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Two Weeks Later
Harry sat at the Weasley kitchen table, acutely aware that he was the only one not eating. The rest of the family had gathered for what Mrs. Weasley insisted on calling breakfast, though it was well past noon. Plates of eggs, bacon, toast, and sausages covered the wooden surface, and the familiar smells that usually made Harry's mouth water now only reminded him of things he desperately wanted to forget.
"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said gently, her wooden spoon pausing mid-stir over a pan of scrambled eggs. "Are you hungry? You haven't eaten much since the World Cup."
Before Harry could formulate a response that wouldn't worry her further, she was already moving toward him with a plate piled high with food. "You need to keep your strength up. I won't have you wasting away in my kitchen."
Harry accepted the plate with a quiet thanks, though the thought of actually eating any of it made his stomach clench. He picked up his fork anyway, knowing Mrs. Weasley would only fuss more if he didn't at least make an attempt.
His eyes drifted across the table to Mr. Weasley and Percy, both of whom looked utterly exhausted. Mr. Weasley had deep shadows under his eyes, and Percy's usually impeccable robes were wrinkled, his hair sticking up at odd angles.
"How are things going at the Ministry?" Harry asked, more to deflect attention from his own untouched plate than out of genuine curiosity.
Mr. Weasley let out a groan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his soul. He rubbed his face with both hands, looking older than Harry had ever seen him.
Percy, however, straightened in his chair with the air of someone who had been waiting for exactly this question. "Well, naturally, the situation has required individuals of exceptional competence and dedication to manage. I've been working sixteen-hour days, coordinating between departments, ensuring proper protocols are followed. Really, the Ministry should count themselves fortunate that I was available to step in when lesser minds might have faltered."
"Bloody hell, Percy," Bill muttered. "Is there ever a moment when you're not so far up your own—"
"Boys," Mrs. Weasley warned.
Bill cleared his throat and turned to his father instead. "Dad, how is the Ministry actually handling the incident? The real story, not Percy's version where he single-handedly saves the wizarding world."
"We're not handling it," Arthur said bluntly, staring down at his plate. "That's the truth of it. The Ministry is in absolute chaos. Some of my coworkers are sleeping in their offices because there's too much work to go home. The incident has caused more than just concern, it's made the Ministry look incompetent. Dangerous. And the worst part..." He paused for a moment to take a sip of water. "During all of it, there were attacks on foreign wizards and witches from other countries. Thankfully, no deaths that we know of, but that's hardly the point."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her entire attention on Mr. Weasley.
"The Ministry of Magic from these other countries are furious," Arthur continued. "And rightfully so. We promised security. We promised safety. We had thousands of international guests at the World Cup, and we couldn't protect them. During peacetime, no less." He shook his head slowly. "The diplomatic fallout is going to be severe."
"Which countries are the most upset?" George asked.
"France is livid," Arthur said. "The French Ministry of Magic sent three separate formal complaints before the sun had even risen. Minister Delacour himself was at the Cup with his family, and from what I heard..." Arthur's expression darkened. "His daughters were attacked during the chaos. Both of them. Cornered by Death Eaters."
A collective intake of breath went around the table. Harry felt his own chest tighten. He'd been so focused on his own horror that he hadn't fully processed how many other people must have experienced their own nightmares that night.
"Were they hurt?" Ginny asked quietly.
"Injured, but alive," Arthur said. "But that's hardly the point to Minister Delacour. I've never seen such strongly worded correspondence. He used the phrase 'disgraceful disregard for basic safety protocols' at least seven times in his first letter alone."
"Minister Delacour should show more respect for Minister Fudge's position," Percy said stiffly. "These complaints are undiplomatic and frankly insulting to—"
"Maybe if Fudge had done his job, Delacour wouldn't have to complain," Ginny interjected. "But I suppose that would require Fudge to stop kissing up to pure-blood families long enough to actually care about security. Or maybe you're just upset because you've spent so much time kissing Fudge's arse that now that he is busy, you can't do it anymore."
"Ginevra!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, her face flushing red. "Watch your language at this table!"
"She's got a point though," Fred muttered.
"That is highly inappropriate!" Percy spluttered, his ears turning red. "I will not sit here and listen to a child who understands nothing about Ministry politics insult the Minister for Magic, or me, for that matter!"
"Then maybe you should try working for the Ministry instead of working for Fudge's ego," Ginny shot back.
"Enough!" Mrs. Weasley said with her mother's tone. She pointed her spoon at Ginny. "You will watch how you speak in this house, young lady." Then she turned the spoon toward Percy. "And you will not speak to your sister that way, regardless of how disrespectful she's being."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Harry pushed some eggs around on his plate, creating furrows in the yellow mass without actually eating any of it. Something had been nagging at him since the conversation started.
"Mr. Weasley," Harry said slowly, "has anyone at the Ministry mentioned the creature?"
He noticed several people at the table stiffen slightly. Hermione's eyes found his, questioning. Harry hadn't actually seen the creature himself, he'd been too focused on his own horror in those moments after everything had happened, but he'd heard people talking about it. Seamus and Dean's descriptions had been vivid enough to paint a picture that haunted him.
Arthur actually shuddered. "The creature is a complete mystery," he said quietly. "Nobody knows what it was or where it came from."
"Some in the Ministry are trying to sweep it under the rug," Bill added, his voice hard with anger. "Pretending it was mass hallucination or dark magic making people see things that weren't there. But there's evidence, physical evidence that can't be explained away."
"What kind of evidence?" Ron asked.
"Footprints," Bill said. "Massive ones, pressed deep into the ground. Whatever made them had to weigh several tons at least. And then there's the bodies."
"Bodies?" Hermione's voice had gone slightly higher.
Arthur nodded grimly. "Two Dark Wizards were found dead. Their bodies were so crushed that..." He paused, seeming to struggle with the description. "One of the Healers who saw them said they looked less like corpses and more like meat that had been put through a grinder."
Harry's fork clattered against his plate. Several people around the table had gone pale. Mrs. Weasley looked like she wanted to object to this conversation happening at her table, but even she seemed too shocked to speak.
"That's not even the worst part," Bill continued. "According to Minister Delacour's report, this creature tried to kill his daughters. The older one, she's some kind of prodigy apparently, she hit it with multiple spells. So did several French Ministry officials who arrived to help. Stunning spells, fire curses, cutting hexes, everything they could think of."
"And?" George prompted when Bill paused.
"And nothing," Arthur said. "The creature just shrugged them off. Delacour said the most powerful spells they could cast barely seemed to slow it down. It was like throwing pebbles at a mountain."
"How did they stop it then?" Harry asked. "If spells didn't work, how did they make it go away?"
Arthur shrugged helplessly. "That's the strangest part of the whole thing. They didn't stop it. Minister Delacour said the creature was about to attack him and his family. He was certain they were all about to die. But then the creature just... stopped. It looked up at the sky, like it had seen or heard something none of them could perceive. And then it turned around and ran. Fled into the forest and disappeared."
"Maybe it saw a really big fly," Fred offered weakly. "Thought it might be tastier than French witches."
Nobody laughed. Even George, who usually encouraged Fred's jokes no matter how inappropriate, just stared at his plate.
"What did it look like?" Harry asked. "The creature, I mean."
Arthur sighed. "That's where it gets complicated. There are dozens of different descriptions. Some people said it was thirty feet tall, others said forty. Some described it as wolf-like, others said it had antlers. The details vary wildly depending on who you ask, but Minister Delacour gave a report of what he saw and I trust his report."
"So what did he say," Hermione pressed.
"I do," Arthur confirmed. "He's known to be very precise and factual. According to him—"
"Arthur," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, her voice sharp. "The children don't need to know all these horrible details. They've been through enough."
"Mum!" Ron protested. "We're not babies!"
"We were there," Ginny added, her voice rising with frustration. "We saw the aftermath. We have a right to know what happened."
"Your mother's right," Arthur said, though he looked torn. "Some details are better left unsaid."
Harry wanted to argue, wanted to demand answers, but he found he didn't have the energy. Instead, he looked down at his plate and forced himself to take a bite of eggs. They tasted like ash in his mouth, but he swallowed anyway.
The rest of breakfast passed in uncomfortable near-silence, with only occasional murmured requests to pass the salt or pour more tea. Harry managed to eat about a third of what Mrs. Weasley had given him before his stomach absolutely refused to accept any more.
After helping clear the table with mechanical movements, Harry followed Ron, Hermione, and Ginny outside. The summer air was warm and pleasant, a stark contrast to the dark conversations inside. They settled in the shade of a large tree in the Weasleys' garden, and for a while, they just existed together without talking.
Harry's mind kept circling back to the creature. Where had it come from? What was it? He tried to think through what he knew about magical creatures. There were plenty of dangerous ones: dragons, basilisks, acromantulas. But nothing in his limited knowledge matched the descriptions he'd heard. Something that tall, that heavy, that resistant to magic?
"Maybe it was some kind of giant," Ron suggested when Harry voiced his thoughts aloud. "A really big, really angry giant."
"Giants don't have antlers," Hermione pointed out. "And they can be hurt by magic. Difficult, but not impossible."
"Could be a new species," Ginny offered. "Something that's been hidden for years."
"Or something that was created," Hermione said quietly. "Dark magic can do terrible things. We all saw what the Basilisk could do, and that was just an enlarged snake."
They debated possibilities for a while, none of them satisfying. Harry found himself growing frustrated with his own ignorance. He should have paid more attention to Care of Magical Creatures. He should have read more. Should have prepared better for a world that apparently contained horrors he couldn't even properly imagine.
The afternoon sun was starting to sink toward the horizon when Harry heard the familiar sound of wings. He looked up to see Hedwig swooping down toward him, a letter clutched in her talons.
His heart jumped. This had to be Sirius's response.
Hedwig landed on his shoulder, nipping his ear affectionately before extending her leg. Harry untied the letter with trembling fingers, very aware of Hermione, Ginny, and Ron watching him closely.
"It's from Sirius," Harry confirmed, though they'd probably already guessed. "He must have gotten my letter."
He stared down at the sealed parchment, suddenly afraid of what it might say. Would Sirius be angry? Disappointed? Horrified by what Harry had done?
There was only one way to find out.
Harry looked at his friends, then at the sealed letter in his hands. "I need to read this one in private," he said quietly.
Ron opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm. "Of course," she said. "We'll be here when you're ready."
Ginny gave his hand a quick squeeze before letting go. Harry stood, Hedwig still perched on his shoulder, and made his way back into the Burrow. The house was quieter now, most of the family having dispersed to their own activities after the tense breakfast.
He climbed the stairs to Ron's room, each step feeling heavier than the last. What would Sirius say? His godfather had killed before, Harry knew that much. But that had been different, hadn't it? They had been at war. What was Harry's excuse?
The bedroom was empty and blessedly quiet. Harry sat on his camp bed, the springs creaking under his weight, and carefully broke the seal on the letter. Hedwig hopped from his shoulder to the pillow beside him, watching him with those knowing amber eyes.
Harry unfolded the parchment and began to read.
Harry,
First things first: are you hurt? I need you to answer this honestly. If you sustained any injuries during the attack, no matter how minor they seem, you need to see a Healer. Don't try to tough it out or convince yourself it's not that bad. Get checked. Promise me.
I heard what happened at the World Cup. The whole thing sounds like a nightmare, and I'm sorry you had to be there for it. But more than that, I'm sorry for what you had to do.
You killed someone.
I'm not going to dance around it or try to soften it with pretty words. You took a life, and that's not something that can be undone or forgotten. So let's talk about it honestly.
Life gives us hard choices, Harry. Sometimes it gives us impossible choices. The kind where every option leads to something terrible, and we have to pick which terrible thing we can live with. In those moments, people like to talk about having "no choice," but that's not quite true. There's always a choice. The question is whether we can live with the consequences of not acting.
You chose to act. You chose to stop a Death Eater who was about to hurt someone. You chose to use the tools you had available, even if those tools were your own hands and teeth and strength. And yes, that choice resulted in someone dying. But what would have happened if you'd chosen differently? If you'd chosen to hold back, to not use your full strength, to try to be gentle with a man who wouldn't have been gentle with his victim?
Maybe you would have disarmed him. Maybe you would have knocked him out. Or maybe you would have hesitated, and in that hesitation, he would have killed that witch. Or hurt you. Or hurt someone else. We'll never know, because you made your choice, and you have to live with it.
Here's what I know about killing someone, Harry: what you're feeling right now, this guilt and horror and disgust with yourself, it won't last forever. It feels like it will. It feels like you'll carry this weight for the rest of your life, like you'll wake up every morning tasting blood and seeing that man's face. But it does fade. Maybe not in a week. Maybe not even in a month. But it will fade.
The nightmares will become less frequent. The memories won't feel as real. The taste will finally leave your mouth. And one day, you'll realize you haven't thought about it in hours, then days, then weeks. That's not you being callous or heartless. That's you healing.
But here's the important part, and I need you to really hear this: despite what you did, you are still you. You're still Harry Potter. You're still the boy who risked his life to save his friend from a basilisk. Still the one who produced a corporeal Patronus at thirteen to save Sirius Black, that devastatingly handsome fugitive. Still the person your friends love and trust.
One action doesn't define you. One terrible night doesn't erase everything else you are.
Now, if you want to keep blaming yourself, keep replaying every moment looking for some perfect solution that would have ended with everyone alive and unharmed, you can do that. You can spend weeks or months or years torturing yourself with "what ifs" and "if onlys." But I'll tell you right now: nobody benefits from that. Not you. Not the witch you saved. Not your friends who care about you and hate seeing you suffer.
This should be a lesson for you, not a stone tied around your neck to drown you. Learn from it. Learn what pushed you to that point. Learn what your limits are and how to maintain control even when every instinct is screaming at you. Learn how to live with hard choices. But don't let it destroy you.
Because here's the truth that nobody likes to say out loud: life will give you more difficult choices. This might not be the only time you have to kill someone. I wish I could promise you otherwise, but I can't. The world we live in, with Death Eaters still out there and darkness that hasn't been fully defeated, there might come other moments where you have to make that terrible choice again.
But when you decide to take a life, if you ever have to decide that again, you don't do it because you hate the person you're killing. You do it because you love the people you're protecting. You do it because the people you love and cherish will be safer with that threat removed than they would be with it still present. That's what matters. That's what makes the difference between murder and defense.
You didn't kill that Death Eater because you enjoyed it or wanted to or thought he deserved to die. You killed him because someone else deserved to live. Hold onto that thought when the guilt tries to drown you.
Now, about Lupin: I sent him a letter as soon as I got yours. He hasn't replied yet, but don't read anything into that. Remus tends to be careful and thoughtful about these things. He'll want to figure out exactly what to say before he says it. But he will reply, Harry. I promise you that. He cares about you too much not to.
In the meantime, take care of yourself. Eat even when you don't want to. Sleep even when the nightmares are bad. Let your friends help you. Let the Weasleys help you. Don't try to carry this alone.
You're stronger than you know, Harry. And you're not alone.
Write me back soon. I need to know you're okay.
Love, Sirius
P.S.: If you don't get checked by a Healer and I find out about it, I'm sending you a Howler. Don't test me.
Harry read the letter twice, then a third time. With each reading, something tight and painful in his chest began to slowly unwind. Tears started streaming down his face before he even realized he was crying. They came silently at first, just wetness on his cheeks, and then with more force, his shoulders shaking with the release of emotion he'd been holding back since the moment his teeth had sunk into his throat.
You are still you.
You're still Harry Potter.
One action doesn't define you.
The words echoed in Harry's mind, sinking deeper with each repetition.
You didn't kill him because you enjoyed it or wanted to. You killed him because someone else deserved to live.
Harry pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to stop the tears, but they kept coming. It was like something had broken open inside him, all the guilt and horror and self-loathing pouring out in a flood he couldn't control.
He felt a familiar weight land on his shoulder. Hedwig had moved from the pillow, and now she pressed her head against his cheek, her feathers soft and warm against his skin. The gesture made Harry's breath hitch.
"I'm okay," Harry whispered to her, though his voice was thick with tears. "I'm going to be okay."
Hedwig made a soft sound, almost a coo, and stayed pressed against his face. It felt like she was telling him something. Like she was saying: I know you. I know what's in your heart. You're a good person. You're a good man.
Harry let himself cry. Let himself feel the grief and guilt and pain without trying to push it down or hide it.
The tears eventually slowed, then stopped. Harry wiped his face with his sleeve, feeling drained but somehow lighter. The guilt was still there. The memories were still there. The taste of blood still lingered faintly on his tongue. But underneath all of that was something new: hope. Hope that he could survive this. Hope that he could heal. Hope that he was still worth loving despite what he'd done.
He carefully folded Sirius's letter and tucked it into his pocket, close to his heart. Then he stroked Hedwig's feathers, grateful for her presence, for her unwavering loyalty and affection.
"Thank you," Harry whispered to her. "For everything."
Hedwig nibbled gently at his ear, then flew over to the windowsill, settling there with a satisfied expression. She looked at him with those intelligent eyes, and Harry could have sworn she was smiling.
Harry took a deep breath, then another. His chest didn't feel quite so tight anymore.
Harry looked down at his hands, turning them over slowly in the afternoon light filtering through Ron's bedroom window.
Harry took a slow breath and focused, reaching for that part of himself he'd been trying desperately to ignore. The wolf stirred inside him, responding to his call with an eagerness that made his skin prickle. He felt the familiar sensation.
His fingernails darkened, hardening into something closer to claws than keratin. They pushed outward, growing longer and longer until each nail extended well past the length of his fingers. Seven inches at least, maybe eight. They tapered to wicked points, gleaming faintly in the light like polished obsidian.
Harry flexed his fingers experimentally.
His mind drifted back to that night at the Shrieking Shack. The night everything had changed forever. Lupin transforming, losing himself to the wolf. The chase through the Forbidden Forest. The moment those claws had raked across Harry's chest, infecting him with something that would never leave. He'd been terrified then, convinced his life was over, that he'd become a monster.
And now here he was, with claws extending from his fingernails, having already killed someone with these very abilities. The irony wasn't lost on him.
But Sirius's words echoed in his mind: You do it because you love the people you're protecting.
Harry stared at his clawed hands and made a decision. He didn't like these abilities. Didn't want them. Would give almost anything to go back to being normal, powerless Harry Potter who only had to worry about Quidditch and homework. But that wasn't an option anymore. This was who he was now, and pretending otherwise wouldn't protect anyone.
If he was going to have these abilities, these weapons built into his very body, then he needed to master them. Needed to understand their limits and capabilities. Needed to be able to use them to defend the people he loved, not just lose control and let them take over.
He needed to become stronger. Needed to make sure that if he ever had to use these claws again, it would be by choice, not instinct.
The door opened without warning.
Hermione stepped inside, words already forming on her lips, but she froze when she saw him. Her eyes went wide, fixing on his hands. On the long, dark claws extending from each finger like something from a nightmare.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
"Harry," Hermione said carefully, her voice steady despite the surprise on her face. "How are you feeling?"
He smiled. It felt strange on his face after so many days of nothing but guilt and misery, but it was genuine. "I'm feeling better," he said.
As he spoke, Harry pulled the claws back in. They retracted smoothly, shrinking and lightening until they were just fingernails again. Normal, human fingernails. The transformation took only seconds, and then his hands looked completely ordinary once more.
"I want to see how far I can go with these abilities," Harry continued, flexing his now-normal fingers. "Push them to their limits. Understand them completely."
Hermione's eyebrows rose slightly. She stepped further into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with them," she said. It wasn't an accusation, just an observation. A reminder of the conversations they'd had a week ago, when Harry had been so focused on suppressing his wolf side that he'd barely wanted to acknowledge it existed.
Harry nodded. "I didn't. Part of me still doesn't." He looked down at his hands again, turning them over. "But burying my head in the sand isn't going to make them go away. I'll have these abilities for the rest of my life, probably. So it's much smarter to utilize the hand I've been dealt with rather than pretend this side of me doesn't exist."
Hermione studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly, and a small smile touched her lips. "That's very mature of you," she said. "And very practical. I'm sure I can help you somehow. We could set up controlled experiments, test your abilities systematically, document everything. Create a proper understanding of your capabilities and limitations."
Of course, Hermione's first instinct would be to approach it like research. Harry felt his smile widen slightly. "That would be brilliant, actually. Thank you."
"We're in this together," Hermione said, crossing the room to stand directly in front of him. She reached up and touched his face gently, her fingers warm against his cheek. "All of us. You don't have to figure this out alone."
Harry covered her hand with his own, the hand that had just been tipped with deadly claws, now just human skin touching human skin. "I know," he said softly.
Hermione leaned in, and Harry met her halfway. The kiss was gentle. When they pulled apart, Hermione was smiling.
"We should probably get back outside," she said. "Ron and Ginny are trying to pretend they're not worried about you, but they're not very good at it."
Harry laughed. "Yeah, okay. Let's go."
But before they left, Harry took one more look at his hands. Normal hands. Human hands. Hands that could also become weapons when needed.
A Village
The village was small, forgettable, the kind of place that barely warranted a name on most maps. Perfect hunting ground. Fenrir Greyback crouched over what remained of his meal, blood staining his mouth and hands as he tore into flesh. Around him, three other werewolves fed on their own kills, the night air thick with the copper scent of death.
"Useless," Fenrir snarled, tossing aside a bone with disgust. "This whole village. Nothing but weak people. No fight in them at all." He spat blood onto the ground. "Barely worth the effort."
The sound of footsteps made his head snap up, lips pulling back to reveal bloodstained teeth. But he recognized the scent before the figure emerged from the shadows. Another werewolf, one of his network. Fenrir relaxed slightly, though his snarl didn't entirely fade.
"Greyback," the man said, breathing hard like he'd been running. "I need to tell you something."
"This better be worth interrupting my meal," Fenrir growled. He stood, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "What is it?"
The man glanced at the carnage around them, at the bodies and the blood, and nodded with satisfaction. "You heard what happened at the Quidditch World Cup a month ago?"
Fenrir laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Heard something about it. Death Eaters making a mess, causing chaos. Those wizards have gotten soft. Can't even handle a few masks and wands without falling apart." He grinned, showing too many teeth. "Made me nostalgic for the old days."
"There's more to it than that," the man said, stepping closer. "A creature appeared during the chaos."
Fenrir's yellow eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, a creature?"
"Exactly what I said. Something massive. Witnesses said it was twelve meters tall, maybe more. Long arms covered in fur. And twisted antlers, growing from one side of its head like broken branches." The man's hands moved as he spoke, trying to illustrate the impossible size. "It was powerful, Greyback. Powerful enough that normal attacking spells did nothing to it. Stunning spells, fire curses, cutting hexes. They all just bounced off or got absorbed. The thing didn't even seem to notice them."
Fenrir's attention sharpened like a blade. He took a step closer, blood still dripping from his fingers. "Did it kill wizards?"
"Two that we know of," the man confirmed. "Landed on them. Just dropped from somewhere high and crushed them. The bodies were so destroyed they looked like mush. Like someone had taken a hammer to raw meat."
A slow, vicious smile spread across Fenrir's face. "Now that's interesting." He licked blood from his teeth thoughtfully. "Why didn't it kill more? Something that powerful, that resistant to magic, it could have torn through that whole crowd."
The man shook his head. "That's the strange part. According to the reports I heard, the creature was about to attack the French Minister's family. Had them cornered, was closing in. But then it just stopped. Looked up at the sky like it smelled something, or heard something. And then it turned around and ran. Fled into the forest and disappeared."
"Where did it go?" Fenrir demanded.
"Nobody knows," the man admitted. "I didn't think approaching that thing was a good idea, and neither did anyone else apparently. The Ministry searched the forest but found nothing. No trail, no trace. It's like it just vanished."
Fenrir was silent for a long moment, his mind working. A creature that powerful, that resistant to magic, that massive. Something that could kill wizards with ease and barely feel their most powerful spells. It was the kind of thing legends were made of. The kind of thing that could change the balance of power if properly utilized.
The kind of thing that could make werewolves the apex predators they were always meant to be.
"I'd like to meet this thing," Fenrir said finally, his smile widening. "See if it's truly as terrifying as you say. See if it can be reasoned with." He looked down at the blood on his hands, then back up at his companion. "Something that powerful doesn't just appear from nowhere. It came from somewhere. It has intelligence enough to flee when it chooses. And I'm going to find it."
The other werewolf shifted uncomfortably. "Greyback, I'm not sure that's wise. This thing killed two Dark Wizards without even trying. What makes you think you could survive an encounter with it?"
Fenrir laughed, rising to his feet and turning to face those cowards, causing both to cower in fear, and Fenrir's nails slashed into the chest of one of them, causing the coward to bleed, but he did not dare scream from the pain. "Because I'm not planning to fight it, you fool. I'm planning to recruit it." He flexed his clawed hands, watching the blood drop from the tips. "Think about it. A creature that powerful, that resistant to magic. If it worked with us, if we could bring it to our side, we wouldn't need to hide anymore. Wouldn't need to skulk in shadows and feed on scraps in forgotten villages."
His eyes shone with hunger. "Wizards fear us because we are better than them. They attack us in packs, they hate us. But this creature?" He gestured expansively. "This creature shrugs off their magic like rainwater. With something like that fighting alongside us, the Ministry wouldn't dare hunt werewolves anymore. They'd be too busy cowering behind their walls."
The other werewolf's expression shifted from concern to cautious interest. "You really think you could control something like that?"
"Control?" Fenrir shook his head. "Every predator understands the value of a pack. And if this creature is as intelligent as it seems, then it understands survival." His smile turned sharp and eager. "I just need to make it understand that survival is easier when you're not alone."
He turned back to survey the destruction around them, the bodies scattered like broken dolls, the blood soaking into the earth. Then he looked up at the moon, full and bright above them, and felt the familiar hunger stirring in his chest, but this time it was hunger for something greater than meat.
"Prepare yourselves," Fenrir ordered, gesturing at the carnage. "We're moving. I want to know everything about this creature. Every report, every witness account, every scrap of information the Ministry has tried to suppress. Find it all."
"And then what?"
"And then we go hunting. Not to kill, but to find. And when we find it, we're going to offer it something no one else can: a place where it doesn't have to hide. A pack that won't hunt it. An alliance that makes us all stronger."
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