Greyback couldn't hide his smirk as the killing curse flew towards him. 'Fools,' he thought contemptuously, picking up a sack of galleons and throwing it into the path of the curse.
The so-called werewolf task force had fallen into his trap, dancing to his tune, and they didn't suspect a thing.
The crowd screamed, ducking for cover as the killing curse flew over their heads, but continued to watch as the curse struck the sack of galleons, scattering the coins amongst the crowd with a loud bang.
It took only a moment for them to forget their fear, climbing over each other to pocket as many galleons as they could get their hands on.
'Cockroaches,' Greyback thought with nothing but disdain for the crowd. They would serve their purpose well enough on his road to power, and by the time he seized control, it would already be too late for them.
He sent a silent signal to his werewolves, instructing them to block off the task force's escape route. It was time to make an example of them, to show the public how helpless they truly were.
His sensitive ears picked up the sounds of the fight, the task force's curses and panicked screams as his werewolves descended on them, using the narrow alleyway to their advantage, and attacking from both sides to quickly disarming them.
It was exactly why he'd chosen that particular alleyway to set his trap. The close quarters favored his wolves hack and slash attacks over the wizard's spells, which required distance to cast properly.
He hid his smile as his loyal wolves dragged out the task force one by one, throwing them onto the stone steps at his feet, bloody and bruised, but still alive, all their wands snapped, making them little more than muggles themselves.
"You have nothing to fear!" Greyback said, casting a sonorus on himself as he spoke to the crowd, smiling when many in the crowd stopped to look.
"Do you recognize them?" He asked, picking up their groaning leader, Harkwell, by the collar and lifting him up for them to see.
"You should," he said, seeing the confusion in their eyes. "This is your so-called werewolf task force in action, casting killing curses into crowds, harassing people in the streets. But when it comes time to do their duty, they hide in the shadows instead of standing, and fighting," he said in disgust.
Harkwell glared hatefully at Greyback as the crowd actually started booing him and his men, before turning his anger on the crowd.
"You're all fools!" he growled, his voice carrying as Greyback, sensing an opportunity, cast a sonorus charm on him as well. "You think he's here to help you?" He sneered. "He's only out for himself! If you don't believe me, why don't you look at the trail of bodies he left behind in the alley?"
Greyback chuckled, "You're right. I killed," he said with a wide grin. "And I make no apologies for it. I killed the witches and wizards that spent their lives looking down on you, the ones that lord their wealth and privilege over you, the ones that would sooner spit on you than lend a helping hand, all while taking the hard earned galleons out of your pockets."
"He's lying!" Harkwell roared, only to be silenced when Greyback hit him with a punch to the gut, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"No, that's what you and your kind do," Greyback growled, his tone taking on a harder edge. "You took people off the streets who committed no crimes, locked them away in Azkaban, and surrounded them with Dementors, all for the crime of existing."
"You think the Ministry and the Wizengamot are going to stop with werewolves?" He spat, looking out into the crowd. "No," he shook his head. "My kind are the test case, the justification they used to get the law on the books, the bogeyman they can't point at and tell you all to be afraid of, but this is only the beginning."
"They'll come after you next. Any of you who have mixed blood will be first. Half-giants, goblins, vela, and once they've run out of them, they'll come after you, the muggleborns, and the half-bloods. Do you know why?" he asked the crowd, now hanging on his every word.
A pin drop could have been heard in the silence that followed as Greyback took his time, letting the silence stretch out before finally speaking. "Because they're afraid. There's more of us than there are purebloods. They are the minority, and they control everything! That's why they keep you down, because they know their time at the top is running out. They want to hold onto what they've stolen from you for as long as they can, but I say no more!" He said, as many in the crowd cheered. "I say we take back what they've stolen from us here and now. I say we send them a message they can't ignore! They don't have power, they never did!"
Harkwell struggled as two werewolves picked him up by his shoulders, their clawed hands digging into his shoulders until he screamed, but he couldn't break their grip no matter how hard he tried, their strength far surpassing that of any normal wizard.
"For using an unforgivable, firing it into a crowd of innocent people," Greyback said imperiously as he raised his wand. "I sentence you to death."
Harwell closed his eyes, letting out the breath he had been holding as the crown went silent again. He had been played. He realized it now.
The crowd weren't random witches and wizards the werewolves had rounded up on a whim, but carefully selected individuals. Ones that fell through the cracks of society, the disenfranchised, the destitute, ones that held a grudge against the Ministry and the Wizengamot.
They weren't hard to find when you knew where to look, and Greyback had clearly done his homework. He had the crowd eating out of his palm, and worse, there was nothing he could do to show them the truth.
"Avada!" Greyback said, only to turn, catching a glint of something out of the corner of his eye. His instincts screamed at him to get out of the way, just before a fiery red streak of light shot towards him.
He dove for cover, his eyes wide as the spell did something he had rarely seen: alter course mid-air, and curve back towards him.
He fell to the ground, rolling out of the way, but not fast enough to escape unscathed, letting out a pain-filled roar as the spell tore through his jacket, burning a deep hole in his shoulder, right where his head would have been.
He looked across the street, following the trajectory of the spell up to the roof of the adjacent building, tracing where the spell had come from.
The crowd followed his gaze, no longer as enamored by his speech as they saw who fired the spell.
Potter. He cursed mentally. The boy, the one person who could throw a wrench into all his plans.
Potter wasn't like the rest of his kind. He didn't fall into either of the two categories witches and wizards typically fell into: Sheep who he could easily manipulate, or fat old wizards that represented everything wrong with wizarding society. He was something entirely new.
Potter was powerful, frighteningly so, even at a young age, and with time and experience he would become an absolute monster.
He still remembered how the child looked when he threw off his wolves, the black flames erupting from his eyes at the Ministry, the sheer magical power rolling off him as he stared him down.
It was almost a pity to end the boy now, when he'd only achieved a sliver of his true potential, to not see how powerful he would become one day, his own wolf's blood urging him to face the boy then, and truly see who was the strongest.
"Potter," he called out, hiding his grimace as the pain radiated from his wound. He couldn't allow the boy's challenge to go unanswered. He couldn't allow the boy's ideals to take root, not when they threatened all his carefully laid plans.
Harry jumped down from the ledge of the building, his voice carrying over the crowd. "Greyback," he replied, as Draco jumped down, landing beside him.
"Why am I not surprised?" Greyback said, getting an idea of how he could spin this to his advantage. "You act as if you are different from the Wizengamot, but when push comes to shove, you are on their side, not ours," he said, playing to the watching crowd, but to his growing frustration, they were no longer quite so willing to cheer him.
"The only side you're on is your own, Greyback," Harry denied. "You don't care about anyone here. They're just a means to an end for you."
"A means to an end?" Greyback sneered, but before he could utter another word, he threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding a killing curse fired at his back.
"Wha-" he said, turning around in shock to find the task force back on their feet, wands in hand.
It took him a moment to figure out what had happened. His werewolves, the fools that they were, hadn't searched the task force for spare wands; their blunder turning his crowning moment into a chaotic melee.
He could only watch, his rage simmering as his carefully laid narrative was torn to shreds as his wolves used the fleeing crowds as human shields, throwing them into the paths of the killing curses.
Harry raised his wand as chaos erupted around them. A normal shield was all but useless against killing curses, even if he overpowered the spell. What he needed was a physical barrier, something the curse couldn't just burst through.
He cast a spell, ripping up the cobbled road as he pulled the earth from the ground, then transfigured it to stone, cutting off the crowd from the ensuing battle and offering them some protection.
"Draco!" he shouted as nearly half the werewolves scaled the wall, no longer just using the crowd as human shields but attacking them as well. Their blood lust and animal instincts taking over.
Draco nodded, on the same page as Harry as he pulled out his own wand. Protecting the people and getting them away from the fighting was the priority.
"Accio!" he shouted, pulling a witch back just before a stray killing curse struck her. "Go!" he shouted as he caught her, pointing to an alley.
Harry pushed his magic into his legs, taking off at a dead sprint, trusting Draco to take care of himself as he charged after a werewolf that jumped his wall, snarling and howling as it chased after a pair of wizards.
Harry jumped, coating his fist in iron skin the moment before he struck the werewolf's jaw, sending it skidding across the ground and crashing through the front window of a shop.
Releasing iron skin to conserve his magic, he stared into the shop, waiting for the werewolf to emerge.
He'd shattered the werewolf's jaw with his attack, feeling the bones give way under the his fist, but with the werewolf's enhanced healing, it wouldn't keep it out of the fight for long.
He turned sharply as another terrified scream filled the air, this time from the opposite direction, then looked back at the shop. The werewolf still hadn't emerged from the rubble.
There wasn't enough time. Not enough to dig through the rubble and finish it off before the other werewolf dismembered its next victim.
Turning on a dime, he whipped out his wand, sending a trio of incendio's at the werewolf's back, staggering it before it could bite its next victim.
The werewolf turned, growling at him, its victim forgotten as it charged him instead.
Harry's eyes narrowed. Something was off about this werewolf. It was more feral than the others, more animalistic, shrugging off spells that would have downed any other werewolf.
He ducked under the clubbing blow from the werewolf, then turned to his side narrowly avoiding its kick.
The werewolf's raised leg left it wide open. It was only for a moment, but enough for him to slip past its guard.
He hammered two sharp punches to the werewolf's kneecap in quick succession, a grim expression on his face as his attack tore through cartilage, ligaments, and bone, sending the werewolf to the ground howling in agony as it clutched its ruined leg.
He kicked the werewolf's head, hard enough to crack its skull, and knock it out cold as he searched for other targets.
The crowd had noticeably thinned from the start of the battle, none of the willing to risk their lives, even with thousands of galleons scattered at their feet.
He glanced back at Draco, now standing atop the wall, taking full advantage of his elevated position as he levitated whatever debris he could find on the ground before spinning it in a vicious arc and raining it down on the werewolves below.
Looking higher, he saw flashes of sickly green lights in the sky as a fierce battle took place between the werewolves and the task force on the other side of the wall.
Glancing at his hastily constructed wall, he could already seeing cracks forming everywhere, but despite that, it still stood, at least for the moment.
Harry turned sharply, a howl pierced the air, drawing his attention back to the fight.
He charged another werewolf, dodging around the chunks of stone Draco rained down on the impromptu battlefield as he zeroed in on another werewolf, this one seemingly more aware as its eyes widened in recognition, then fear, no longer so interested in its victims as it turned and fled.
Before Hogwarts, he would have let the werewolf run. With so many other people to save, it would have been one less thing to worry about, but now he knew better.
The ones that fled were often the most vicious, the most destructive. They chose their targets carefully: the weak, the defenseless. They caused as much death and mayhem as they could without ever risking themselves.
He raised his wand, transfiguring one of the many chunk of stone littering the road into a stone spear with a sharpened, serrated edge, and banishing it at the fleeing werewolf.
The spear accelerating faster and faster as it chased its target, skewering it in the back, and impaling it against the wall of a shop.
He looked at the werewolf stone faced, as it tried to claw its way free, howling and screaming frantically for a long moment before it went still, no longer moving, then looked down at the bodies of its victims.
Two wizards and a witch, all three of them maimed beyond recognition, none of them moving, none of them breathing, but one thing was clear: they had died in agony.
Harry looked up, still hearing the faint sounds of battle, but there were no longer any werewolves on his side of the wall, many of them dead by his or Draco's hand, and the rest fleeing after taking heavy losses.
Thankfully, none of the werewolves on his side of the wall had worn the dragon-skin dusters, marking them as Greyback's elite forces, but it begged the question why. Why trust his regular forces to carry out such an important attack on their own?
"Later," Merlin said. "The battle isn't over."
"Draco!" Harry called out. "Do what you can for the injured. I'm going to the other side."
"Or," Draco said somberly, looking up from the dead witch at his feet. "We let them fight it out."
"What?" Harry asked, thinking he had misheard him.
"Have a look," Draco said, standing up. "Not a mark on her. It wasn't the werewolves that got her. This was the task force, stray killing curse. One of many that died this way."
Harry looked down, examining the woman, sensing the residual magic of the killing curse, removing all doubt on what could have happened.
"Werewolves, Task Force, it doesn't matter," Draco explained. "They left behind near enough the same number of victims. Why not let them kill each other for a change?" Draco asked.
Harry sighed, understanding Draco's perspective, even tempted to do just that, but knew it wasn't that simple.
"…There's still people on the other side," Harry replied. "More people that will get caught in the crossfire, more people that Greyback can turn. If we don't stop it now, it's going to get much worse."
"I don't think it can get much worse than this," Draco said, holding up his hands, covered in the blood of the witches and wizards he'd tried to save.
Harry stared at Draco's hands, watching the blood drip from his fingers, wishing there was something he could say to reassure him, but there wasn't, not with the battle still going on.
Greyback didn't care about his victims, and neither did the task force from the look of things.
"…I know Draco," Harry replied, promising himself he would talk to Draco after the battle. "But there's more going on here than we realize," he replied, sharing his suspicions with Draco. "Whatever it is, whatever Greyback is up to, I have to stop it," he said before jumping to the top of the wall.
Draco watched Harry go, silently wishing him luck before he turned his attention to the injured witches and wizards around him.
***
Harry watched the battle between the task force and the werewolves. Three of the task force were on the ground unmoving, with two werewolves sharing the same fate.
He leaned to the side, out of the path of a killing curse shot by one of the task force.
The wizard hadn't been targeting him, just careless in his aim, not much different from the other members of the task force, wildly firing killing curses at their attackers.
He jumped down into the rubble of the once pristine shopping district.
Countless storefronts lay in ruin, destroyed beyond recognition, the gleaming white stone of Gringotts Bank covered in scorch marks, but still standing, and small fires littering the rubble.
"About time, Potter!" Harkwell barked into the silence as he caught sight of him. "What were yo doing back there? Taking a damn nap?"
Harry said nothing, counting the werewolves, noting that eight of the ten standing beside Greyback wore the dragon-hide jackets, with the task force now whittled down to only four members.
"Do the math, Potter," Greyback drawled, his eyes gleaming. "These are my elite. Your little tricks won't be enough to beat all of us, and them," he said, cocking his thumb at Harkwell. "They aren't exactly friends of yours either. Why don't you let me take care of that little problem for you? You can owe me one."
"No," Harry shook his head, glaring at the werewolf. "I don't make deals with murderers."
"Murderers?" Greyback snarled. "You've seen what they've done to my kind. It's been happening for longer than you've been alive. This is justice!"
"Justice?" Harry asked, gesturing to the ruined buildings and the dead bodies littering the street, werewolf and wizard alike. "This isn't justice. It's revenge, except your victims never raised a wand against you."
Greyback laughed coldly. "No," he agreed. "What they did was far worse. They stood by and did nothing."
"Don't be a fool, Potter," Harkwell spat. "They gave as good as they got, now and during the war."
Harry shot Harkwell a withering glare, but didn't disagree with his sentiment. Greyback, by all accounts was a monster, and he didn't believe for one second that Greyback believed any of the things he was spouting off.
He narrowed his eyes as he expanded his senses, suspecting why Greyback was keeping up the charade.
They weren't alone. There were still witches and wizards alive, buried in the rubble, some of them hiding, others too injured to move, but all of them were within hearing range.
Greyback wasn't the monster he thought he was. He was far more dangerous, capable of playing to the crowd and manipulating them for his own ends, which made exposing him that much more difficult.
"My offer still stands, Potter," Greyback called out. "Join us. Think of what we could accomplish together."
Harry furrowed his brows, trying to figure out Greyback's game. He didn't really expect him to join his side, so why did he make the offer again? Why was he content to sit back and talk now, when he and the task force had been trying to kill each other just a moment ago?
The numbers were still on Greyback's side, so why wasn't he pressing his advantage?
"He's stalling," Merlin spoke into his mind.
'Stalling for what?' Harry thought back.
"There's only one way to find out," Merlin thought back.
'It's not that simple,' Harry thought back, feeling the stress he had been under the last few days catching up with him. "The people watching… if I attack first.. They'll believe all the lies the Prophet has been spouting about me."
"You can't make your decisions based on how you believe other people will react," Merlin replied. "You need to do what you think is right, otherwise you'll spend the rest of your life second-guessing yourself."
Harry nodded, grateful for Merlin's counsel, his words grounding him.
"Enough!" he called out, feeling a surge of anger. "I'm not playing your game. I saw what you did, what your pack did. I saw the dead bodies littering the streets, not just here, but everywhere. I saw their mangled remains and the terror in their eyes before your werewolves butchered them."
"You're not a martyr. You're not fighting for the oppressed," he accused. "You're an opportunist, plain and simple."
"Oh, Harry," Greyback said, shaking his head, his expression hardening. "Why'd you have to go and say something like that? I was going to let them live before you said all that," he said, revealing he knew all about the witches and wizards listening in on their conversation as he directed his wolves to where he knew the witches and wizards were hiding.
"You're not going to hurt them," Harry denied, feeling the now familiar rage building inside him. "I won't let you," he added as black flames erupted from his eyes and encased his fists.
"I'll admit, you caught me by surprise with that little trick the first time," Greyback said with a vicious grin, "but it won't work a second time."
"Let's find out," Harry replied in an icy voice, charging forward to meet the werewolves.
"Go," Greyback said to his most powerful followers, standing and watching as eight snarling werewolves surged past him.
The ground crumbled beneath Harry's feet as he ran forward. The force he put into each step too much for the cobblestone road to handle.
Remembering what he did at Hogwarts he slowly reduced the amount of magic he put into his legs, a much more difficult task with the volatile magic surging through his magical pathways.
The werewolves spread themselves wide apart as they formed a loose circle around him, intending to use the same tactic they had used in the Ministry: overwhelm him with superior numbers from all angles until they broke through his defenses.
'Not this time,' Harry thought, recognizing their strategy and already moving to counter it.
He darted sharply to the left, slipping between two werewolves before slamming his dagger into the ground and using it as an anchor to swing himself back around without having to slow down.
He could see the werewolves turning around to face him, their confusion turning to shock as they saw him, but they were already out of position, and too late to counter him.
He slammed his fist, still churning with black flames, into the stomach of the first werewolf, shredding a hole in its jacket and cracking its ribs.
The werewolf roared in agony as it stumbled, falling to the ground as the acrid smell of burnt fur filling the air.
It wasn't enough to keep the werewolf down for long, it's enhanced healing already knitting its bones back together, but it was enough to force the others to regroup.
Harry didn't stop moving; he couldn't. The moment he stopped was when the werewolves caught up with him, and their numbers advantage would become too much to overcome.
He skidded under the legs of the next werewolf, slashing the tendons in its leg as he slid past, before springing back to his feet just in time to duck under the slashing strike of another werewolf, an attack that would have taken him out of the fight entirely if it connected.
He cursed mentally as the werewolves closed in again. The second it took to get back to his feet, giving them all the time they needed to close ranks, tightening their circle around him.
He snapped to the side, just barely avoiding a kick to his chest, but the werewolf's clawed foot still shredded his jacket, thankfully without drawing blood.
He rolled forward, avoiding another strike to the back of his head as the werewolves forced him back on the defensive, his sensory abilities the only thing keeping him in the fight against their superior numbers, but costly to maintain, pushing him closer and closer to magical exhaustion the longer he kept it up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harkwell, along with the two remaining members of the task force still standing, already showing clear signs of magical exhaustion, their wands hanging limply in their hands.
The next attack came, a hammer blow from the werewolf towering over him.
Harry raised his hands, forming an X over his head, coating both his arms in iron skin for added protection.
The weight of the blow came crashing down on him, driving him to one knee, and cracking the road beneath him, but what really caught him by surprise was the roar of pain from the werewolf.
Harry looked up at the werewolf in surprise, seeing the burned and blackened flesh on its arm as realization struck. He'd been using the black flames all wrong. He didn't need to use power attacks. Even a glancing hit from the flames was enough to hurt them.
He placed his hand on the ground, kicking out his legs in a wide arc as he swept the werewolf's legs, sending it crashing to the ground beside him, then slammed his palm on the werewolf's face before it could recover, its skin sizzle beneath his palm as it let out another pain filled roar, thrashing on the ground.
Just as the werewolf's struggles weakened, he felt a warning from his senses and threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding a stomp to his spine, then back as he avoided a kick from another werewolf.
He amped up his perception, feeling the now familiar sensation of time slowing down around him to a crawl as the werewolves drew closer, pressing their advantage.
He saw the werewolves's attacks coming as if they were moving in slow motion, two of them attacking him at once.
The first went for his chest, a kick strong enough to crush cinder-block, and the second slashed at his face, attempting to tear the flesh from his bones.
He jumped, using the werewolf's outstretched leg as a springboard, landing on the other werewolf's arm in the blink of an eye.
He lunged for the werewolf's face, hand outstretched, shoving it into the snout of the snarling werewolf, staggering it. Its bones crunched under the force of his attack, burning its flesh and rocking its head back.
Harry brought his dagger up, slamming it into the werewolf's chest for good measure, sending them both crashing to the ground.
He rolled off the werewolf, avoiding the stomping feet of two more werewolves, scrambling back to his feet, crossing his arms in front of his chest to block the werewolf's next attack.
Despite covering his arms in iron skin, he felt his bones creak as he took the full force of the hit, not fast enough to dodge out of the way.
Harry gritted his teeth as he skidded across the ground, thrown back by the werewolf's attack as its pain-filled roar filled the air.
The hit sent him flying back almost a hundred feet, but even that wasn't enough to give him any breathing room as the werewolves closed in on him again as he struggled back to his feet.
'I'm not doing enough damage,' Harry thought, his magic dwindling, and his magical pathways already feeling the strain of directing so much magic through them.
The werewolves, in contrast, had already healed from the worst of their injuries, most of them back on their feet again.
He glanced at Greyback, who hadn't moved from his place on the steps of Gringotts, a look of intense concentration on his face as two of the largest werewolves stood on either side of him, standing guard.
He turned his attention back to the fight as two werewolves attacked him on either side, claws outstretched, while the others stood back, conserving their strength, but ready to step in the moment one of his attackers went down.
He ducked, rolling forward as the two werewolves crashed into each other, landing heavily on the ground.
As they untangled themselves, Harry lunged forward, switching to palm strikes instead of fists to cover a wider surface area.
Their jackets offered them some protection, but Harry focused his attacks on their exposed fur, doing as much damage as he could before the other werewolves were on him again.
After only a few strikes, he dove out of the way, the werewolves again using their numbers to their advantage as they attacked from the front and back.
He groaned, feeling a burning sensation in his forearms, a clear sign he was nearly at his limit and in danger of burning out his magical pathways.
He considered using a magical explosion, like the one he created in the Ministry, but the attack had cost him nearly all his remaining magic to pull off, and with Greyback still waiting in the wings, it was practically a death sentence to use it now.
Almost as if in answer to his growing desperation, a sharp howl pierced the air before his closest attacker fell forward.
'Draco,' he thought, breathing a sigh of relief as he spotted him standing on the edge of the wall, levitating a large chunk of stone as he spun it around him in a deadly arc before sending it flying.
Harry pushed his magic into his legs, jumping high into the air, and used an accio to latch onto a stone, using its momentum to pull him away from the snarling werewolves.
He dropped to one knee, breathing hard as he landed, watching as Draco latched onto more debris, hurling them at the werewolves and forcing them to scatter to avoid being hit, disrupting their strategy.
Harry got back on his feet. With Draco providing cover, he could finally go on the attack again.
He leveled his wand at the lone werewolf charging him, sending out a trio of incendio's at it, nudging his spells to land in the same spot.
The werewolf's jacket, while magically resistant, was no match for the concentrated fire of his attack, tearing through the dragon skin and punching a giant smoking hole in the werewolf's chest.
The werewolf stumbled, dropping to its knees as it stared disbelievingly at him before falling forward.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he stared at the werewolf. Even with their near-incredible recovery time and regenerative abilities, there was no getting up from that.
His respite was short-lived as the remaining werewolves quickly regrouped, two of them going after Draco, recognizing the threat he presented, while the remaining five returned to attacking him.
Harry raised his wand, transfiguring the wall Draco stood on, raising it higher, and smoothing out the stone to make it harder for the werewolves to scale, but costing him nearly half his magic to do so.
With Draco providing cover fire the battle slowly turned, preventing the werewolves from using the same tactics to wear him down, and giving him the openings he needed to go on the offensive.
Harry switched back to physical attacks, conserving his magic as he charged a werewolf getting back on its feet after taking a hit from one of Draco's stones.
Harry's eyes widened as the battle suddenly shifted, the warning from his senses coming a fraction of a second too late as a heavy foot slammed into his side, sending him flying like a rag doll.
As he flew through the air, he caught a glimpse of Greyback standing there, a vindictive grin on his face.
Harry hit the ground hard, bouncing off the stone steps of Gringotts before slamming into the heavy metal doors of the bank.
Harry gasped for breath as he grabbed his side, his ribs cracked.
He struggled to get back to his feet as the black flames around his eyes and fists fizzled out, his magic spent.
Greyback calmly strolled towards him, leaning down to look him in the eye.
"Thank you, Harry," Greyback said, loud enough for only the two of them to hear. "This moment, it wouldn't have worked nearly as well without you here."
"What?!" Harry demanded, pushing himself off the ground, only for Greyback to grip his shoulder, his clawed fingers digging into his shoulder as he forced him back down.
"The wizarding world just saw its hero fall," Greyback explained. "They saw him fight his hardest against impossible odds, but in the end he just wasn't strong enough," he taunted, a sly smirk on his face. "And if he can't win, what hope do they have?"
"Plenty," Harry replied, hiding his pained grimace as blood dripped from his shoulder. "I've killed your strongest. I proved they're not invincible, that together we can beat you."
"You? The version of you at the Battle of Hogwarts? Perhaps. But you're not him, not anymore," he accused. "I've watched you. You've lost a step since then," Greyback continued. "And the rest of your kind? Not even an army of them could stop me now."
"I've shown them their werewolf task force are nothing more than frauds. Look around you. It wasn't my wolves that killed all these people. It was them, and everyone knows it now. They know the Ministry nor the Wizengamot can't protect them."
Harry stared back at Greyback, realizing the full scope of his plan: to destabilize society itself, to turn the people against the very institutions they counted on. The Wizengamot, the Ministry, the Aurors, even Gringotts bank hadn't been left unscathed.
"You've trained him well," Greyback said with an evil grin, glancing back at Draco, still holding his own against three werewolves. "What do you suppose his father will do when I turn him?" He asked.
"You won't," Harry growled, his eyes crackling with black flames as he reached out for the last remnants of his magic.
Greyback laughed. "Look at you, Harry, exhausted both magically and physically. You can't even stand, let alone stop me. Face it, you've lost."
"So what? You're going to kill me now?" Harry glared.
"And turn you into their martyr?" Greyback laughed. "I think not," his fangs extending as he leaned in closer.
"Try it," Harry challenged, refusing to show any fear. "It'll be the last thing you ever do."
"Yes, that's what everyone says," Greyback replied. "But I'm the alpha for a reason. After you turn, you'll fall in line, just like they all do."
Harry prepared himself mentally. He still had a few vials of silver nitrate left, and with the techniques Merlin taught to regulate his magic and healing, he had a better chance than most to beat the curse.
Greyback snarled, sniffing the air, surprising Harry as he stood up instead of biting him. "Perhaps next time, Potter," he said as a portal opened beneath his feet, transporting him, along with the rest of his werewolves, away.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, letting out the breath he had been holding as he leaned against the door of the bank.
He could no longer sense the werewolves, but Greyback had proved his point. He couldn't be everywhere. He couldn't protect everyone, and no matter how strong he was, he couldn't overcome their sheer numbers, numbers that increased after each battle.
***
Rufus groaned as he rubbed his face, feeling like a muggle lorry had run him over.
The last thing he remembered was feeling ill, then everything going dark before waking up with a splitting headache on his living room floor.
He squinted in the dark as he reached for his wand, fumbling through his pockets until he found his wand, then gave it a quick flick to turn on the lights.
His eyes widened, his headache forgotten as he stared in shock at the utter destruction around him.
His once pristine home looked as if it had been ransacked, and none too gently, either.
His first instinct was to call in the Aurors, but as he looked around, nothing seemed to be missing, just destroyed.
He stood up, surveying the damage.
His oak dining table lay on the ground smashed to pieces, a family heirloom that survived five centuries, now nothing more than kindling.
His sofa and armchairs lay on their sides, overturned and slashed in multiple places with what appeared to be a crude knife. The painting of his family tree lay tattered on the floor. Not even his rug had been spared.
"Who could have done this?" Rufus said, thinking out loud. 'Why?' he thought. It didn't make any sense. What could he have done to warrant such a response?
That's when he looked down, finally noticing his clothes, shredded and torn. 'What?'
He quickly checked himself over, but couldn't find so much as a scratch, only adding to his confusion. "Why would they…"
Then he saw it, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the long, jagged claw marks on his door.
It was no ordinary door. Instead of wood, it was made of solid iron with just a thin veneer of wood to give the appearance of a normal door.
It was designed specifically to be spell-resistant, reinforced to protect against attacks, both magical and physical. It was something he'd put in years ago, back in his Aurors days.
He'd turned his entire home into a safe room capable of standing up against Death Eater attacks for days at a time, practically a requirement at the height of the war, when Death Eaters began targeting Aurors and their families.
Rufus took a hesitant step forward, running his fingers along the deep grooves carved into the iron.
"No," he said softly, stumbling back and looking around frantically. There had to be another explanation.
'A werewolf must have broke in somehow,' he thought desperately, going from room to room, checking windows, but none of them were broken, nor could they be.
The wards would have prevented it. They would have had to collapse completely before something like that could happen, and they were still active; he could feel them.
Rufus sank to the floor, nearly hyperventilating as he struggled to think of another explanation, but couldn't.
"No," he said over and over again. He'd beaten the curse. He was sure of it. His injuries, all of them had healed.
'Healed far too soon to be natural,' a traitorous voice in the back of his head whispered, one he had studiously ignored since the attack on the Ministry, but could no longer deny.
His career was as good as over. How could he possibly hold on to his job now? They would lynch him in the streets, blame him for Greyback's attack on the Ministry. They would think he was a part of it, that he'd helped him get inside the Wizengamot chambers.
***
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