The night air was thick with mist and the kind of tension you only get when a werewolf and a well-dressed wizard are about to have a chat. You know, the kind of conversation that involves threats, a little bit of violence, and, if you're lucky, a few sarcastic one-liners.
Fenrir Greyback stood on the rocky coastline, his boots sinking slightly into the wet sand, as the waves crashed violently behind him. The moon was full, casting an eerie glow across the scene, but nothing was more unsettling than Fenrir's grin. The guy looked like he belonged in a heavy metal band, or possibly a horror movie where the monsters don't need to act—they just exist.
He stood tall, his hair wild like a lion's mane, muscles bulging under his tattered clothes. To say Fenrir looked like trouble would be like saying a bomb is "a little noisy." He was trouble. Big, hairy, and downright terrifying trouble. And he was waiting for Lucius Malfoy. The guy had better show up, or Fenrir was going to turn this whole "meeting" into a full moon brawl.
Behind him, his pack shifted impatiently, claws clicking against the rocks, their eyes gleaming with that primal hunger Fenrir knew all too well. One of the younger wolves, barely past his first transformation, shifted from foot to foot, clearly itching to rip something apart. The excitement was practically dripping off him.
"What's the hold-up, boss?" the newbie asked, twitching like a cat who'd had too much catnip.
Fenrir just grinned wider. "Patience, pup," he growled. "Lucius will be here. And when he does, we're gonna make some magic happen."
Larka, the older wolf, let out an annoyed grunt. "I was hoping for a little more action and a little less waiting. Do you know what it's like to be on this damn coastline for hours, just... standing around?"
Fenrir rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to tell you the 'Why I Love the Sea' story again? I'm sure you'll fall asleep halfway through."
But before Larka could respond, a figure emerged from the mist, and the whole atmosphere shifted. Lucius Malfoy had arrived. He cut through the fog like a figure out of a Victorian novel, all tall, pale, and impeccably dressed. Honestly, you couldn't tell if he was here to negotiate with werewolves or just popping by to make sure no one wore white after Labor Day.
Lucius's platinum-blond hair gleamed like a beacon of "I'm too rich to care" as he stepped onto the wet sand. Behind him, two other figures loomed: Corban Yaxley and Walden Macnair. Yaxley had his hand near his wand, like he was waiting for an excuse to start something, while Macnair held onto his axe like he was in the middle of an action movie.
Fenrir let out a low, throaty chuckle. "Lucius, my old friend," he said, cracking his knuckles in a way that suggested the only thing he'd like to break right now was Lucius's face. "You look... dapper. I always appreciate a man who knows how to make an entrance."
Lucius didn't even flinch. In fact, he looked like he was actively bored. "Greyback," he said, voice smooth like whiskey on the rocks. "I assume this little rendezvous is to discuss something more important than your typical bloodlust."
Fenrir leaned in, the grin never leaving his face. "Oh, it's definitely something more important, Malfoy. You see, I need something from you. Something... specific."
Lucius raised an eyebrow. "And what could a rabid animal like you possibly need from me?"
Fenrir's eyes flicked toward the pack behind him, and his grin stretched wider. "I need you to help me get my pack closer to Hogwarts. You know, so we can say hello to the lovely students. Show 'em what happens when they get on the wrong side of the full moon."
There was a beat of silence as Lucius processed this. Then, in that voice that could freeze lava, he said, "Are you suggesting I help you break into Hogwarts? Where my son is currently a student?"
Fenrir's grin didn't waver. "Exactly."
Lucius's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare," he said, his hand twitching slightly toward his wand, but not yet drawing it. "I do not take kindly to threats."
Fenrir's laugh was dark and guttural. "I dare, Malfoy. And I'm betting you don't want your son's name on the list of people who had an... unfortunate accident at school. I mean, a little slip, a little tumble down the stairs, a few howls in the night… It'd be tragic, really."
Yaxley stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "You're overplaying your hand, Greyback. You can't just demand—"
Fenrir whirled around so fast, Yaxley took a step back like he'd just stepped into a trap. "I can do whatever I bloody want," Fenrir growled, getting right in Yaxley's face. "You've seen what I can do. You think you've got a better shot at stopping me than Malfoy?"
Walden Macnair, ever the silent type, just tightened his grip on his axe like he was waiting for Fenrir to say something stupid.
Lucius, ever the calculating mastermind, studied the situation. His gaze flicked between Yaxley, Macnair, and Fenrir, before landing on the werewolf himself.
Finally, Lucius sighed. It was the kind of sigh that you do when you're already planning to do something you absolutely hate. "Fine. You'll get what you want. But you will not touch Draco. You have my word."
Fenrir cocked his head, eyes glittering like he was about to get the best deal of his life. "I'll keep him safe. For now." He let the words hang in the air like a sword dangling over Lucius's head. "But you and I both know what happens when people don't keep their promises."
Lucius, with all the composure of a man who's negotiated with dark wizards and demons alike, gave a tight nod. "I will arrange transportation for you. But don't forget, Greyback, you owe me. And when I call in that favor, you'll wish you hadn't crossed me."
Fenrir's grin turned feral. "Oh, I know, Lucius. You'll collect. But you know, you might want to keep your son a little closer on Halloween. Don't want him wandering into any... unexpected company."
Lucius didn't respond. He turned sharply on his heel, signaling Yaxley and Macnair to follow. "Let's go," he said. "Time is of the essence."
As the Malfoys disappeared into the mist, Fenrir turned back to his pack, which was practically vibrating with excitement. "Boys," he said, his voice dark and gleeful, "we've got ourselves a Halloween surprise. And trust me, Hogwarts won't know what hit it."
With that, the werewolves set off, their howls mixing with the wind as they made their way toward the Scottish Highlands. And somewhere out there, under the same full moon, Fenrir couldn't help but smile. After all, what was Halloween without a little chaos?
—
Lucius Malfoy moved away from the crashing waves with the kind of practiced grace that said, "I am far too important for this nonsense." His pristine boots barely left an imprint on the damp sand, because, of course, mud and grime wouldn't dare cling to a Malfoy. Still, his usual poise was slightly undercut by the way his fingers twitched at his side. Dealing with Greyback always left him feeling like he needed to soak his entire body in an expensive potion and burn his robes afterward.
He came to a halt, turning sharply on his heel. The two men flanking him didn't so much stop as they loomed—one with the restrained menace of a man who could gut you in an alley and make it look like an accident, and the other with the barely contained glee of someone who might just do it for fun.
Lucius sighed. "Yaxley, I need you to arrange a portkey for our… esteemed allies. The less official, the better. Off the Ministry records entirely. It needs to take them straight to the Forbidden Forest."
Corban Yaxley, who always looked like he was one bad day away from snapping someone's neck with his bare hands, smirked. "You mean smuggling them in. I like it. I know just the people. They specialize in getting things places they shouldn't be. No questions asked. Well… except for 'How much are you paying me?'"
Lucius waved a dismissive hand. "Then pay them. Or intimidate them. Whatever moves things along. I want Greyback and his… companions out of sight and out of mind as soon as possible."
Yaxley's smirk deepened. "Intimidation is cheaper. Consider it done."
Lucius turned to Macnair, who was grinning like he'd just been handed a particularly sharp axe and an afternoon free of responsibilities. Which, to be fair, was probably his idea of a perfect day.
"Macnair, I assume you understand the importance of ensuring that no Ministry official—competent or otherwise—becomes aware of a werewolf pack skulking around Hogwarts?"
Macnair let out a laugh that was just a little too enthusiastic for Lucius's taste. "Oh, I've got that covered. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures gets flooded with complaints about things that go bump in the night. I'll make sure any reports about large, hairy, and hungry figures lurking in the woods get lost between 'Rogue Erumpent Sightings' and 'Hag Who Claims She's Just a Really Ugly Witch.'"
"Charming," Lucius muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And entirely necessary. See to it."
Macnair gave him a jaunty little mock-salute, which made Lucius seriously consider cursing him on principle.
"And as for me," Lucius continued, straightening his coat with the air of a man restoring order in a world full of idiots, "I'll be making sure that my son is out of Hogwarts on Halloween."
Yaxley raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly do you plan to pull that off? I doubt Dumbledore just hands out permission slips for Death Eaters' children to take a field trip."
Lucius offered a tight, knowing smile. "Draco's mother is unwell. She requires his presence at home. Even Dumbledore won't deny a mother her son in such a tragic moment."
Macnair snorted. "And what if Dumbledore doesn't buy it?"
"Oh, he will." Lucius smirked. "Severus Snape knows where his loyalties lie. He'll convince Dumbledore it's necessary."
Yaxley let out a low chuckle. "And if he doesn't?"
Lucius flicked an imaginary speck of dirt off his sleeve. "Then he'll learn the true cost of hesitation."
There was a beat of silence before Macnair let out another wild, unsettling laugh. "Merlin's beard, I love it when you get dramatic."
Lucius ignored him. "Now, if we're done with the pleasantries, I have an appointment with a Potions Master. Yaxley, Macnair—you have your orders. Do not fail me."
And with that, he turned sharply on his heel and vanished with a soft crack, leaving his companions to their tasks. The stage was set, and on Halloween night, Hogwarts would bear witness to a spectacle the likes of which it had never seen.
—
Knockturn Alley smelled like a combination of mold, burnt spell residue, and poor life choices. Corban Yaxley moved through the winding street like he owned the place—which, in a way, he did. Fear was a currency here, and he had plenty of it to spend.
His destination was "Eldrin & Varro's Acquisitions," a shop wedged between a cursed artifact dealer and a potions vendor whose wares probably counted as biological warfare. The Bleaker Brothers—Eldrin and Varro—were the best in the business when it came to making portkeys that didn't officially exist. They were also the most irritating human beings Yaxley had ever had the displeasure of dealing with.
The little bell above the door gave a sad, wheezy jingle as he stepped inside. The shop was a disaster of half-unpacked crates, ancient scrolls, and a suspicious-looking goblet that was either cursed or just hadn't been washed since the Goblin Rebellions.
Behind a cluttered desk, Eldrin Bleaker glanced up, his thin, foxlike face stretching into a smile that had all the warmth of a Dementor's handshake. His thinning hair was tied back, giving him the look of a con artist who'd just realized his mark had walked in with the police.
"Corban!" he said, standing and spreading his arms like they were old friends. "What an unexpected—"
"Don't," Yaxley said flatly. "Just don't."
Eldrin's mouth snapped shut.
His brother, Varro, was slouched in a chair beside him, trying to look relaxed but failing miserably. He had the soft, anxious face of a man who'd talked his way out of too many bad situations and wasn't sure if today was the day his luck would run out. Given how fast his eyes darted toward the back door, he was already working on his exit strategy.
Yaxley pulled out his wand and spun it lazily between his fingers. Not a threat. Not yet. Just a reminder.
"Let's skip the pleasantries," Yaxley continued. "I need a portkey. Large-scale. Destination: the Forbidden Forest. And before you ask, no, it cannot be on the books."
Varro let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Oof. That's… ambitious."
Eldrin shot him a look like he was reconsidering fratricide. "What my idiot brother means to say," he said, "is that it's a complicated job."
"It's also not a request," Yaxley said pleasantly.
Eldrin hesitated, weighing his options. "That kind of work requires time."
Yaxley leaned on the desk, getting right into his personal space. "You have until tomorrow night."
Varro made a strangled noise. "Tomorrow? You want an illegal, untraceable, large-scale portkey ready by tomorrow?"
"Yes." Yaxley smiled. "And if I so much as hear that you've whispered about this job to anyone, I will personally make sure you never whisper anything again."
Eldrin swallowed hard. "Well. When you put it that way."
"I do," Yaxley said. "Now, are we going to have a problem?"
The brothers exchanged a glance. Varro looked like he was mentally updating his will.
"No problem," Eldrin said quickly. "It'll be ready."
"Good." Yaxley straightened, slipping his wand back into his coat. "Smart choice."
He turned and strolled to the door. The bell gave another miserable jingle as he stepped into the street. Behind him, he could hear Varro mutter, "I hate that guy."
Yaxley smirked. He really didn't care.
—
Walden Macnair loved his job. Not the paperwork, of course—that was for chumps. But the part where he got to loom, menace, and generally make people reconsider their life choices? That was the good stuff.
Tonight, his victim—er, meeting—was with one Alfred Nibs, a man who looked like he had been personally victimized by strong breezes. Nibs was the unfortunate soul in charge of dispatch at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If something nasty turned up—say, a rogue Acromantula, a particularly irritable kelpie, or, hypothetically, a pack of very large, very hungry werewolves—it was Nibs who decided how fast, or how conveniently slow, a response would be.
Macnair found him in his office, a dimly lit hole-in-the-wall at the end of a corridor that smelled vaguely of burnt parchment and regret. The room itself was stacked with enough paperwork to qualify as a fire hazard. Nibs sat hunched behind his desk, scribbling away like his life depended on it. Which, given the nature of this conversation, it very well might.
"Nibs," Macnair greeted, stepping inside with all the grace of a predator sniffing fresh blood. "Still ruining your eyesight in this broom closet of an office?"
Nibs jumped so violently that his quill went flying. "M-Macnair! What a, uh, surprise. Didn't expect to see you here."
Macnair grinned, all teeth and bad intentions. "That's the thing about me, Nibs. I show up when you least expect it. Like an uninvited vampire. Or explosive diarrhea."
Nibs made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. "Ha! Haha! Right. Um. Can I—can I help you with something?"
Macnair casually picked up a random parchment off Nibs's desk, squinting at it. "Oh, look at this. 'Unauthorized Augurey Breeding in Devon.' Riveting stuff. You do such important work, Nibs. Sorting all these complaints. Deciding which ones get attention." He set the parchment down and fixed Nibs with a stare. "And which ones… don't."
Nibs swallowed hard. "I—I follow Ministry protocol—"
"Oh, Nibs." Macnair shook his head, clucking his tongue. "I'm not here to discuss protocol. I'm here to talk about Halloween. You know, spooky night, monsters lurking, Hogwarts hosting a very special guest list."
Nibs's face drained of color. "I—I don't—"
Macnair planted both hands on the desk, leaning in so close that Nibs had to physically stop himself from scooting back. "Let me spell it out. If any reports come in from Hogsmeade or Hogwarts that night—students hearing howls, shopkeepers seeing something big and hairy lurking in the trees, anyone raising a fuss about glowing eyes where glowing eyes shouldn't be—those complaints? They vanish."
Nibs's head bobbed up and down like an overenthusiastic puppet. "Yes! Absolutely! I can—I can make sure those get, uh, buried. Deeply. So deep they'll need a goblin expedition to find them."
Macnair grinned wider. "That's the spirit, Nibs. Knew you had some brains rattling around in there."
Nibs let out a weak laugh. "Haha! Y-yeah, just, uh, using them for good, you know?"
Macnair straightened, slapping Nibs on the shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him off his chair. "See? This is why I like you. You understand how the world works. And in return, I make sure you get to keep this little office of yours." He looked around with exaggerated interest. "Wouldn't want you to, say, get reassigned to the Yeti Migration Division. I hear Tibet's lovely this time of year. Freezing. But lovely."
Nibs looked like he was about to be sick. "No need for that! Everything's under control! Consider it done!"
"Splendid." Macnair turned toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and Nibs?"
Nibs flinched. "Yes?"
"You forget we ever had this conversation." Macnair's grin took on an almost feral edge. "And if anyone asks, you were here all night, drowning in paperwork, too busy to notice anything… unusual."
With that, he strolled out, whistling a jaunty little tune. Behind him, Nibs collapsed into his chair, staring at the ceiling like a man questioning all of his life choices.
Halloween was shaping up to be one hell of a night.
—
The emerald flames in Severus Snape's fireplace crackled as Lucius Malfoy stepped through, his figure gliding smoothly into the room, as though the very act of entering a dungeon somehow offended his pristine robes. He adjusted his sleeve with the exact precision one might use when trying to remove a speck of dust from an ancient artifact.
Snape, seated behind his desk with an air of someone who had mastered the art of looking like they had absolutely no interest in anything happening around them, didn't even bother to look up from the parchment in front of him. "Lucius," he said, his voice cold but not unfriendly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Lucius didn't even twitch at the sarcasm. He was, after all, Lucius Malfoy. "Severus," he replied, his voice smooth and calculated, "I come with a rather pressing request. Narcissa has taken ill—nothing serious, just a touch of flu. But she desires Draco's presence at home while she recovers. It's a family matter, as you understand."
Snape didn't raise an eyebrow, though part of him wanted to. A flu? Lucius didn't strike him as the type to get all sentimental over the sniffles. Still, he kept his tone neutral. "And you wish for Draco to leave Hogwarts? On Halloween?"
Lucius gave a slow, almost pitying smile. "I hardly think Dumbledore would object to a mother seeking comfort in her son."
Ah, there it was—the heavy-handed manipulation. Lucius was a master at it, of course, and Snape had been at the receiving end of it more times than he could count. But there was something about Lucius's whole demeanor today that rubbed Snape the wrong way. He wasn't quite sure what it was yet, but the hair on the back of his neck had already started to twitch in warning.
Snape leaned back slightly in his chair, folding his hands in front of him, not allowing a single flicker of emotion to cross his face. "I'll have to run it by Dumbledore before I can approve. You know how he is about keeping students in school unless it's absolutely necessary."
Lucius made a small noise, somewhere between a sigh and a huff of irritation, but his posture didn't change. "Of course. Though, I trust you will be... persuasive." His words were smooth, too smooth, and for a moment, Snape almost wondered if he was being played.
But before he could fully process that thought, Snape let his magic slip out from the edges of his mind, carefully, like a hand hovering just above water, so as not to disturb the surface. Lucius was an expert Occlumens—far too skilled for a full probe—but Snape didn't need to breach his mind entirely. He just needed to listen, subtly, to the edges of Lucius's thoughts, which were much less guarded.
Flashes came, jagged and broken: a dark beach, grey waves crashing against the shore, and then—yellow eyes, gleaming in the night. A wide grin, predatory and terrifying. Fenrir Greyback.
Snape's fingers twitched involuntarily, but his face stayed a mask of calm. A werewolf. On Halloween. At Hogwarts. He could feel the pieces clicking into place.
Snape's voice remained low and controlled, as though he hadn't just seen those unsettling images. "Very well. If this is a matter of family, I see no reason to refuse you. But Dumbledore will need to hear it from us both. Shall we go?"
Lucius studied him for a long moment, but Snape's expression remained as unreadable as ever. There was nothing to see here. Lucius would sense nothing.
Finally, Lucius gave a satisfied little nod, as if he'd already won this small skirmish. "Let us not keep the Headmaster waiting, then."
Snape stood, his robes flowing like liquid night, his mind racing. A werewolf pack at Hogwarts on Halloween. That was no coincidence. And Lucius—Lucius wasn't just trying to play the dutiful father. He was maneuvering something far darker, far more dangerous.
As they moved toward the door, Snape couldn't help but add, his voice silky and casual, "You know, Lucius, it's always a pleasure to see you. Your ability to blend self-interest with so-called family concern is... impressive."
Lucius threw him a glance that was half-appreciative, half-annoyed. "You're quite the charmer, Severus," he replied, his voice carrying just the slightest edge.
The two of them walked out of the office together, but inside, Snape's mind was already racing through possible scenarios. The pieces were falling into place too quickly. Too easily. A werewolf pack. Greyback. Halloween. It was too obvious. There was a trap somewhere—he just needed to find it.
As they ascended the stairs toward Dumbledore's office, Snape couldn't help but wonder if the Headmaster had already figured it out—or if he, too, was playing some grand game. Either way, the night that was about to unfold would change everything.
And Hogwarts would never be the same.
—
The heavy wooden door to Dumbledore's office creaked open, and Lucius Malfoy, all aristocratic charm and polished arrogance, swept inside, his cane clicking against the stone floor like he owned the place. Snape, in contrast, slithered in behind him, almost as if trying to avoid drawing attention. He gave Lucius a moment to take center stage, watching as the blond man straightened his robes, adjusting the hem like he was walking into a royal court rather than the Headmaster's office.
"Ah, Lucius," came Dumbledore's voice, always warm, always inviting, even if it was a little too polite in this instance. "Severus, I see you've brought company."
Snape was standing just a few paces behind Lucius, watching the man with all the interest of someone who had just watched a cat eat a mouse. "Yes, well," Snape began, his voice like honey dripping off a blade, "Lucius has a rather... urgent matter to discuss." He barely looked at Dumbledore, his eyes still fixed on Lucius, who was too busy scanning the office with his usual air of entitled disapproval.
Dumbledore's gaze flickered between the two men, clearly puzzled. "I wasn't expecting visitors this evening," he said with a raised brow, his fingers tapping idly on his desk. "And certainly not one of Lucius's… caliber."
Lucius smiled, a thin, icy smile that could freeze an entire lake. "Well, Albus, I do try to keep my appearances to a minimum these days." He paused, smoothing his robes like he was giving a public performance. "But I thought, perhaps, that it was time we spoke... as old friends."
Snape almost snorted. "Friends," he muttered under his breath, though the word sounded more like a sarcastic sneer than anything else.
"Severus," Dumbledore said with a smile that could almost be described as amused, "I'm sure you've been catching up. But if Lucius is here for a visit, then I must assume there's something serious on his mind." He leaned back in his chair, his fingers folded together. "But, if you'll excuse me for a moment, Lucius, I shall just—"
Before Dumbledore could finish, Snape's wand was already in motion. Stupefy!
The spell hit Lucius square in the back, sending him sprawling forward, his elegant cane clattering to the ground in an unceremonious heap.
"Ah," Snape said casually, not even glancing at the man now unconscious at his feet. "I thought it might be wise to intervene before Lucius got to the point." His tone was so dry it could've cracked the air.
Dumbledore blinked, his half-moon spectacles perched precariously on his nose. He was clearly surprised, but as usual, he handled it with his trademark calm. "Severus," he said, his voice both amused and concerned, "that was... unexpected."
Snape just shrugged, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm sure it'll pass. But we both know how... dramatic Lucius can be when he's trying to play the part of the dashing hero."
Dumbledore's smile softened, but his eyes twinkled with a certain knowing glint. "Indeed. But I must ask—what exactly is going on? Why did you feel the need to stun him?"
Snape's expression darkened as he stepped over Lucius's prone form, now sprawled across the floor in an unflattering heap. His voice lowered, every word heavy with gravity. "Lucius came to me with an... urgent request. Draco's leaving Hogwarts, he said. Something about Narcissa being ill. But his thoughts—" Snape's lip curled, "—they weren't as well-guarded as they should have been."
Dumbledore leaned forward, his interest piqued. "You're saying he wasn't being truthful?"
Snape nodded, his gaze flicking to Lucius's still body before returning to Dumbledore's. "Lucius is a master of deception, Headmaster, but his mind was a mess tonight. I felt flashes—broken images, like bits of a broken mirror. There was a beach, dark and ominous. And then..." Snape hesitated, letting the words hang in the air like smoke. "Fenrir Greyback. Lucius is planning to release a werewolf pack at Hogwarts. On Halloween night."
Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. The twinkle in his eyes vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating look that Snape knew all too well. "A werewolf pack at Hogwarts?" he asked, his voice tight. "And you're certain?"
"Certain," Snape replied, voice low and grim. "Lucius has known about it for weeks, I'm sure. And he was hoping to get Draco out of the way—probably to keep him safe while the chaos unfolds. The perfect cover for the attack." He stepped aside, clearly impatient with how slowly Dumbledore was processing the information.
Dumbledore stood up slowly, his face now serious, every trace of his usual lightness gone. "This is... deeply troubling. We must prepare for the worst. Hogwarts is not a safe place if there's a werewolf pack planning to attack."
Snape smirked, though it was devoid of any real humor. "It's always something, isn't it? Werewolves, curses, Death Eaters—what's next? A giant squid running for office?"
Dumbledore sighed, looking weary beyond his years. "I'm afraid there's more to this than just the immediate threat, Severus. Lucius Malfoy has been dabbling in dark arts far too long, and it seems that his allegiances have never truly shifted. This... plan is of his making, no doubt."
Snape's lips twisted with a mix of disdain and something darker. "I suspect that, too. But don't fool yourself, Headmaster. Lucius always has a reason. And his allegiance lies where the power does, no matter the cost."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his fingers drumming gently on the desk as he processed the revelation. "Then we must act swiftly. The safety of the students must be our first priority." His voice hardened as he looked directly at Snape. "And I'll need you, Severus. This will require all of us—our knowledge, our cunning, and our courage."
Snape gave a curt nod, his tone softening only slightly. "Of course, Headmaster. I do seem to excel in the areas of cunning and courage, don't I?"
Dumbledore smiled faintly, as if amused by Snape's wit despite the dire circumstances. "You do indeed, Severus. You do indeed."
Snape's eyes flickered to Lucius's unconscious body one last time. "And I'd wager that, before this is over, Lucius will find himself far less comfortable than he ever was at this school. But, then again, we both know that's hardly new for him."
Dumbledore's smile remained, but his gaze was steely. "We'll see to it that his plans are thwarted. Together."
And with that, the game was officially on. Halloween was coming. And it promised to be a night full of surprises.
—
The air in the room thickened like a foggy day at the Ministry of Magic, only with far more tension and far fewer umbrellas. Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape had shifted into "serious mode"—which, considering their usual status as the top-tier players in the wizarding world, was both impressive and a little terrifying. They were standing over Lucius Malfoy, who looked like a collapsed mannequin—completely unconscious and, unfortunately, still a significant player in the dark, twisted game they were all caught up in.
"Well, Severus," Dumbledore said in that calm, almost too-chipper-for-this-situation way of his. "I believe it's time to peek inside the mind of a Malfoy. What do you say?"
Snape, who had apparently not enjoyed the small talk this morning, gave Dumbledore an exasperated look that practically screamed Do you ever take anything seriously? But then, he straightened up like a snake poised to strike, his dark eyes narrowing in concentration.
"Yes, let's dig around in his mind. Not that I expect it to be more enlightening than a… a soggy parchment. But we're here, aren't we?" he muttered, already drawing his wand from inside his voluminous robes.
The words came out of Snape's mouth like the slow, deliberate stroke of a death eater's scythe: "Legilimens." A cold wave rippled through the air as the spell surged forward, and Dumbledore joined in with a subtle flick of his wrist. It was like a synchronized swimming routine but way more intense and way less elegant.
For a brief second, the world around them seemed to evaporate, leaving only Lucius's mind—a dark labyrinth of his own insecurities, secrets, and probably some very questionable life choices. If there was one thing Lucius Malfoy excelled at, it was making himself look fabulous on the outside while being a total mess on the inside. I mean, really, Dumbledore thought, didn't this guy ever have a peaceful thought?
As the connection deepened, Dumbledore and Snape found themselves standing at the edge of a swirling, shifting vortex of memories. The first thing they saw? Fenrir Greyback.
Now, let's take a moment here. Fenrir Greyback is one of those people you don't want to run into at a party—mainly because he might decide to turn everyone into dinner. His face appeared in Lucius's mind like a nightmare you couldn't escape, his eyes glinting with malice and a sickly grin stretched across his sharp, wolfish features.
Lucius, ever the man who thought he could handle anything, was trembling in fear. "You will help us," Greyback growled, each word heavy with dark promise. "Whether you like it or not, Malfoy."
And there it was, Dumbledore thought. Lucius wasn't just a participant in this mess—he was being used. Manipulated. Pushed around by Greyback, who was somehow managing to corral the notoriously arrogant Malfoy into a corner. A reluctant pawn in a far larger, much more terrifying game.
Lucius's mind spun with flashes of grey and mist. Greyback had him, and now, he was making Lucius smuggle illegal Portkeys into the Forbidden Forest. Portkeys that were going to be used by Greyback's pack of werewolves to enter the school unnoticed.
Snape's lip curled in disdain, his sharp gaze locking onto Lucius's unrelenting fear. "Well, well, well. Looks like our dear friend is in over his head. Not that I care," Snape added with the kind of smugness that could only be produced by a man who wore his disdain like a badge of honor. "No surprise there, of course."
Dumbledore, ever the patient strategist, looked contemplative. "Lucius, as always, is a pawn in someone else's game," he said softly, stepping back from the shared mental space. His voice had a biting edge, though his eyes still retained that peculiar, almost too calm look.
"Though," he mused, "I cannot fathom why he didn't atleast try to warn us. Fear, perhaps? Or his love for self-preservation?"
Snape gave a humorless chuckle, casting a disdainful glance at the still body of Lucius. "Honestly, if he had any sense, he'd have told us. But no, Lucius Malfoy is too proud, too cowardly, and, frankly, too bloody useless when it counts."
Dumbledore, unfazed, tilted his head with that knowing expression that could only mean one thing: He was thinking three steps ahead, and he wasn't going to give Snape the satisfaction of showing it.
"Yes, indeed, Severus. But for now, Lucius is irrelevant. His mind, however, is quite another matter." His eyes gleamed, as if the notion of Lucius's fragile mind being opened up like a book was just one more thing to add to his ever-growing list of things to deal with before breakfast.
"Now, let's move on to the more pressing issue," Dumbledore continued, almost like he was discussing the weather rather than the impending doom they were about to face. "Fenrir Greyback and his merry band of werewolves. We need to be prepared for what comes next."
Snape's dark gaze flickered with something akin to a challenge, and he gave a low, almost sarcastic bow. "I'll see to Lucius, if you'd prefer, Headmaster. I'm sure the dungeons will be… welcoming."
"Ah, yes, Severus. The dungeons," Dumbledore said with a wistful sigh, as though he was contemplating a day at the beach. "But first, Greyback. And his pack. We need to be ready. We need the element of surprise, Severus. Not the other way around."
There was a long silence, the kind that only two people with way too many plans could sustain.
Finally, Snape gave a curt nod. "Understood. I shall ensure Malfoy remains... incapacitated for the time being." His eyes sparkled with a wicked gleam, one that suggested he was rather enjoying the idea of keeping Lucius out of the picture for a while longer.
Dumbledore turned, his robes swirling in that dramatic way only he could pull off without looking like a wizarding cliché. "Good, Severus. Now, let's prepare for battle. And remember, this isn't just about spells and potions. It's about strategy. Timing. And making sure that we are the ones who get the last laugh."
Snape snorted, clearly unimpressed by the whimsical nature of Dumbledore's plan. "Do you ever take anything seriously, Headmaster? Except, perhaps, the art of ridiculous speeches?"
"Ah," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye that could probably light a small village. "But it's the ridiculous speeches that win the day, Severus."
And with that, the plot had thickened—like a potion left to stew just a bit too long. Things were about to get very interesting.
And we all know what that means: Hogwarts is about to get some uninvited guests.
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