Gringott tightened his fists, staring down at the streets of Diagon Alley below, his eyes sharp and focused despite the devastating blow to his people.
It had been days since the attack, and it still looked like a war zone. His bank, despite all its wards and protections, had fared little better than the rest of the alley, scorch marks and craters marring the once gleaming white marble facade of the building.
"How bad is it?" he demanded without turning around.
"Bad," Griphook replied, seeing no sense in sugarcoating it for the king. "Worse than I've ever seen before."
Gringott gave a heavy nod, holding out his hand for the ledger.
"The portals," Griphook continued. "They were past our defenses before we even knew what happened, and it was only after they broke into the vaults that the alarms even sounded."
"They stole from us. They stole from me," Gringott said tightly, his eyes promising retribution as he read the updated death toll. "It can never happen again, do you understand me, Griphook? Never."
"With those portals of theirs, there's no trail for us to follow," Griphook pointed out. "And there's still so much we don't know about them, how they became the way they are. This transformation of theirs."
Gringott nodded thoughtfully, understanding Griphook's perspective. Fighting an enemy they didn't understand was folly, something he'd forgotten in his anger. "Thank you, old friend."
He sighed, rubbing his temples. In one fell swoop, Greyback had tarnished the reputation of his bank, perhaps beyond repair. "These are the final numbers?" He asked, looking back down at the ledger.
"74,353,208 galleons stolen," Griphook replied. "107 dead, and 30 more not expected to survive the night."
"They knew what they were doing," Griphook added, dropping a piece of parchment on the desk. "Every vault they broke into belonged to a prominent pure-blood family. Almost all of our wealthiest clients were hit."
"Almost?" Gringott asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The audit vault," Griphook replied. "Where we moved all the galleons for sorting out the mess with Evergreen, that one they didn't touch."
"Because they didn't know where it was," Gringott surmised.
"My thoughts exactly," Griphook agreed. "We have a traitor, someone who sold the location of those vaults."
Gringott let out a bark of laughter, hollow and cold. "A hundred dead, probably more, and all to line some goblin's pockets. Our ancestors would be rolling in their graves if they could see how far we have fallen."
Griphook nodded solemnly, knowing exactly what the king meant. They were once a race that prided themselves on stories, on adventures, where the hunt was far more important than the treasure itself, but no longer.
"And if that wasn't enough, I received this earlier in the day," Gringott added, taking a letter out of the growing pile and tossing it to Griphook.
"The Wizengamot?" Griphook read aloud, skimming through the letter, his eyes narrowing as he read the last paragraph. "The treaty?" he asked incredulously. "So soon after Goblin soil was invaded by witches and wizards?"
"They don't care," Gringott replied darkly. "And according to them, werewolves are classified as dangerous magical creatures, not wizards and witches. They expect repayment of the stolen galleons within sixty days."
"This won't stand," Griphook shook his head. "The law is on our side. We have up to a year to investigate and make efforts to recover the funds first."
"Do we?" Gringott asked. "Witches and wizards interpret and apply the laws, not us."
"Sir? You can't mean to pay them."
"What choice do I have?" Gringott replied. "Another goblin rebellion?"
"Yes," Griphook replied immediately. "The horde is with you, sir. They're ready to fight, as always."
Gringott looked at his old friend, finding it ironic that it was now his turn to calm him down. "And play right into Greyback's hands."
"That is the enemy we're facing," Gringott continued, at Griphook's confused look. "It's why Greyback broke into so many vaults. He could have stolen even more by emptying half a dozen vaults, and in less than half the time, but he didn't. He wanted this to hurt more than he wanted the galleons."
"How do you mean, sir?" Griphook asked.
"He wants us at each other's throats, fighting amongst ourselves, so that when we are at our weakest, he can swoop in and take everything."
"The witches and wizards must know this as well, so why…" Griphook asked.
"Many of the richest purebloods in the country are effectively broke," Gringott explained, holding up his hand as Griphook began to protest.
"Their vaults have safeguards in place, meant to protect family lines from irresponsible heirs, and a 25-30% drop in the size of their vaults more than qualifies, regardless of how it happened."
"The bank earns roughly 10-12 million galleons annually," Gringott explained. "Even with reducing expenditures by… thirty percent," he said, doing the math in his head. "It will be a minimum of six years before we've recovered. And for the next sixty days the purebloods won't have the galleons they normally do to throw around."
"And without that, all the businesses in the country suffer, taking the economy down with them," Griphook said, following the chairman's line of thinking.
"The galleons we recovered outside the bank were a pittance, all told less than three thousand," Gringott continued. "Wherever Greyback is, he's extremely well-funded, but we can't risk the chance of another attack."
"Quadruple the guards, patrols day and night. We will not be caught unaware a second time."
"Sir," Griphook said, giving a short bow before walking out of the chairman's office.
***
Harry sat silently on the front porch of the Weasley's home, still favoring his ribs. Skelegrow had fixed the worst of the damage, but his side was still tender.
'He knew I would show up,' Harry thought. 'Everything. He had it all planned out. He was counting on it.'
"Maybe, maybe not," Merlin replied. "His plan was to steal the galleons, make the Ministry and the goblins look weak, and that plan would have worked whether or not you were there… If anything, beating you was a bonus."
Harry nodded, considering Merlin's words. Given the amount of forethought Greyback put into his plans it wasn't a surprise in retrospect, but predicting what he would do next felt all but impossible.
'What he said at the end,' Harry thought, remembering Greyback's words. "Everyone falls in line after they turn. What did he mean?"
"Werewolves have a pack mentality, just like wolves," Merlin explained. "There's always a pack leader, one that's stronger than the others, the alpha. That seems to be Greyback. No one knows exactly how it works, but there's a magical, mental, and a biological component to it all, a compulsion of some kind to follow the leader that's difficult to break."
'Is that what would have happened to me?' Harry thought.
"Hmm…" Merlin said, considering Harry's words. "…It's unlikely to have that strong of an effect on you. Your mind is shielded against mental intrusions, better than most, and after what I've taught you, you have a much finer degree of control over your magic, but we can't rule out the possibility completely, for both you or your friends."
'My friends?' Harry thought back, alarmed.
"From Greyback's perspective, they would make ideal targets," Merlin explained. "All of them are strong magically, and if after turning them he compelled them to attack you, would you really give it your all in your fight against them?"
'….' Harry sat silently, a chill going down his spine at the possibility he hadn't considered until now.
"I learned something interesting about this new ability of yours," Merlin offered, filling the silence.
'What?' Harry thought back.
"The flames, they didn't just hurt the werewolves physically. There is a mental component to it too," Merlin replied, showing the memory of how the werewolves had physically recoiled after being touched by them.
"It's forcing them to feel the pain and grief you've locked away," he continued. "It's so concentrated I doubt they can make any sense of it, let alone defend against it mentally."
'Good,' Harry thought back darkly, not feeling an ounce of pity for those werewolves after what they'd done and the people they hurt.
***
Rufus walked to the podium, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, mentally prepared himself for the press conference and the onslaught of questions he knew would follow.
After the attack on Diagon Alley, there was no hiding from it, not without running the risk of getting lynched.
The alley looked like a war zone. There was no other way to describe it. They were at war with the werewolves, and woefully unprepared for it.
He rubbed the sweat from his palms on his pant legs, pulling himself together as best he could, terrified that his secret would come out, or worse, they already knew, and all this was an elaborate trap to arrest him publicly and cart him off to Azkaban.
He looked at Rita Skeeter sitting in the front row, quill and notepad in hand. He gulped nervously at the thought of facing her alone, not even sure if the Prophet was still on his side at this point. Would they join Skeeter in raking him over the coals as well?
He'd sent five separate letters to Ogden, pleading with him for help. Each letter more desperate than the last as he all but begged for the Chief Warlock's help, for a way to diffuse the situation, but all of them had gone unanswered.
His fists tightened as he thought about Ogden now, how the man had co-opted the werewolf task force and after it blew up in their faces, left him to take the fall for all of it.
In his desperation he had even sent a letter to Cornelius Fudge, asking him for his advice on how to handle the situation, asking him to stand by his side during the press conference. To present a untied front to the wizarding public, but Fudge's reply had been short, and to the point.
The truth of Fudge's response had struck him like a hammer blow — 'You sacrificed every one of your morals to take on the job the way you did, and everyone can see that. Nothing I say or do will change anyone's opinion of you. Your only way forward is to stand on your own two feet and face it like a man.'
He cursed himself mentally for ever believing Ogden's lies — 'Taking on this job will open doors for you, perhaps even get you a seat on the Wizengamot once you prove yourself.'
He had been a useful fool, nothing more. Someone to take the blame when things went bad, and fade into the background when things were good.
"There are several reports of both the Aurors and the Werewolf task force fleeing the battle," Rita said, shaking him from his increasingly desperate thoughts. "Can you confirm this?"
"Those are rumors, nothing more," Rufus said, forcing himself to at least appear calm. "The battle was chaotic, with multiple fronts. What people saw as Aurors running away was actually Aurors moving to reinforce positions before they were overrun. Next question," he said, pointing to a reporter from the Prophet before Skeeter could ask the follow-up question he knew she had in her back pocket.
"There are also reports Harry Potter caused much of the property damage himself," Kikis Trecus said. "This includes a newly erected stone wall down the middle of Diagon Alley, along with the looting of several stores. Will he be made to answer for these accusations?"
Rufus's jaw fell open at the audacious question, a feeling many in the crowd seemed to share as they angrily shouted the reporter down.
He breathed a small sigh of relief as the focus momentarily shifted off him, glad there was at least one question he wouldn't have to answer, but it wasn't long before the reporters circled back to him.
"Xeno Lovegood, with the Quibbler," Xeno said, cutting through the noise. "The goblins were instrumental in the battle of Hogwarts. Have any overtures been made to the Goblin nation for their assistance?"
"N-no," Rufus admitted. After the demand letter Ogden had sent to the goblins he doubted their king would be in collaborative mood, but he didn't mention that part, preferring not to open that can of worms by making it common knowledge. "That's something I'll have to take away."
"Take away?" Xeno asked, a curious expression on his face. "Cornelius Fudge was able to contact the goblins directly. Why can't you do that now?"
"I'm not Cornelius Fudge," Rufus snapped, the pressure getting to him as he stood on the podium, flanked by only two Aurors, and facing an increasingly hostile crowd. "Next question!"
He hands shook as he spoke, not just from anger, but something deeper, tightly coiled, and struggling to break free. He looked down at his right hand alarmed, his bones shifting beneath his skin as his fingers elongated into claws.
"Zamira Gulch, Daily Prophet," another reporter jumped in as he quickly shoved his hand into his pocket before anyone could see. "By all accounts, the Werewolf Task Force has been all but decimated, with only a handful of surviving members after the attack of Diagon Alley. What does the Ministry intend to do about this?"
Rufus clenched his jaw, his face going red as he thought about the task force, and the mess Ogden and Harkwell created for him.
"We have several promising candidates to replace the members of the task force," he finally said, lying through his teeth. "Next question."
"According to eyewitness accounts, the werewolf task force used unforgivables to battle the werewolves," Rita said. "Has this been authorized by anyone within the government?"
"…This is war," Rufus said stiffly, the bones in his left hand shifting this time. He shoved his hand into his pocket, hiding his wince as his clawed hand dug into his thigh, fighting back his growing panic as the wolf slowly rose to the surface.
He took a shaky step back from the podium, his fear of being discovered growing stronger as his teeth began to elongate.
He walked off the stage, ignoring the shouted questions from the reporters, the growing anger from the crowd, the demands for accountability. Nothing else mattered. He had to get away.
He stepped back inside the ministry, breathing a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind him, and the wolf's anger slowly subsided, and his fingers and teeth returning to normal.
He walked through the nearly deserted hallways of the ministry, making his way back to the privacy of his office, not even bothering to respond to whatever Umbridge was screeching about as he locked the door behind him, and slumped to the floor, pressing his back against the door.
He sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. There was no escaping it anymore, no lying to himself. He was a werewolf, and had nearly revealed himself during a press conference, no less.
The public was out for blood, and if anyone discovered the truth Azkaban would be the least of his problems.
He strongly considered quitting then and there, just packing up his desk and walking out, but with the entire country locked down under quarantine, there was no where to go.
His only hope was to stay ahead of it, and he could only do that by staying exactly where he was.
***
Albus smirked, feeling vindicated as he sat in a comfortable armchair in the south of France, reading the latest edition of the Quibbler. Something that was becoming increasingly difficult to get a hold of after the sudden surge in demand after the quarantine came down.
Lovegood's rag, once a laughingstock in the wizarding community had quickly became the only reliable source of information on what was actually happening in Britain.
Just as he'd predicted, the country had fallen apart without him there to hold things together, and he hadn't had to so much as lift a finger to expose Ogden for the opportunistic fool he was.
It was only a matter of time before the letter arrived, the one begging for his return. He would of course agree, but only after they met his terms.
Nothing less than a full reinstatement as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot would do, and a hefty increase in his salary for his trouble.
He would put the galleons to good use, rebuilding his network after the mess with Evergreen.
Returning his attention to the newspaper, he re-read the parts about Harry's latest battle with Greyback. The boy had lost, falling to the sheer numbers at Greyback's disposal, but had somehow avoided being turned himself.
He couldn't say he was surprised. The boy had the luck of the devil, but he was no longer the charismatic and all-powerful Harry Potter that stopped a demonic invasion. His reputation stood — not quite tarnished, but brought back down to reality.
The weight of the Elder Wand rested heavy in his pocket as he thought about the boy — the new master of the Elder Wand. In his hands the wand would come alive again, would give Harry what he needed to turn the tides against Greyback, but he couldn't let him have it.
He couldn't arm the boy with the death stick, knowing that eventually things would come to head between them. Their battle was all but inevitable, as only one of them could be the most powerful wizard alive.
He'd kept track of the boy in the newspapers, from his scuffle with Ogden's cronies to the battle within the halls of the Ministry, and now on the streets of Diagon Alley.
He was nowhere near as powerful as he had been at Hogwarts, not yet, but he was well on his way to recovery, and would soon be a force to be reckoned with again.
"Nicholas," Albus said, looking up, so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't heard him approach until he was standing right in front of him.
"Hello my boy," Nick said with a warm smile on his face as he sat down across from his former protégé, glancing at the front page of the newspaper in his hands.
His smile faltered as he read the headline. "I know it's difficult," he said, patting his knee.
"Difficult?" Albus asked, confused.
"Yes," Nicholas replied. "Sitting out here on the sidelines when you want to be out there, in the thick of things, helping them."
Albus blinked. "Yes. You're right, of course," he said, quickly recovering. "It's…"
"I know," Nicholas replied patiently. "It was difficult for Prenelle and I as well, but at a certain point you have to let go, trust the next generation to do what must be done."
"What if they fail?" Albus asked, revealing one of his long-held fears to his mentor. "What if they make things worse?"
"Then they fail," Nicholas replied simply. "That's how we learn, and it's not as dire as you think."
"It's not?" Albus blinked, surprised by his mentor's assessment.
"There's always another dark lord waiting in the wings, ready to trample the innocent on their quest for power, but they never last."
"How can you be so certain of that?" Albus asked.
"You," Nicholas replied. "Was it not you who defeated Grindelwald? And after that, was it not Gloria Potter that defeated Voldemort? Then Harry Potter now who defeated the demon?"
"That's… that's… different," Albus replied. "Nothing like this has happened before."
"Yes, and that is what everyone said each time something like this happened," Nicholas replied patiently.
"You need to understand, Albus. Those who choose that path, it never ends well for them. When you choose death, when you choose destruction, you create the conditions for your own demise, and it repeats itself through history time and time again. No one can truly defeat death, no one."
"Not eve you?" Albus asked, his lips quirking into a smile.
"No," Nicholas laughed. "I merely delay the inevitable. For all the Philosopher's Stone can do, it does not make me younger, stronger, smarter, or more powerful. So take it from an old-timer like me: trust the next generation. It will be their world soon enough, and they deserve a say in how it is to be."
"I fear I'm losing touch," Albus admitted, sharing a rare moment of vulnerability. "I can't connect with my younger contemporaries the way I used to," he said, wincing internally as he remembered the disaster that was the final days of the school term.
"That's the way it's supposed to be," Nicholas explained patiently. "Societies evolve, people evolve, but after a certain point we tend to get stuck in our ways, less willing to listen to new ideas."
"New isn't always better," Albus said bitterly. "Sometimes things are the way they are for a reason."
"Yes, that's true as well," Nicholas agreed, surprising Albus. "We must hope that which is good and true carries forward, while that which is selfish and self-serving gets left behind."
"You can just let go like that?" Albus asked, the concept sounding foreign to him, to give up control when he knew he was doing the right thing.
"If the younger generations are not allowed to make their own decisions, their own mistakes," Nicholas replied. "Our society will stagnate, and there will be no next generation. All we can do is guide them and teach them so they don't make the same mistakes we did, and sometimes they surprise us."
"When has that ever happened?" Albus asked skeptically, thinking about all the grief Gloria Potter caused him over the years as he tried to guide her.
Nicholas chortled as he replied. "There was this one snot-nosed kid a few decades back that comes to mind, pestering me endlessly to take him on as an apprentice. I thought it was a waste of my time. What could I possibly hope to gain by apprenticing a young man fresh out of Hogwarts without a single accolade to their name?"
"This is serious, Nicholas," Albus sighed, knowing that his old mentor was talking about him.
"It is," Nicholas agreed. "In my youth, do you know what we thought of dragons?"
Albus shook his head, confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm getting to that," Nicholas replied. "Dragons were at best a nuisance, constantly encroaching on wizarding and Muggle settlements alike, and at worst dangerous predators that needed to be put down for the good of the community."
"You may not be aware, but at one time there was some high-level talks of an international agreement to eradicate them entirely."
"I wasn't aware of that," Albus admitted.
"I'm not surprised. It never got out of the planning stage," Nicholas explained. "And the reason for that is you. You were the one who insisted there was some value to the dragons others didn't see, myself included."
"The twelve uses of dragon's blood," Albus said, remembering his seminal work.
"A few of them are a bit silly," Nicholas continued good-naturedly. "Oven cleaner and spot remover," he said, shooting Albus an amused look. "But I understood why you included them."
"Why do you think I included them?" Albus asked curiously.
"To create a dialog," Nicholas replied. "Three or four uses wouldn't have been enough to garner much attention, but twelve — that's a number that makes the average person take notice. If a young man fresh out of Hogwarts could come up with that many, it begged the question: how many more would we find if we took the time to really look?"
"You did that, Albus. You saved an entire species from eradication, and now they all live on reserves, protected, and cared for, no longer a danger to the general public, and more than that, it's the framework we use to handle all dangerous magical creatures now."
"This idea, this point of view, it would never have occurred to me. And do you know why?" Nicholas asked.
Albus shook his head.
"For every use you found, there was already something that existed that already did the job. Some were better, some were worse, but as we get older, we stick with what's familiar."
"That's what you're going through now. It's not bad, just the natural order of things, and you have an important choice to make."
"What choice?" Albus asked, hanging on his mentors every word.
"You can choose to sit on the sidelines and watch the world change around you, or you can take on an apprentice of your own and allow them to benefit from your knowledge and experience the way I did."
Albus couldn't help but snort, thinking about his failed apprenticeship for Gloria Potter, and the many rejections he'd received from Harry Potter.
"Yes, I've had more than my share of those," Nicholas said, recognizing the expression on Albus's face.
Albus looked at Nicholas surprised, he'd never talked about any previous apprentices before.
"I don't talk about them much anymore," Nicholas said, his tone turning sombre. "Some died far too young; others betrayed me, or at least attempted to. I was done with it all, or at least I thought I was until you came along."
"What changed your mind?" Albus asked.
"Perenelle," Nicholas said simply. "She saw something in you and convinced me to give you a chance. She was right, as she often is in such things."
Albus nodded, considering his past actions. Could he have held on too tightly to the reins of power? Is that how everything of late had slipped through his fingers? He'd made enemies, he knew that, and they'd finally circled him, striking in a moment of weakness and took everything he'd built in one fell swoop.
Could it have gone differently if he'd approached things the way his mentor had? Was it time to finally let go and allow someone else to take the lead?
Nicholas stood up silently, patting Albus on the shoulder as he left with a small smile on his face. It was long past time for his apprentice to sit back and enjoy his retirement. It was the reason he'd invited Albus to join him, to share one last discovery.
The phoenix egg would be his and Perenelle's final achievement. After that they would settle their affairs and stop using the Philosopher's Stone to extend their lives.
***
Rita sat on the windowsill in her animagus form, watching as Remus hurriedly walked back and forth across his room at the Leaky Cauldron, packing up his things.
"Going somewhere, Remus?" she asked, returning to human form as she leaned against the windowsill.
Remus whirled around, eyes wide as he drew his wand, pointing it at the reporter before recognition dawned on him.
"Rita," he muttered, lowering his wand, annoyed but not surprised to find the reporter had snuck into his room again.
"Remus, what are you doing?" she asked.
"What does it look like?" Remus snapped. "I'm leaving."
"I can see that," Rita agreed. "Why?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Remus asked, shoving the last of his clothes into his bag.
"Don't do anything foolish Remus, the quarantine is still in place. If you try to sneak out of the country, you're just going to end up in Azkaban," she reminded him.
"I know that," Remus said. "I just need… I can't stay too long. Tom is already suspicious of me," he said, too ashamed to admit the real reason he had to leave.
Rita looked at Remus, seeing through his lie instantly, but didn't call him out on it, no longer taking any joy in kicking someone when they were down.
"That's a little inconsiderate, don't you think?" Rita asked, plastering an indignant look on her face as she got an idea.
"Inconsiderate?" Remus repeated, now confused. "What are you talking about?"
"I went to all the trouble of finding and recruiting you to look for the werewolves, and you're just going to cut and run? So yes, inconsiderate, and that's me being polite about it," Rita replied.
"Now, wait just a minute," Remus said, rounding on the reporter. "I never agreed to any of that! You interrogated me, and I told you I didn't know anything! That was it."
"It was implied!" Rita replied, feigning anger. "Now you're here, putting the screws to me."
"Putting the screws to you?" Remus asked, now thoroughly baffled.
"Unbelievable! You're unbelievable! You know that? It's not enough that you have me over a barrel like this, but you're going to give me this innocent act on top of everything else? You know what fine!" Rita said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a pouch of galleons, throwing it at him. "Take it! That's 100 galleons!"
"Wha-" Remus said as the pouch hit him in the chest before he grabbed it.
"Now drop this woe is me act and find me a lead," Rita demanded.
Remus stared back and forth between the pouch in his hand and the annoyed look on Rita's face. She was paying him, actually paying him, and enough to cover his room for the next three months.
That was the moment it clicked, and he finally understood Rita's game. His first instinct was to throw the galleons back at her. Tell her he didn't need her charity, that he was fine on his own, like always, but it was a lifeline he couldn't just ignore.
He'd spent hours in the alley looking for another place to stay, and it was crawling with Aurors, clearing away the bodies, and going through the debris, and while there were plenty of homeless witches and wizards he could blend in with, it was only a matter of time before they began testing for werewolf-ism again.
"…Thank you," he finally said.
"I didn't pay you for nothing," Rita said. "And I know you've been looking for the werewolves. What have you found out?"
"I haven't found anything yet," Remus admitted. "It's like every werewolf in the country just vanished. I've checked all my old haunts, everywhere I knew werewolves went to hide out, and all of them are abandoned. No one has been there in weeks."
Rita sighed, hoping for more to go on than that, but their sudden disappearance told its own story. The werewolves had obviously coordinated. It was the only thing that made sense, and all of them were more than likely hiding out in the same place.
"What do the other werewolves think of Greyback?" Rita asked, putting the pieces together in her mind.
"…Greyback, most werewolves stay as far away from him as they can," Remus admitted. "Most of us just want to get by, put food on the table, provide for our families. It's only the most bloodthirsty, the most vicious of our kind that join up with him."
"So for so many werewolves to join his side it would take a lot, wouldn't it? What could he have offered them?" Rita asked.
"I don't know that he offered them anything," Remus replied.
"What? What do you mean?" Rita asked, furrowing her brows.
"There's a hierarchy amongst werewolves," Remus said, searching for the words to convey what it felt like. "It's not quite a compulsion, but something deeper, more primal. It calls to every werewolf, some more than others, but that feeling, its intensified since the curse changed."
"How has it changed?" Rita asked. "Beyond the obvious."
"The change doesn't hurt anymore… it's almost euphoric now. I'm not just bigger, but stronger and faster too. All my senses are enhanced. I'm not just a passenger in my body anymore; I'm more in control of the change than I've ever been before," Remus explained.
"So it isn't Greyback that's controlling the change?" Rita asked. "If you wanted to, you could suppress it?"
"I already have," Remus revealed. "When Greyback attacked the Ministry, I felt the change start, and I stopped it."
"Can you also choose when change?" Rita pressed.
"I don't know," Remus admitted. "I've never tried."
"Why not?" Rita asked curiously.
"It isn't a good idea," Remus replied. "There's a chance my control could slip. I can't risk turning anyone."
"Have you fully transformed since the change?" Rita asked. "Even once?"
"No," Remus shook his head. "I've been able to suppress it so far, and before you ask, no. I'm not going to try it."
"What? Why not?" Rita asked.
"Because it terrifies me," Remus admitted. "The wolf was always dangerous, but now it's something else entirely. I can change without the moon, and I'm stronger and faster than I've ever been before. I don't know what will happen if I let it out, or if I will be the same after."
***
Greyback snarled, slamming his fist into the wall as he glared at the five werewolves that had nearly ruined his plans. "Fools, all of you," he said, glaring at each of them in turn, smirking inwardly when none of them had the courage to meet his eyes.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he said, deceptively calm as he paced back and forth. "The years I spent planting the seeds of our ascension, and you thought you knew better?"
"We was just having a bit of fun is all," a werewolf muttered.
"Fun?" Greyback hissed, his eyes blazing with fury as he surged forward, grabbing the werewolf by the throat, slamming his head into the wall. "You do what I tell you," he snarled, his face an inch away from the other werewolf, watching as he quaked in fear.
"I think the rest of you need a reminder of who the Alpha is," Greyback said, tightening his grip on the struggling werewolf's throat, not even bothering to transform as he effortlessly pinned him to the wall.
"You didn't check Harkwell and his thugs for spare wands, you attacked the crowd, and worst of all, you exposed us," he continued.
"No worse… than you… have… done… before," the werewolf gasped for breath, clawing ineffectually at Greyback's forearm, even fully transformed no match for Greyback's strength.
"You're right," Greyback replied, returning his attention to the werewolf he was making an example of. "But I don't have anyone to answer to. You do," he said, hammering his fist into the werewolf's face over and over again, crushing bone and cartilage, not even giving the werewolf time to scream as he ended his life.
"I've worked too long and hard," he said, his voice eerily calm as he let the werewolf's body drop bonelessly to the floor, his fist dripping with blood. "To have you ruin my plans, any of you," he added, staring into the crowd of werewolves, his eyes boring into each of them before stalking away.
***
Hi! Thanks for reading. This is more a reactionary chapter to let the events of the last chapter breathe, and add some more weight to what happened, but please let me know what you think.
If you would like to support me and my writing, please consider visiting https://taplink.cc/jumpin for all the stories I'm currently working on and early access to chapters 15, 16, 17 and 18 of Legacy of Shadows along with some character portraits for Merlin, Morgan and Nimue, and an audio versions of the chapters.