Fenrir Greyback?
The name instantly clicked in Leonard's mind.
Wasn't he the leader of the werewolf wizards?
Werewolf wizards—the outcasts of the magical world. Too unstable, too dangerous, shunned and despised by ordinary wizards.
On every full moon, they transformed into beasts, attacking anyone nearby without distinction—especially wizards. Their fangs and claws carried the werewolf's Curse, condemning anyone bitten or scratched to the same fate.
Remus Lupin, Harry Potter's third-year professor, was one such unfortunate soul—infected and forced into a life as a werewolf. And the one who had bitten him was Fenrir Greyback.
"The one after you is the werewolf leader?" Leonard asked, startled. Then, eyeing the woman's powerful build and unnatural strength, he added, "You're a werewolf too?"
"What's this? Afraid now?" Midgard smirked coldly. "At your age, you've already killed someone. And you're scared of a werewolf?"
"That was self-defense. The old hag came at me first," Leonard shot back. "And I'm not scared. I'm just worried he'll pick up your scent. Don't werewolves have sharp noses?"
"Before transformation, their sense of smell is only a little keener. I've been careful to mask my scent," Midgard replied.
Leonard moved to the window and peered outside in the moonlight.
That's when he saw Fenrir Greyback.
Three figures stood outside, but Fenrir stood out at once.
He was huge, his body thick with hair, muscles bulging so powerfully they seemed about to rip his clothes apart. His eyes gleamed pale gold in the moonlight. His arms were like tree trunks, fingers tipped with faintly black claws that looked terrifyingly lethal.
So that was the werewolf leader. He looked every bit as dangerous as the stories said.
"Don't stare. He's sensitive to being watched," Midgard warned.
Leonard quickly pulled his gaze back and instead looked at Midgard's wounds.
Right now, she even smelled… appetizing, like half-cooked meat.
But her cuts and burns were knitting themselves together at an astonishing speed. The resilience of werewolf bodies was no joke.
"Those wounds…" Leonard blinked, then suddenly froze. "Did you remember to get rid of the roasted meat smell?"
"What roasted smell?" Midgard's eyes widened as she looked down at her injuries, her pupils contracting sharply.
"The potion I used only covers blood and normal scents… not burnt flesh. Damn it! Kid, behind me!" Midgard shot to her feet, shouting urgently.
The wall exploded, showering bricks and dust across the room.
Leonard reacted fast, ducking behind Midgard as debris crashed into her without making her budge an inch.
She bared her teeth, growling low like a she-wolf, her eyes locked on the hulking figure stepping out of the smoke.
"Midgard, my dear sister," the figure rumbled, striding slowly into the room. His eyes flicked to the corpse on the floor, and the torn throat brought a smile of excitement to his face.
"Oh? You actually killed someone to hide in their home? That's unlike you."
Fenrir bared his sharp teeth in a grin. "If you'd done this sooner, I wouldn't have had to make things so unpleasant. A werewolf should act like a werewolf. But why keep the boy? Planning to turn him too?"
Midgard said nothing. Her eyes stayed on Fenrir, though her gaze flicked briefly to the two other werewolf wizards flanking him, both with wands in hand.
Three in total—and one of them was Fenrir himself. In this cramped little room, with no space to run, there was no chance of escape.
"Hey, kid, in a moment I'll hold off the three of them. You'll have to find your own way out," Midgard whispered without looking back. "Whether you escape or not depends on you. You'd better use that trick you pulled on the old woman, or you'll die here."
"You can't beat him?" Leonard asked.
"He's my brother—a monster who gave in to his inner beast and let the wolf take over. His magic and strength both far surpass mine. And with two more werewolf wizards at his side..." Midgard didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
"I've got a plan." Leonard tossed the trunk aside—no time to worry about it now, he needed to move freely. "When I shout, close your eyes. Once I say it's clear, the first thing you do is run straight toward that alley."
"That way leads deeper into Knockturn Alley. It's even more dangerous," Midgard argued.
"No kidding. But in your state, you're not making it far otherwise. Just do what I say." Leonard's tone was sharp.
Midgard arched a brow, glancing at Fenrir closing in. "Fine. But if you die, don't blame me," she muttered.
The old woman's body still lay on the floor. For a witch of Knockturn Alley to be killed by a mere boy—Midgard thought this kid was anything but ordinary. Maybe his plan really could work.
"Less talk. Don't forget to carry me." Leonard jumped onto Midgard's back and hurled the Chomping Cabbage straight at Fenrir.
Maybe it was instinct, but all three—Fenrir and the two werewolf wizards behind him—snapped their eyes toward the airborne plant. Even Midgard did the same.
"Now!" Leonard shouted.
Midgard hesitated, then quickly shut her eyes. At the same moment, Leonard's voice rang out beside her.
"Lumos!"