing options, measuring the risk of defiance against the promise of power.

Moments later, a ragged voice called out from the back of the Lunar Liberation Front. A young wizard, scarcely out of Hogwarts, fell to his knees before Voldemort. "My Lord," he gasped, "command us!"

Like a dam breaking, others followed. Members of both factions knelt, some reluctantly, others with fevered enthusiasm in their eyes. The Silver Fang hesitated longer, their ingrained beliefs warring with their fear and ambition. But as the moments ticked by and Voldemort's patience visibly waned, they too began to sink to their knees, their greed for the new world order and their thirst for riches and recognition overpowering whatever principles they held dear.

Voldemort's laughter, cold and triumphant, echoed through the warehouse. With a gesture, the Dark Mark blazed to life above them all, bathing the scene in sickly green light. The spectral skull and serpent seemed to leer down at the assembled crowd, a promise and a threat intertwined.

"You have chosen wisely," Voldemort purred, his red eyes gleaming with malevolent satisfaction. He turned to the two writhing figures on the ground, Selwyn's silver-burned body still smoking, the woman's limbs twitching from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse.

"As for our... dissenters. Let them serve as a reminder of the fate that awaits those who defy Lord Voldemort."

With two swift slashes of his wand, a blinding green light filled the warehouse. When it faded, Selwyn and the woman lay still, their eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, the last vestiges of defiance frozen on their faces for eternity.

"Now," Voldemort said, turning back to his newly acquired followers, his voice filled with dark promise, "let us begin. The world awaits its new masters."

As he raised his wand, the air itself seemed to tremble. Magic crackled visibly, arcing between the assembled witches and wizards like living lightning. The warehouse groaned as if the very foundations of reality were shifting as they stood witness to the carnage that had unfolded mere moments ago.

The stage was set, and a new chapter in the wizarding world's darkest hour was about to unfold. Voldemort stood at its center, the puppet master pulling the strings of his new followers' fears, ambitions, and hatred. As his red eyes surveyed his new army, a cold smile played across his lips. His plans, though briefly hindered, were back on track. Both sides now knelt before him, and soon, so would the entire wizarding world.

The Dark Lord smiled, for victory was no longer a matter of if—but when.

TBC.

Visit the link on my profile if you'd like to access chapters upto 3 months in advance. Chapters 29, 30, and 31 are already up.

Also, check out my other fics if you like this one.

Thanks for reading!