The screams of the radical werewolves were beginning to grate on Sebastian's nerves. In his Dragon-Human form, his hearing was so sensitive that every high-pitched yelp felt like a needle scratching against a record player. He looked at the scattering pack with a sense of clinical boredom. This wasn't a fight; it was a cleanup operation.
He had expected more. He had imagined a desperate, savage struggle where he would have to push his new form to its limits. Instead, he found himself swatting at overgrown puppies who were better at running than biting. But as the boredom set in, his human rationality took over. He couldn't just let them scatter.
In the wizarding world, a "radical" werewolf wasn't just a victim of a curse; they were predators who embraced the violence. These were the ones who spent their full moons hunting muggle villages and their human days plotting the downfall of the Ministry. If he let even one of these "cubs" escape back into the Highland mists, he'd be responsible for every innocent child they bit in the years to come.
"Running is such a waste of energy," Sebastian rumbled, his voice shaking the pine needles off the surrounding trees.
He didn't move. He simply plunged his wand—which looked like a splinter in his massive, clawed hand—into the earth at his feet.
"Vipera Evanesca: Regnum!"
It wasn't the standard snake-vanishing spell, but a massive, transfiguration-based overhaul of the forest itself. The ancient, gnarled roots of the oak and rowan trees began to heave and twist. Within seconds, the forest floor was alive with giant, wooden pythons, their bark-covered bodies as thick as barrels.
The fleeing werewolves didn't stand a chance. One tried to leap over a fallen log, only to have the log itself rear up, its "mouth" unhinging to swallow the werewolf's torso whole. Another was snatched out of the air by a whipping root that coiled around his throat, snapping the vertebrae with a sickening crack before dropping the limp body into the mud.
The screams grew sparse. The silence of the forest was returning, punctuated only by the wet thud of bodies hitting the ground and the creaking of the wooden serpents as they constricted their prey.
In the center of it all, Fenrir Greyback was losing his mind. He had spent his life as the ultimate predator, the man who made even the Dark Lord's inner circle feel a twinge of unease. Now, he was scrambling through the muck, dodging a giant wooden snake that had just crushed his second-in-command.
Why won't he just fight me? Greyback thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. This isn't magic. This is a nightmare.
He remembered a young boy he had cornered years ago—Remus Lupin. He remembered the look of pure, unadulterated terror in the child's eyes. He had savored that fear, let it linger before he sank his fangs into the boy's shoulder. He had enjoyed the way the child's life had shattered in an instant.
Now, that same terror was cold and heavy in his own gut. He looked back and saw the Dragon-Human standing perfectly still, watching him with those glowing, golden vertical pupils. It was the gaze of a man watching a bug crawl across a table.
Sebastian moved.
He didn't run; he used a short-range burst of speed that bypassed the need for steps. He appeared behind Greyback and delivered a casual, backhanded kick. It wasn't even a full-strength strike, but it sent Greyback spinning through the air until he hit a granite boulder with a dull thump.
Greyback scrambled to his feet, his face a mask of blood and mud. He reached for his wand, his fingers shaking. "Avada—"
Before the word could leave his lips, Sebastian was there. A clawed hand closed over Greyback's wrist. With a flick of his thumb, the dragon-man snapped the wand like a dry twig.
"My wand!" Greyback shrieked, looking at the broken pieces. He looked up at Sebastian, his mind finally snapping. "I'll kill you! I'll infect you! I'll turn that dragon blood into poison!"
He lunged, snapping his jaws shut on Sebastian's forearm. He poured all his strength into the bite, hoping to feel the warm rush of blood and the satisfaction of passing on his curse.
CRUNCH.
Greyback recoiled, clutching his mouth. He hadn't broken the skin. Instead, he had shattered two of his own front teeth against scales that were harder than goblin-wrought silver.
Sebastian sighed, looking at the wet patch of saliva on his arm with a look of intense disgust. "You're a messy eater, Fenrir. And frankly, you're embarrassing yourself. I'm standing here, literally giving you a free shot, and you can't even leave a mark."
Sebastian reached out, grabbed Greyback by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him back toward the ice-dome where Peter was waiting. He threw the werewolf leader onto the ground at Peter's feet. With a flick of his wand, thick, magical ropes—laced with silver thread—erupted from the soil, binding Greyback so tightly he could barely breathe.
"The others are taken care of," Sebastian said, his voice dropping an octave as he looked at the shivering, broken man on the ground. "But you... I promised my employees I'd handle you personally."
"Wait!" Greyback gasped, his bravado finally replaced by the desperate, sniveling tone of a coward. "Don't kill me. I can be useful! You're a powerful man—a king! You need someone to do the dirty work. Someone to strike fear into your enemies."
He looked at Peter, then back at the Dragon-Human. "I'll be your dog! I'll hunt whoever you want. Just give me the word, and I'll bring you their heads!"
Sebastian tilted his head, seemingly considering the offer. "A servant? You think I need a rabid dog who turns on his own kind? You're mistaken, Fenrir. I don't need 'servants.' I have employees. Professionals who work for a better future, not for the thrill of blood."
He looked at Peter, who had stepped out of the ice house, his eyes burning with a decades-old hatred. "I have people like Lupin, Jenny, and Hall. Good people whose lives you tried to ruin. They're my family. You? You're just a stain on the history of the magical world."
Sebastian raised his black iron bludgeon. The runes on the shaft glowed with a cold, unforgiving light.
"Consider this a long-overdue payment for the children you broke," Sebastian rumbled.
He didn't go for a killing blow. He began to systematically strike Greyback's limbs. Each hit was calculated—enough to shatter the bone beyond magical repair, but not enough to end the man's life.
The screams that followed were a symphony of agony. Greyback, the man who prided himself on the sound of his prey's suffering, was now providing the music. He wailed, his voice cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched whimper as his world of violence finally turned inward.
When the howling finally stopped and Greyback lapsed into a state of shock-induced silence, Sebastian lowered the club. He stood over the disfigured mess, his heart cold.
With a final wave of his wand, the earth beneath the clearing began to churn once more. It was a mass-burial spell. The soil rose up like a wave, pulling the bodies of the radical werewolves deep into the Highland granite, where they would be forgotten by time and man alike. Only the bound, broken Greyback remained on the surface, a gift for the Ministry to find—if Sebastian decided to leave him that long.
Sebastian let out a long, satisfied breath, the steam curling from his nostrils. He felt a strange sense of peace.
"Voldemort is going to be so disappointed," Sebastian mused, his voice returning to its light, human-like cadence even in the monster's body. "He was probably counting on these 'filthy half-breeds' to fill out his front lines when he finally crawls back into the light."
He let out a short, dry laugh. "Think of it as a public service, Tom. I'm just cleaning up your team before the big game starts. You really should thank me for raising the standards of your prospective recruits."
Sebastian willed the transformation to end. The massive, scaled frame collapsed, the wings folding into his skin, the horns retracting. Within seconds, he was back in his tailored coat, his hair slightly ruffled by the wind but otherwise looking like he had just come from a quiet dinner.
"Let's go, Peter," Sebastian said, helping the older man up. "There's a warm fire and a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky waiting for us at the manor. And I think we've earned a drink."
Old Peter looked at the quiet forest, then at his boss. He didn't say a word. He just nodded, the weight of years of fear finally lifting from his shoulders.
The two disappeared with a soft crack of Apparition, leaving the Highlands to the wind and the shadows. The forest was silent again, the secrets of the dragon and the wolf buried deep beneath the Scottish earth.