"That doesn't matter. It's not my first time wandering around at night anyway. I'll just catch up on sleep during the day." Hearing Midgard's concern, Leonard shrugged, completely fearless.
And he wasn't wrong. For most Hogwarts students, curfew was practically a joke. On night patrol were only a single professor and Filch the Squib—with his cat.
Just how brazen were Hogwarts students during curfew? Back when Leonard had only just started sneaking into the Forbidden Forest, aside from avoiding the patrolling professor and Filch, he also had to dodge at least three couples and nearly ten other students casually roaming around.
"Even so, it's too late now. Hand Claudia over—I should take her back." Midgard said.
Leonard nodded, stood up, and passed the drowsy Claudia in his arms to her.
Suddenly losing the warm embrace filled with a familiar scent made Claudia's little face tighten with an almost heartbreaking unease. But as soon as she caught Midgard's scent, she relaxed again and dozed off peacefully.
Cradling the small girl in her arms, Midgard's expression softened into gentle affection.
Watching her smile, Leonard suddenly asked, "How are you planning to handle the werewolf matter?"
Midgard's smile froze, and she lifted her gaze to meet his.
Leonard met her eyes. In those pupils—eyes that should have held innocence—there was only calmness and a shadow impossible to read.
"I didn't expect you to notice," Midgard said with an awkward smile. "It's nothing serious. Let me handle it on my own."
"Nothing serious? Then Marcus wouldn't need to involve you at all. Doesn't he know exactly what you're capable of? Would he really let you lose sleep over it?" Leonard replied flatly.
Midgard's smile faded, and she let out a low sigh. "You make me look so stupid when you're this sharp."
"No need to look stupid. You are," Leonard said, sitting back on the sofa. "You're not planning to just let them do whatever they want, are you?"
"Of course not." Midgard's voice shot up instinctively, but when Claudia stirred uneasily in her arms and clutched at her clothes, she quickly lowered it again. "Didn't you say it was a trap?"
"But clearly, they won't listen. They think you're clinging to your own authority and don't want the Werewolves to live better lives." Leonard let out a derisive snort. "They've already forgotten who lifted them out of poverty, who made sure they no longer had to worry about survival, and gave them the freedom to pursue equality."
"They're not wrong."
"Their goals aren't wrong. The timing is." Leonard's tone hardened. To spare Midgard's pride, he paused briefly before asking, "How many are involved?"
"All of Fenrir's old followers, plus some they've managed to pull in. Around thirty or so," Midgard said with pain in her voice.
"How many core members?"
"None. They understand our plan and agree it's the safest path, but…" Midgard hesitated. "Aside from some Werewolves originally under me… two of the Werewolf Sorcerers you personally trained also wanted to join them."
Leonard's eyes sharpened.
The Werewolf Sorcerers he had trained were young—meaning they had seen his face.
"Don't worry. They're already dead. I dealt with it myself," Midgard said heavily.
"Dead? Good."
It sounded cruel, but it was Leonard's instinctive reaction. He knew Midgard understood—she wouldn't have acted herself otherwise.
"And the others?" Leonard asked. "Even if there are quite a few, still—"
"Too many. I can't do it. And if I really did, my own followers might abandon me," Midgard said bitterly.
The melancholy in her voice carried its own poetic weight—blended with helplessness and quiet sorrow.
Leonard considered it, then slowly nodded.
Midgard was nothing like Fenrir, who ruled by violence and terror. Her authority came from her loyalty and the determination that had improved her people's lives.
Put simply: one was a tyrant, the other a saintly leader.
A tyrant might eventually fall and be torn apart by his own men, but in the meantime, none dared oppose his commands. His brutality was simply an extension of who he was.
Midgard's followers wouldn't leave her because of failure—but if she acted against what they believed a leader should be, they would confront her.
"I'll explain it to them," Midgard said. "Tell them it's a trap."
"That won't work," Leonard replied calmly. "They've already betrayed you by taking action. Right now, they'll only believe what they want to believe."
"Then let them be," Midgard said. "Whether they live or die is their own fate."
"Easy to say, but meaningless." Leonard shook his head. "I told you—the information originated from Lucius Malfoy. That madman, who blames Voldemort for his son's death, will stop at nothing to destroy the Death Eaters."
Midgard froze for a moment, then quickly understood. "You mean they might do something that provokes a Ministry purge?"
"That's the bare minimum. Whether they succeed or not, they'll die. Their death itself is trivial. What matters are the consequences afterward." Leonard explained, "The families of those Death Eaters will be punished. And the Werewolf wizards mixed among them…"
"Their crimes will be dumped on the entire Werewolf race!" Midgard's face turned pale, her voice heavy. "They'll ruin everything we've accomplished these past few months."
"Exactly." Leonard nodded. "This is not a small matter."
"Then what should we do?" Midgard's composure cracked. She didn't dare imagine what fate awaited her people under Ministry retaliation.
Returning to the starting point would be the best-case scenario. Worse could be… far worse than their old life.
"What do we do?" All poetic melancholy had vanished from Midgard's voice. In the face of harsh reality, poetry meant nothing.
Leonard thought for a moment, then lifted his head.
"Perhaps it's time we had a talk with Lucius Malfoy," he said.
...
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