cursed / FLESH

have you ever seen blood in the moonlight? it appears quite black. quilled by gray.

[moondrunken]

clara

Clara snorts, and doesn’t hide the roll of her eyes. “That’s bullshit. You’d miss me if I was too busy to be around very often.” Her smirk colours her entire face—a far cry from the miserable expression she’d been wearing not too long ago after they’d first arrived. Now, she’s regained enough of herself to sass him again, perhaps even a little more boldly than she would usually—there’s always been something about being here that’s made her feel unstoppable. It’s nothing compared to the life she left behind, but the sheer belonging and purpose she finds here bolsters her more than those gilded walls ever could. She can’t read his mind to know if he feels the same way about all of them, but Clara is certain there must be some level of affection there—why else would he continue to fight for them? Why else would he continue to do everything he does for their kind if not that?

“Yes… but I’m not everyone.” Once, she had been. Once, she’d been little more than a scrawny teenager still grasping a new language, freshly bitten with hackles raised and snapping at anyone who tried to come close. She’s come a long way since then. He had led her—like he led all those who survived—towards the path to her true purpose, but it had been her own strength that had allowed her to reach the end. She’s fought tooth and claw to get where she is now, and no matter what reprimands she’s sure it will earn her later, she isn’t about to roll over and let those victories be dismissed. “Am I not your favourite anyway?” she adds as an afterthought, another little petulant remark that would no doubt have earned her a paw to the snout if they’d been in any other form. 

A dozen more protests linger on the tip of her tongue at the command, but Clara bites them all back with a scowl. She might have managed to talk herself out of menial tasks before, but just as surely as if he had his teeth in her neck, there’s no escaping this one without yielding to him. “Fine,” she grouses, turning on her heel to stalk off towards her assigned task—and if he happens to hear the colourful string of Bulgarian insults muttered under her breath as she sets about fetching the food for the pigs, so be it. It’s a job she’s done numerous times before over the years, and as irritated as she is by it, Clara is able to make relatively quick work of it. With as much exaggeration as she can manage, she ditches the empty containers somewhere for later and stomps back towards him. “There. Done. Do I finally get to know what I’m doing now?”

Her insistence on protesting brought forth little more than amusement, this time. She was certainly right that she was regarded highly within their ranks, that she was more valuable to him than most other wolves he had deemed fit for cannon fodder, but that came with more responsibility than it did anything else. “Being my favorite,” he started, yellow eyes boring into her own; “and I’m not saying you are, means you’ve got to work twice as hard as anyone else. You would have to be a representative of our best.” Clara knew all of this, had lived through the backbreaking, soulbreaking, education that all of his cubs had gone through—much faster than the rest, given her later-in-life bite. Her strength had gotten her far, and it was her willingness to throw her life down for the sake of their kind that allowed her attitude to be overlooked. Mostly overlooked. There had been occasions in the past where he had felt it necessary to put her in her place, and there was no doubt in his mind that they would come again.

But in the end, her good sense won out over her petulance, and he watched with the ghost of a smile as she stalked off to complete his task for her. To her credit, she didn’t take long. The task was an easy, if necessary, one and he had counted on her impatience to make sure it was done quickly. Efficiently? Maybe not. Someone would have to scrub the containers, and the stalls, later on... but that was work for their newbloods. Unless her tongue got the better of her, Clara was generally safe from having to do that herself. “Oh, alright. You’ve waited long enough,” he agreed, pulling himself up from the half-rotted chair and allowing himself a quick stretch. “Before I tell you, I want you to realize that this really is important. I expect success.” She had been around Greyback’s band long enough to realize the consequences for failure, and while her prowess would save her life, it wouldn’t spare her pain.

“I need you for a recruitment job,” he finished at last, pulling some crumpled parchment from his back pocket. “I’ve got Brown and Grim on the cubs, but this one here’s a special case, and who better to take care of it than my favorite?” It was not the sort of job he would normally have sent her on. There was no violence in it, no stalking—it was the sort of thing that almost required her to be normal. But she was also, of most of the wolves there, the one with the most experience in that respect. “She’s like you. A late-bite. We’ve talked a few times, but there’s only so much I can do to draw her in when she’s still convinced I’ve ruined her life. What she needs is someone to... relate to. Someone special.” Greyback passed over the parchment with her details, meticulously gathered from scouts he had sent out. Not difficult information to find, by any stretch of the imagination. For a woman who lived so much in fear, she didn’t do much to hide. “Right now, she’s weak... but so were you when you first came to us. I think I can make her into something better than she is.”

[moondrunken]

emmeline

“You say that as if you’ve got experience trying.” Although who’s to say he hasn’t? These kinds of events were the perfect place for people to reinvent themselves, to hide. As pleasant and enjoyable as this small-talk has been, especially in comparison to the other conversations she’s had tonight, Emmeline knows nothing about the man beside her. He could be anything, anyone—even someone as bizarre as an erumpent handler. No doubt it’s why high society adores these things so much, because it gives them the opportunity to be whoever they please; but for someone like Emmeline, who has always been so steadfast to herself, it’s a strange thought. “Regardless…” she smiles, a small thing barely curling at the corner of her mouth, “I think it’s part of my job description to prevent a rampaging creature being set loose on a garden full of people.” 

Emmeline huffs out a quiet laugh. She can certainly relate to that. She’s never been so outwardly contrary, but she’s always been stubborn. It’s something that she doubts any of her friends would disagree with either. “But do you always agree with the other side of the argument, or do you just raise it for the sake of it? Either way, it sounds like a quick path to a confrontational life.” Perhaps it’s just a side effect of being raised with government officials for parents, but Emmeline has always thought that finding a way to diffuse a situation before it got that far was better than fanning the flames. “That must be an exhausting way to live too.” 

“Not personal experience,” he admitted, shrugging a shoulder; “but I’ve met plenty of people in the exotic beast trade. Dangerous business, but they’ve always managed it. How hard could it be?” Very hard, very dangerous—but wrangling an erumpent was not in any of his future plans, so what did it matter, aside from the amusement of the thought? There was other beasts, closer to home, that he would have enjoyed setting loose on a gathering of innocents much more than anything he could have found off-continent. “Your job description? Pardon my saying so, but you don’t quite look like you’re with security.” But wasn’t that the point? The night gave them all an excuse to shed their usual skins and mingle with those that would normally not have dared to give them a second glance. “Still, you’ve got a point. Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.” Not unless Fenrir was the one involved. Not as fun watching something else take the prize. “Now, maybe if I shrunk it down really small... dog-sized, you know...”

A quick path to a confrontational life. She was more right than she currently knew—conflict was the biggest driving force that kept him moving. Without it, what would he have been? A wolf without prey had no purpose. “Depends, I suppose. Sometimes I agree with it, sometimes I just like to offer a different perspective. If we all agreed with each other all the time, think of how boring that would be. There’d be nobody left to learn from. Conflict is a good teacher.” It was also the only one he had ever cared to listen to. Why bother with pacifism, with being agreeable, when everything he wanted in life would only have been gained through force? “I wouldn’t say it’s exhausting,” he continued, pausing to sip from his goblet. “Really, keeps me energized.”

[moondrunken]

wendy

Wendy immediately regretted her words as Fenrir’s words hung in the air. It had never occurred to her to think of why Fenrir was the man that he was. She had been so focused on Fenrir being the cause of her pain, of the monster in her nightmares that she had never considered who he had been before. It was easy to think that he had always been the monster that he had become to her. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment of silence, glancing up to meet his eyes. “How…how old were you?” She asked. It was strange to think that they had anything in common, although she supposed her mother had just shut the door in her face when she had gotten out of the hospital rather than handing her to someone. Did that make it worse? She didn’t think so. “I’m afraid every day,” she retorted. “And it has nothing to do with the society that you hate so much. I’m in constant fear of hurting someone and losing control when the full moon hits. The Minister doesn’t need to tell me to hide away, I will do it to avoid hurting someone.” The thought of being the reason that someone else went through what she was going through made her want to throw up. She didn’t think that she could live with herself if she ever hurt someone. She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know about that,” she said. He had taken her worth when he turned her.

She knew that what she had proposed was idealistic. If she didn’t want to step out into the open and announce what she was, why would anyone else? But it would still be preferable to the bloodshed that he wanted. She remained an idealist even after everything that had happened to her. Wendy had always been selfless to a fault, perhaps that was what had her so against the idea of the war that he was proposing. It was difficult for her to swallow the amount of causalities that would occur if he had his way. “It would be better than slaughtering everything in your path. There are people out there that champion werewolf rights and creature rights,” she pointed out. She knew that it would be hard to change the minds of society but she didn’t want to believe that it would be impossible to accomplish. She was sure that people would see things differently if they protested. “Maybe not,” she agreed with a frown. “But why is it so crazy to think that maybe they would agree if things weren’t violent. What if you did promise that nobody else be bitten and things changed,” she argued. She knew it was no use though, she wasn’t going to change his mind. “I’m not going to convince you differently.”

Was it better that these children were thrown to the wolves literally rather than spending their lives in a home that feared them? She wasn’t sure. Was it easier for children to accept what had happened to them? It was difficult to imagine them in better hands with Fenrir than with the people that loved them. “Then what are you saying?” She asked. It was difficult for her to accept that he might be right. That it might be better for children to end up under his care where they were accepted rather than out in the streets. She didn’t want any child to be left to the streets. But Fenrir scared her. Could these children actually like living under him? “I…” she trailed off, biting down on her lip, uncertainly. “What exactly do you do with them? The children?” She questioned. She met his gaze when he leaned over the counter. “She’s my mother. She…she doesn’t hate me,” she said, but her voice wavered. She wanted to cling to the idea that the only reason that her mother had done it because of her husband rather than her own feelings. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I am just doing the best that I can. Just because I want to be a part of the society that I grew up in doesn’t mean I don’t care about myself.”

I’m sorry. The audacity of an apology was enough to make him snort. As if he had ever, in his life, regretted the bite that had taken him from his parents—their world had never held a place for him, and never would. “I was five,” he answered, lip curled in disgust. “Thankfully not much older, or I might have ended up more like you.” Had been, at first. It was impossible to avoid the fear, the grief, that being torn away from his home had settled him with—he had been too young, then, to realize what was going on. Under his true parent’s guidance, he grew to realize exactly how lucky he had truly been. While no longer a malleable child, it was possible that Wendy might find herself walking a similar path. Once the novelty of fear had worn off, once it could be replaced by something brighter ( anger ) she might, would, find her circumstances more agreeable. “You’re afraid because that’s all you’ve been taught to feel. If you stopped trying to defend yourself against the people that want to help you, you might finally be able to feel something different.”

Did she even hear herself? “How so? Do you really think anyone with a proper head on their shoulders would even want to protest? What, exactly, do you think the Ministry would do? Other than chain us up like beasts, that is.” It was already how they were classified, after all. Even Wendy’s neat, little registration file would have been stamped in big, bold letters with the tainted word. No amount of idealism, of fantasy, would change that now—not as long as she clung to the idea that wizardkind was good. “Even if I wanted to promise that, how could I? You think I can control every werewolf in the world? Don’t be stupid. I’d never lower myself to suggest that we all mutilate ourselves for the people that would rather keep us down.” She knew that well enough, that he would never change his mind—violence was the only language he knew, anymore. It was the only language he wanted to know.  

“I’m saying,” he began, voice slow; “that your precious wizards aren’t any better than us just because they wear the crown. They call us monsters, but at the end of the day, what we do can’t even begin to come close to the horrors they’ve already created.” Just like that, the glint in his eye returned. If there was ever a question that had amused him more, Greyback couldn’t recall it. What exactly do you do with them? “I take care of them,” he answered, a smile too soft to belong on his face spreading his lips. “I teach them our ways, how to survive in our world. That they’re not alone just because their old families don’t want them anymore.” An idealized version of the truth. While he did take care of them, which was more than he could have said for the parents that tossed them aside, it was only the strong that survived. Those that couldn’t rise to the occasion, that couldn’t face the trials of a cursed life, were slaughtered like pigs. “I don’t abandon them for what they are, unlike that loving mother of yours. You know, if you really cared about yourself, you wouldn’t be standing her desperate to win back her affection. You wouldn’t fight so hard to defend the same people that now want you dead. Some best you’ve got.”

[moondrunken]

lucius

“Not with your words,” Lucius growled out. “The glances you have been throwing in her direction were hard to miss.” Jealousy was a feeling Lucius still couldn’t quite get a handle on since it had taken far too long to surface when it came to his wife to be. Fear of rejection then fear of losing her had come first, with the jealousy coming about once he was able to admit he had feelings for her.

“Remind me not to have that readily available if there is a day you end up in my home,” Lucius scowled. He doubted that day would come but with the way the death eaters had been recruiting, it was only a matter of time before someone was tasked with getting the wolves to side with them.

“I could use my words, if you’d like.” For a man—if that’s what he could be called—that spent the majority of his time growling, he could be quite articulate when it suited him. Especially when it involved anything on the vulgar side of things; bonus points for bothering someone. Lucius, with all the pride he had inherited from his family name, had more than earned a nip at his ankles. Worse, if he could have gotten away with it. “Otherwise, I didn’t think there was a law against taking a look.”

His insufferable smirk only grew. “So, you admit I’ve got a chance, then? Maybe I’ll just bring my own... you know, as a gift.” Greyback sent another glance ( lustful and wanting ) over toward Malfoy’s bride-to-be, as much to infuriate his current choice in company as to enjoy the view. “If I’m feeling bold, I could bring a few... friends as well. Make things more interesting.”

[moondrunken]

remus

“Definitely not,” He shook his head, having minimal shame toward admitting his next thought. “I don’t mind making conversation but don’t trust you enough to get more personal than nicknames.” Remus made a face when he finished speaking. The comment about heading to bed early earned a bitter chuckle. “Sleep keeps the pain away,” He admitted, having a feeling the aches and pains he had grown used to served as a side effect from his lycanthropism.

He shouldn’t have said anything. Truly shouldn’t have said anything but it was too late for taking back the bit that was dismissed as his speaking nonsense. He could admit he was several more drinks into the night than he had initially anticipated but he was still thinking clearly. At least, clearly enough to know he wasn’t speaking nonsense and know enough to be able to admit his friends hadn’t chained him up and he hadn’t felt the need to attack any of them.

“It’s not nonsense,” The words came out in a whine Remus hadn’t meant to let accompany the thought. “I wasn’t chained up for Hogwarts and don’t have blood on my hands from that lack of judgment on the headmaster’s part.”

Not yet. The words hung in his mind, but despite the surprising development between them Greyback wouldn’t have dared to speak it aloud. Talking, as it happened, was worth more to him than any notions of trust—it meant he was free to expose that they really weren’t all that different, that their way of seeing the world lined up more than Remus had ever imagined. One day, perhaps sooner than he expected, he would realize that he agreed with everything he had said... that his life was worth more than the paltry few that allowed him to beg for their scraps.

“That it does,” he agreed, amusement flickering in his expression; “but not for the whole month. Surely you have nights where you want to do something else?” Fenrir was more than familiar with the loose and aching joints that the waxing moon brought forth. Even for the most experienced of their kind, the change was agony—the breaking of bones, the tearing of flesh; there was no amount of magic in the world that would have made it easier. But after the hellfire of transformation came freedom. Freedom to hunt, to kill, to maim, to dance in the moonlight as the predators they were always meant to be. Or, for those like Remus, to be tormented by the endless hunger and turn that rage inward against the man that lurked beneath the skin.

The idea that his existence, locked away each month, wasn’t always a torturous experience actually gave him pause. What on earth could he have meant by that? Wolfsbane potions hadn’t been invented until fairly recently, and even then were extraordinarily costly to make. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Remus had ever had access to them, in school or otherwise. “Explain to me how it’s not nonsense,” he scoffed, brow raised. “You can’t possibly be telling me that old fool let your friends sit in with you all night.”

[moondrunken]

emmeline

“These events do tend to be a little dry,” Emmeline concedes. This is hardly her first go-round at a ministry event; after years of working her way through various ministry departments, Emmeline’s used to the somewhat stuffy atmosphere that accompanies them. Growing up with parents who’d been involved in the ministry since before she’d even been born certainly hadn’t hurt either. It’s never really been her idea of an entertaining evening though, and she can’t blame him for thinking that way either. “I think I’d be obligated to stop you from going ahead with that plan, but I’d have to admit to being impressed if you were able to wrangle an erumpent all the way here.”

She tips her glass slightly in acknowledgement of his toast, but doesn’t drink. Whether hearing her words will have any kind of effect, she’ll never know—but she hopes they might. Just as she hopes the world will be better in the days to come. Clearly something has happened to him, some darkness that lurks in the past to cause him to feel the way he does, but in their brief chat, she’s found no concrete reason to believe he’d deserve to have the world heap cruelty and hardships upon him. Once they’d moved past the awkward stumbling blocks at the start of their conversation—and the brief, quickly sidestepped attempt at flirtation—it had been a pleasant interaction. It still is. At the very least, the pair of them seem to be a little less miserable now, tucked away as they are at the edge of the crowd. That’s something of a victory, even if she can’t fix the wrongs that have so clearly influenced his attitudes towards the world. “That doesn’t surprise me even slightly, and I only met you a few minutes ago.”

As stuffy and dry as these events were, Fenrir didn’t regret showing up. How many other opportunities did he get to sneak—although whether he was really sneaking was... debatable—behind enemy lines, let alone when they couldn’t reasonably punish him for it? By the time the end of the evening rolled around and the entertainment had ended, he would be safely back in the shadows and away from the crowd of aurors that no doubt would have relished the chance to whisk him away in chains. Emmeline was among them, albeit she hadn’t quite seemed to realize that, yet... “I’d be impressed with myself, too. Tricky beasts to tame, erumpents.” Even so, Fenrir was a tricky beast all his own—while certainly not the type to let loose an exotic beast on the rest of the crowd ( although it was tempting, he had plenty others closer to home ), the thought of the chaos it would have caused... priceless. “Besides, wouldn’t you want to see what would happen? I’m sure everyone here is sensible enough to get out of the way if it starts to charge...”

Of all the people he could have enjoyed a conversation, this one was the most surprising to him. The fact that he hasn’t lost interest in niceties and resolved himself to reminding her about exactly why he doesn’t often step foot on Ministry property is a miracle in and of itself. How many others in her place would have been goaded into a fight, by now? Maybe it was better, he considered, to gain trust and then rip the rug right out from under them. Wasn’t it always the longer chase that satisfied him the most? “I don’t think you’ll find anyone that disagrees with you,” he admitted, a sly smile curling his lip. “I’ve always been a bit of a contrarian. Tends to make life more interesting for me.”

[moondrunken]

emmeline

Of all the things Emmeline had expected to come of this event, a discussion like this hadn’t crossed her mind. She’d assumed it would be an evening filled with painful small talk and avoiding any attempts to ask her to dance. Yet here she is, talking, and to a stranger at that—even if there is something about him, a familiarity she can’t quite place. With the amount of faces she sees daily, he could be anyone. Still, Emmeline has been drawn into their conversation. It’s not often she gets the chance to enjoy a little debate. She’s steadfast in her views, but not stubborn to the point she’s not willing to learn, to listen. If she didn’t even try, how else could she hope to actually help people? “Fortunately, I don’t think the entertainment for the night includes an erumpent appearance,” she jests softly, musing over his point. It holds weight. As much as she leans towards caution and restraint, haven’t there been times in the past where she’s deemed a risk worthy of taking?

“For now,” she replies, echoing an earlier sentiment. An oasis like this one won’t last for long at an event like this. Sooner or later, conversation groups will disperse, ready to mingle once more, and the quiet safety of this space will be disturbed by motion and chatter. Her fingers fiddle with the stem of her glass, turning it slowly in her hands and letting the bubbles within fizzle to the surface. “I shan’t press anymore, though I hope…” Hope what? That he changes his mind? That he learns to love the institutions? Even she can’t do that, too aware of their faults to support all of their actions. “…I hope the world does surprise you, for the better.” Maybe that’s asking too much of the world as it is, maybe it will always be cruel to a handful of people for no rhyme or reason—but to see it with such cynicism seems a shame. “That sounds an awful lot like disagreement though. Or is playing devil’s advocate just second nature to you?” 

“Fortunately,” he agreed, lip twitching with amusement; “although, that would probably have been more interesting than whatever else they’ve got planned. The auction alone could probably have put the beast asleep.” There was nothing of interest to him among the old, dusty trinkets the Ministry kept. None of them would have held any real power aside from the price tag they hoped to place on it. Having never come from wealth himself, he couldn’t imagine the point of flaunting it about where everyone could see. There were other, more desirable, traits out there to show off—strength at the top of the list, in his opinion. Money only had the power that society chose to give it; that wasn’t so for his own skillset. “Personally, I’d have liked to see the Minister’s face when it came charging in. Maybe I should keep that in mind for the next time he throws another party.”

For Greyback, it was strange to hear her suggest that she might actually care about how he saw the world. Few witches and wizards did. No doubt if—rather, when—she finally placed his face, her respect for his position would vanish. For the moment, he could savor the rare moment where actually enjoyed a conversation with one of her kind. To think, she probably worked here. In the not too distant future, he could see them locked in battle. Fenrir had to wonder how she would fall—quickly and quietly, or with the same wit she showed here? He could only hope that she would give him a challenge. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, setting aside any thoughts of the coming carnage... for the moment, and raising his glass. After a sip ( and a snort into his goblet ) he continued. “I don’t disagree that going around and insulting people is counterproductive, but worrying about it all the time won’t do you any good. That, and I guess I do have a habit of arguing for the devil,” he added, winking.

[moondrunken]

rabastan

Rabastan wasn’t aware, though there was very little he properly knew about Fenrir. There were things he noticed in his appearance. And while he favoured his own skills, he knew enough to be wary around the gentleman despite him sharing a friendship of sorts with his brother. Rab arched a slight brow at the other’s impudence, though put it down to lack of manners. Naturally looking down at people was a trait he tried to discard in more recent years. “ Note taken. ”

He doubted he would bother when it came to the time, but being polite was in his nature. He pushed his hands into his pockets, offering a matching snort before deigning and shrugging at the man. Had he expected any different? 

                     “ Makes no difference to me, let’s go. ” Rab muttered in reply, brushing past Fenrir towards the pub. As they entered, he resisted turning his nose up at the instant smell and his sticky boots, lips pressing into a simper. He looked across at the other, gesturing around with a nod of his head. “ Not really my usual type of place, but I guess a drink’s more important. You know this place? ”

Regardless of their differences, there was one thing that Fenrir couldn’t turn down—the prospect of a free drink. Or more, fate be willing. More than that, it made sense. Business time was over now that the artefact was safely in Rabastan’s hands, and why shouldn’t they break into something more fun? Maybe—although Fenrir seriously doubted it—he would even learn to lighten up, instead of waltzing about the world with a permanent scowl on his face. “In that case,” he started, spirits lifted; “I’ll put it on your tab.” As if he even had one.

While he took a moment to get used to his new environment, Greyback’s sharp eyes sought out a place to sit. Lucky for him ( likely not for Rabastan ) his usual spot in the back was empty. “Yeah, been here a few times,” he grunted, clapping him on the shoulder and heading off toward his chosen location. “It makes up for the mess with the prices. Not all of us have a vault of galleons to spend, you know.”

[moondrunken]

clara

Clara’s under no illusions that if he truly minded her attitude, she’d know about it. Pain is an excellent teacher, particularly to someone who doesn’t suffer fools, and she’d learnt quickly what would happen if she needed reminding of her place. He’s never needed to be cloaked in fang and fur to be dangerous, and it’s a fact that many who arrive at the compound fail to realise. Strength was a necessity to survive here, but disobedience only ended in blood. It won’t stop her continuing to toe the line—it’s simply not in her nature to roll over and bare her throat without a little push back to test his authority now and then. 

“Better than you could,” she echoes with a toothy grin. “Why else would you ask me to do it? You know I’m going to do it best.” She’s got no idea what this mystery job is going to entail, but when has that ever mattered? She’ll give it her all no matter what the task is, because it’s what’s been asked of her, because it’s all to further their cause. She’s found more of a home among the others of her kind than with any blood family, and she’s not going to stop until she’s helped him usher in a world where they aren’t shunted into the gutters like rats.

“Chores? I left early for chores?” The grin falls at that, replaced instead with a furrowed brow as she follows in his footsteps towards home. As much as she enjoys pushing her luck, acting the part of a petulant whelp, she’s not a child. It’s been a long time since she’s been that, a desperate and pathetic thing that had sought to find approval from a mother who had never once loved her. She’s grown now, come into her own and ready to bare her teeth at the world. She’s certainly not about to let herself be conscripted into something as menial as chores when there’s more exhilarating and carnal things things to be done—not without a fight, at least. “Wait… it’s not even my turn. It’s his turn, the new one. Gary? No… Garrett?” She curses quietly under her breath. “Glenn?… Maybe I’ve forgotten his name, but it’s absolutely his turn. Besides, I’m busy right now. You have a job for me, remember?” 

“Maybe I’ve just learned it’s better to keep you busy,” he countered good-naturedly, brow cocked in a challenge. Some would call her arrogant, but Fenrir took it as a sign she knew her worth. It was true that, generally speaking, he considered her for the jobs that were more important, that required someone he trusted to get it done. As unusual as it was for a late bite-in to rise in the ranks so quickly or effectively, she had earned her wolfskin many times over. If he had even ten more like her, the wizarding world would stand no chance against them. Even so, it was a fact that she worked harder when she felt like she had something to prove—he couldn’t just let her know outright that she had little left to work toward.

That, and the amusement he felt at her disappointment was too good to pass up. Chores? I left early for chores? At times like this, she almost reminded him of the younger members of their community, those that had yet to learn one of the most fundamental lessons for their success. “Everyone pulls their weight,” he reminded her, hand on her shoulder; “and Gabriel is going to have the lion’s share compared to you.” Those bitten later in life had much more to prove upon joining his cause than those who were all but born into it, and while Clara had more than done so during her time here, his newest recruits needed work. “Besides, we’ve got cubs coming in this month. I need to make sure we’re prepared.”

Greyback took a seat in his old, beat up, wooden chair. It had, unlike many other accommodations they had built into the compound, come with place originally. “I promise that as soon as you’re done, we can get to talking about your job,” he continued, eyes shifting away from the young she-wolf and out toward the rest of the clearing. A few that stayed full-time were working on maintenance, another watching as a few older children wrestled in the dirt. One that huddled back, a scrawny thing, caught his eye. He wasn’t confident he’d make it. But that was what next month was for—potential replacements. “Go and feed the pigs,” he instructed, gaze turning back toward Clara; “if you’re quick about it, I won’t make you muck the stalls next time it needs doing.” A joke—that was what the newer recruits were for!

[moondrunken]

wendy

She was teetering on the edge but she wasn’t ready to accept that her life had been changed and it was never going to be the way that it had been. She didn’t want to hear the truth in his words because she had been conditioned to not trust werewolves and to see them as a danger to her. And he had been a danger to her. If she had never crossed paths with him than she would still be herself, working for the Ministry like she had always planned to. She had always craved the stability of the Ministry after a childhood with unstable parents. He had knocked her world off kilter and she was fighting an impossible fight to right it again. He was right that she was never going to be normal again, but she wasn’t ready to hear it. “You say that like its so horrible that I want to be normal. Just because you don’t know what that’s like doesn’t mean that other people don’t want that,” she snapped at him. “Don’t talk about my family either. You don’t know anything about them or about my mom.” Even though her mom didn’t want anything to do with her, she still hoped, deep down, that she would change her mind one day.

It was exhausting, having this conversation with him. They were both too different, saw things too differently to ever agree with one another. But the stubborn part of her didn’t want to give up on this fight. She wanted to smack that smug look off of his face but she would never dare do something so reckless. Not when he could singlehandedly ruin her more than he already had. It was going to take a long time for her to unlearn the things that she knew. And it certainly didn’t help that she could put faces to the names inside the Ministry. They may have been the enemy to Fenrir, but they had been her colleagues and friends. She didn’t want to condemn them to a life like hers. “Fine, you’re right. The registry needs to be destroyed and forgotten. Happy now?” She asked. Wendy watched as he dragged his nail across the counter, wincing slightly. Why did he have to embrace his inner wolf so damn much? As much as she didn’t want to admit that she didn’t see what he said happening anytime soon, it gave her hope that things could be settled in a nonviolent way. “You know that there are other ways to get what you want instead of resorting to violence? You’re just…you’re making people fear you even more. They’re never going to agree to what you want if you keep maiming people.”

“I’m not dumb, of course I know that muggles can be bit too,” she snapped. Wendy couldn’t imagine what it would be like for a muggle to learn the truth of their world. She had grown up in the muggle world as a child, but she had known that she was a witch, her mother had been one as well. If any of her childhood friends had been turned she thought that they would have been terrified. “Or maybe its a sacrifice that they take so their child doesn’t turn into a monster,” she countered. “Sending them into the streets is cruel but what are they supposed to do? What if they have other children in the home? What if they don’t have a safe place for their child to turn every month? How are they supposed to deal with that? ’m not saying that that’s right. But it’s what they do,” She said softly. “Clearly those parents were more equipped to deal with what you did to their child.” Had he gone near her family? She met his gaze and frowned. “I would…I would just know, okay? What’s your point?”

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed, tension setting his jaw. “Did you ever think about why that might be? Why I might not realize what it’s like to be normal?” The question hung in the air for only a moment before he spoke again—she had not been meant to answer it. “It’s because my parents would rather have given me over to a stranger than face their fears.” In a hateful sort of way, he considered it a blessing. How different would life had been if he had been raised to believe mutilating himself every month was normal, just? Nobody would have fought for them, then. “They’re not the only ones, either. Their entire world is drenched in fear! And that’s the sort of life you want to live?” If they weren’t hiding themselves away from the ever-growing muggle societies of the world, they created that fear among themselves. “You want to hide yourself away, pretend you’re superior to the same beasts you force to do the same? Let that doddering old Minister of yours tell you that hiding is the best way to live? You could be worth so much more than the pathetic society you were born into.”

Happy now? All Greyback could do was snort. Her agreement was too little, too late—and even if the whole of Wizarding Britain had decided to wake up and think the same tomorrow, it would have been too late for them as well. He wanted a war and he was going to get it. “You want me to get together some of my mates and stage a protest? That’s cute.” Even if the strategy would have been effective, there weren’t enough of them to make it happen... weren’t enough of them willing to step forward and claim their curse. It was one thing to lurk in the shadows, but another thing entirely to rise up against the weight of an entire society. Fenrir had already made the choice to do so violently, but others would have to be convinced—the odds needed to tip further in their favor. “They wouldn’t agree to do it if I could promise that another soul would never be bitten,” he continued, digging his nails in deep enough to gouge the wood beneath them. “Whatever we’re given in this world is going to have to be taken.”

It didn’t surprise him that she sympathized so much with the same people that had thrown her to the streets. She wanted to believe she was still among them, that if she was good enough she could reclaim her spot in the life she had left behind. Fenrir knew better. “You’re under the impression I’m disagreeing with them. I’m not,” he said, a bark of laughter escaping them. “I can’t approve of them mutilating their own children, of course,” no, he would want that to be left to his jurisdiction; “but I’m perfectly happy for them to be thrown where I can find them. Better they end up with me than raised by wizards.” But he couldn’t expect someone who had befallen that very same fate to agree with him so quickly, and he didn’t. All he could do was offer the truth. And find a way to break her down enough to accept it. “My point,” he paused, leaning forward against the countertop; “is that you should be less concerned with the people that hate and fear you, and more concerned about yourself.”

[moondrunken]

emmeline

“Is satisfaction worth the risk though?” If any of her friends had been here, such an answer wouldn’t have surprised them. Emmeline has never been impulsive, always carefully weighing the pros and cons of almost every decision before she makes it. It’s a facet of her nature that has bothered her at times, when she’s seen her peers through themselves into mischief and adventure while she’s stayed behind, ever watchful, ever cautious. Especially in the midst of the ongoing secret war, it’s a trait she both hates and thanks. It’s undoubtedly kept her safe during many a mission, but at what cost? If she were killed in action tomorrow, could she truly say she’d left this world with no regrets? 

“I think you might be right though. Socialites can be… entirely more frightening than they have any right to be.” It’s one of the reasons she feels so uncomfortable here, brushing shoulders with the kind of people who have more money and prestige to her name than she could ever hope to achieve; the kind of people who could take offence at a single wrong sentence. Emmeline sips quietly at her drink, thoughtful. There’s a story there he’s not telling, she’s not foolish enough to miss that, but it doesn’t immediately set alarm bells ringing. With the way their world has been turning lately, it’s not entirely surprising to find people that feel let down by it. “Maybe in time then. The world may yet change for the better.” Isn’t that what she’s been fighting for? “Meeting new people with different ideas is one thing. Insulting someone is another.” She shakes her head, faintly amused. “Or is this another area where we’ll disagree?” 

“Depends on the risk, I guess.” It had been quite clear from the beginning that the two of them differed—expected, even, in light of the obvious distinctions—but where Greyback had been expecting a clash, he found... an oddly intriguing witch. Was she even aware of who he was? What he had done? What he would do, particularly to those like her? The more they spoke, the more he found that unlikely. There were plenty of aurors that were gifted in undercover work ( although so far, none had come trying their luck with him ) but it seemed far-fetched that she would play such a game tonight. There was preventing a conflict and then openly fraternizing with the enemy—those who had no luxury of surprise tended to avoid the latter like the plagues of old. “Shooting my shot at a party, definitely. Wrestling with an erumpent... well, probably not.”

“It’s a good thing there are plenty of corners to hide in, then.” Another gulp from his drink sent warmth flooding through his core, the thought of risk still on his mind. It was risky to be here at all, to let himself relax around someone who would have thrown him into Azkaban without a second thought. It was riskier still to have broached the topic of St. Mungos so brazenly—while he certainly hadn’t named the conditions of his hatred, there were few that had regular strife with healers. On the other hand, with drink giving him false courage and toeing the line bringing entertainment, it was difficult to stop. “Maybe in time,” he agreed, thoughts drifting toward two secret wars; “but until then, I won’t be holding my breath.” Few witches and wizards were worth the benefit of the doubt. “This time I actually agree with you,” he admitted, cracking a smile; “but if we spend all our time worrying about saying the right thing, we’ll never say anything at all.”

[moondrunken]

isabelle

His hand was incredibly large and noticeably warm against her waist, guiding her forward until they found a somewhat secluded booth. Isabelle didn’t have much choice in the matter, his gesture was very much a follow my lead kind of notion, not that she’d back out now. She’d come this far already, the pull to the wolf something strange. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why she was so willing to follow him blindly into… this place. She cocked a brow at his instruction to sit. She wasn’t a puppy, but dismissed it. When he returned, she peered into the goblet placed before her, trying to decipher what was inside. Glancing up at him inquistively, the question in her features as she waited for him to answer. Isabelle couldn’t say whether she was selective or not, having no clue what he’d given her….  “Thank you for the drinks, you’re ever so kind.” She added with a small smile

Ever so kind was not among any of the phrases he had ever heard attributed to him. Even those in his care, who grew up used to his temper and the way he saw the world, would have dropped dead with laughter at the very idea. Fenrir was many things—cruel, vengeful, savage—but kind was not one of them. “You’re welcome,” he grunted, instead of educating her. That could come later, fate be willing. For now, he kept his amusement to himself.

“Well?” he asked, a brow cocked expectantly. If he had noticed the question lurking in her expression ( and he very much had ) he ignored it. Would she actually drink it, without knowing the contents? It should have gone against everything she had been taught. Stranger danger was much more difficult to learn the hard way. Still, whether or not her ubringing had taught her sense or not was little of his concern. It was just a drink. If she accepted, great. If not, that was on her. “It’s not going to drink itself,” he added, taking a long gulp from his own goblet. “But if you don’t like it, I’d be happy to drink it for you.”

[moondrunken]

wendy

Prejudice. It wasn’t something that Wendy had thought of, but she certainly had had hers when she worked in the Ministry. It had never been something intentional, but something that had been ingrained in her by society, only grown stronger by working in a department that insisted on having a registry for werewolves. As a child stories of werewolves were told to scare them and to keep them in line. She could remember her grandmother telling her to not wander too far, didn’t want to get stolen by a wolf. Wendy didn’t want to face that he was right, so instead she shook her head. “I’m not. I don’t!” she protested. “I’m not…I don’t think that I’m better than you.” But did she? Maybe. But not because she was still clinging to her old life, but because she didn’t want to hurt people. She didn’t want to be a monster. Wendy toyed with a thread on her sleeve. She knew that her life as it was had been over since that night, but she had been desperately trying to cling to a sense of normalcy, of being her old self. She wasn’t ready to let that go. “Maybe. But what’s so wrong with trying to be normal?” 

“No,” she admitted. She had no idea what was happening inside the Ministry. She hadn’t stepped inside it in months. She had been saved the shame of having to register in person, instead her boss had quietly added her name to it when they dropped off the things from her desk. It was a painful memory that she didn’t like to think about. Wendy had been primed to rise in the ranks, whether she stayed with her department or moved to another, she had felt like she had all the opportunities in the world. And then her world had crashed around her leaving her with nothing. They had discarded her as quickly as they could, and yet she stood there fighting for them, defending them. She knew that it was easier to cling to what she knew and had always had faith in, rather then trust someone new. Someone that had completely destroyed her life. “The truth of my work? I think that I knew what I did better than you did. But please tell me what it was that I was doing.” Wendy frowned. “If they tore up the registry tomorrow would you call this off?” She asked him. Did he want equality or did he want a war? She was starting to think that nothing was going to please him.

The look on his face scared her. Every part of her screamed danger as she gripped the counter in her hand. “Isn’t that what you want? More wolves?” But she had the distinct impression that that wasn’t the only thing that he was interested in. She had no idea what he got up to, and she wanted no part of it. “I think that their stance is to avoid fights period.” The Ministry hadn’t done anything to stop what had happened to her or to make it better. To hold someone accountable for what had happened to her despite having the registry. As he mocked her again, she narrowed her eyes. “You act like it’s some crazy thing that families love their children. What do you expect families to do when you come in and destroy their dreams for their children? I never said that it was right what these parents do to their kids. But it’s sure as hell not right what you’re doing either. There’s not some book that tells you how to deal with this. People are scared and they do stupid things when they’re scared.” Wendy knew that that was why her mother had reacted the way that she had. Her mother had been by her side at St. Mungo’s which had been why her sudden betrayal had hurt her so much. It had been the first time that she realized that if she couldn’t trust her mother than she couldn’t trust her friends either. “I-I would know,” she managed to get out. “Don’t hurt them. Please,” she looked up at him, her eyes pleading. She couldn’t stand the thought of her mother being hurt. “Rather me than them.”

Not for the first time, her protests fell on deaf ears. She could claim all she wanted that she hadn’t continued to think of their kind, of herself, as lesser beings, but the truth was plain to see. She still clung to the idea that they were meant to be relegated to the shadows, that they were meant to be extinct. As long she still swallowed the poison that wizardkind had forced down her throat, she would cling to the hope of a life that she would never live again; she would refuse to join him. The tables would turn, one way or another. Even if it took the loss of everything she had ever gained in life to win her to his side, Greyback would make it happen. “You think you’re one of them?” he asked snidely, eyes glittering with malice. “You’ll never be normal again, Wendy. Pretending otherwise isn’t going to make your parents love you. It isn’t going to hand your life back on a silver platter. Sooner or later, you have to wake up and face reality.”

Either way, Wendy was in for a rude awakening and they both knew it. Each time she protested that fact, each time she tried to hold onto her old ways, he would dig his claws in deeper. She was treading in quicksand and it was going to engulf her. “No,” he repeated, a smug edge to his tone. Whatever she thought she knew, Fenrir was confident that he knew better. “Your work was always about keeping us beaten down, even you have to know that. Registering us, making sure we couldn’t reap the benefits that others did. You can pretend all you like that it was to protect people, but we both know that it’s not true.” It never had been. “That registry is a symptom of a bigger problem,” he continued, tracing a groove in the countertop with a long, claw-like fingernail. “But if they, for example, repealed all those laws against us... started drafting protections... maybe I’d consider letting them live.” It was the second lie he had told. There was nothing on the face of the earth that could have stopped his crusade now.

“I can get wolves from anywhere. Muggles can be bitten too, you know.” Many already had been, intentionally or otherwise, and had found themselves thrust into a world they hadn’t known existed. But in many ways, they adapted better than their magical kin—no doubt a result of the lack of prejudice beaten into them. How could they have hated something they didn’t believe existed in the first place? No, he didn’t just want more wolves; he wanted every man, woman, and child that could be convinced to rise against them dead. “If they really loved them, they wouldn’t kill them. They wouldn’t send them out on the streets to die, cold and alone, and yet...” he trailed off, shrugging a shoulder. “I’ve only ever had one child actually be kept by their parents after a bite. Just one.” A mistake on their part, for that matter. The child had deserved better than to be raised to fear the very skin he lived in. “Really? How would you know? They don’t want you anywhere near them, anymore. Besides... you’ve already been hurt, haven’t you?”

[moondrunken]

remus

“That’s the point,” Remus shook his head. The temptation to roll his eyes was one he could resist for a little longer. He was far too guarded, taking the time to read between the lines of what Fenrir was saying. His approach was overly cautious but it was that or running into the issue of giving away information and letting loose an unwanted fate toward the few people that seemed to value him. “Crash at one of their flats,” He shrugged. “Nothing all that notable.”

Fenrir brought up an interesting point. It wasn’t exactly something Remus could agree with but there was a clear comparison between his flying under the radar and the Ministry doing whatever it took to remain undetected by muggles. “An allusion of control,” Remus mused. There was no nod or anything that could be taken as though he agreed with Fenrir.

“Hardly,” Remus shook his head. There had been a time early on into things but that was out of fear of losing the first couple of friends he made. Being a werewolf was an underlying reason for the fear coming to light but he wouldn’t say it was fully to blame for the uneasiness that accompanied letting people in during his first two years at Hogwarts. His parents hadn’t allowed him to foster friendships while growing up so it had all been new to him. Remus’ head snapped up when Fenrir spoke again, eyes narrowing at the man. “They went out of their way to make sure I wasn’t alone during the full moon,” Remus bit out, words slurring slightly. He had a good grip on his alcohol intake but it didn’t stop him from wanting to prove a little bit of a point. “I doubt many people would extend themselves that far if there wasn’t some sort of connection.”

Greyback’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the cogs in his ( admittedly, sluggish ) mind turning to try and work through the gaps in the information he was given. “Not his name then, I take it?” It was a smart move to give fakes, to keep him off the scent of his trail... but hardly the most effective. Had Fenrir wished it, he could have planted a tail on Remus and his mates by morning, and found wherever it was they called home by the time the moon rose in the sky. But where was the challenge, the excitement, in that? It was more gratifying to have Remus lead him there, himself. “Early to bed, then? Odd for one your age.”

Cracking his defenses had certainly been a struggle, but not quite what he had expected. His expectation was that Remus, having his mind clouded by the prejudice of wizarding society, would have despised him for what he had done. It was very possible that a part of still him did, but another part seemed all too willing to give conversation a chance. Perhaps that part, however small, could realize that there was a truth to his words—that he did, in fact, deserve a future better than what their true enemy had in store.

But as long as he continued to choose that enemy over his own kind, as long as he kept himself guarded and secretive, progress would remain slow-going. Fenrir was not known for his patience, but all successful hunters, all predators, were gifted with the virtue. He could wait in the shadows as long as was necessary, and claw at the defenses that Remus seemed desperate to keep up in the meantime. “Now you’re just speaking nonsense,” he snorted, confusion as evident in his expression as his tone. “You’d set your teeth in them the moment you got the chance, unless they chain you down all night. Not exactly what I would call company.”

[moondrunken]

marlene

“True,” she said with a laugh and a shrug. “Most things I do piss her off so I’m sure something will take the cake eventually.” She didn’t find herself purposefully seeking out ways to piss her mother off these days, simply because she was living her own life now and barely saw her. But he wasn’t wrong, she was sure that there would be some other thing that she did that really pissed her mother off. “I’m open to suggestions though,” she teased with a laugh. “My brother’s birthday is coming up, I’m sure I could figure out something to just drive her out of her mind.” She was mostly joking, she didn’t think that she wanted to ruin her brothers birthday dinner, whatever they decided to do. She tried to stay close to her brothers, they tended to be more understanding than her mother, and were just less…elitist. 

“Thank Merlin,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “I would rather be literally anything than a Malfoy.” With their elitist attitudes and superiority complexes, Marlene wanted nothing to do with them. She personally thought that the Blacks were the only ones that had managed to be more insufferable. Thank Merlin Sirius had never been anything like his family. Marlene could never understand how families could just be so awful and not even try to hide it. She laughed. “Well you are in luck then that I was wearing a dress tonight,” she teased. She rolled her eyes. “I think that you’re giving me more credit than you should,” she said with a laugh. “Definitely. But we should probably go back up there, who knows if someone’s missing us.”

“I’m not much of a betting man,” he started, laughing lightly; “but I’d wager you’re right on that one.” Fenrir didn’t have to know her personally to be sure of that fact—Walburga had given him all the experience he would ever need, and it was all but impossible that Marlene’s mother would give her a run for her money. Nobody could beat that beast of a woman when it came to the worst that pureblood society had to offer. It would have almost been respectable, if she hadn’t soiled herself with a vicious hatred against his kind. “Your brother’s birthday, huh?” The scent of an opportunity, freshly caught, piqued his interest. “I might be able to come up with something for that. How old?” She was far from the age where a bite would have been worth his time, but it was always possible her mother had spaced out her spawn...

It was all he could do to stifle a snort. “I couldn’t agree more.” If they hadn’t been so useful to the Dark Lord, Greyback would have targeted them long ago. In fact, there were many among his servants that he found utterly insufferable with their obsessions over blood purity and ancient customs—it was Voldemort’s promise of prey ( and his personal expectation that his hated enemies would fight themselves to ruin ) that kept him from forsaking their alliance. But those were problems for another time—Malfoy wasn’t here, nor his future bride, and the two of them were no doubt bored to tears at the affair above them. “Don’t be daft. I only give credit where it’s due,” he replied, finally picking himself up off of the floor. “That said, you’re right. Shouldn’t stay down here too long, or someone might notice you’re missing.”

[moondrunken]

clara

Clara sniggers. The more time that passes since their arrival, the more like herself she feels. She’s back on even footing, feeling better enough to slip back into her usual, troublesome ways. “You can try. I know all the ways out of here by now.” Almost all of them anyway. She’s not stupid enough to think there are ways she’s not yet found or that he’s warded better. Scoping the compound out had been one of the first things she’d done when she’d first arrived, as soon as she was sure she wasn’t being watched. It’s a habit she’ll never be able to break, a compulsive need to know her escape route to stave off the fear of being caged. She has no plans nor need to use them now, feeling more at home amid the others of their kind here than anywhere else, but it had helped at the time; before she’d come to trust them all so implicitly. 

If they’d both been transformed, Clara would have growled at his jabs, hackles raised and as aggravated as a grindylow. In this body, all she can do is let out a disgruntled groan and scowl at him. It doesn’t have nearly the same kind of effect—there’s a decided lack of tooth and claw in this form—but it’ll do. “Watch me then. I’ll do it and I’ll do it better than even you could do it or anyone else here could.” She’s worked hard to prove herself worthy of being here, of being able to handle anything that he throws her way. If she has to remind him of that, she’ll gladly throw herself into the fire to do so.

She’s still faintly grumbling as she steps up towards the edge of the wards, muttering a slew of curses in Bulgarian as she fumbles to draw her wand from the waistband of her trousers. She doesn’t have as much practice at this sort of magic—she never needed to think about protective spells before coming here, and he’s usually the one to do this when they arrive together—but she’s watched him do it enough times that it doesn’t take long to start moving her wand in practiced motion to undo the enchantments in place. “See. I can even do these by myself now.”

Fenrir knew that she wasn’t bluffing, that she did know most ( if not all ) the little passageways that a small, troublesome cub could use to escape. Some of them had been carved out purposefully, others left alone—it was a lesson in temptation. Newly bitten children, those that still carried the scent of fear, of grief, of denial... some of them fancied themselves an escape. The smarter obedient ones would realize the futility of escape—even if they couldn’t be found, who else would care for them? their parents were dead or unwilling to try—and adapt to their new situation. Those that couldn’t be taught, that mewled and cried and ran, would be slaughtered like rats and fed to their betters. It was the first lesson he taught—only the strong would survive. Clara had learned it well. Not everyone was as lucky.

True to her nature, she rose to the challenge with her teeth all but bared. Would she be disappointed to learn it wouldn’t involve using her claws? “Better than I could?” he asked, lips twitching with amusement. In another form, she might have had teeth in her neck by now—dominating, not killing—or a paw to the snout, but for now he allowed her to snark. “I don’t know about that, but you’re welcome to try and prove me wrong.” She would, of course. The challenges he gave were meant to test the extent of her abilities, prime her for the coming war. To a point, almost affectionate. Paternal. But in few of the ways that were warm or kind. He knew that she would readily lay down her life for the cause, for him, and was more than prepared to make use of that.

“So I see. You’re a quick learner,” he praised, stepping forward to clap her on the shoulder. Normally, he took care of the wards, himself—for good reason; i wasn’t always wise to trust another’s magic—but there were few that he would have trusted more than Clara. Her magic was strong enough to be to his liking, and had grown stronger under his teachings. The pitiful whelp of a witch she had been didn’t cling to her, now. “Come on, now. We have a lot to talk about before I let you off your leash,” he continued, slipping through the ragged chainmail and into the compound. “And maybe a few chores for you to get done, too.”

[moondrunken]

rodolphus

Rodolphus’ gaze slid towards his old friend. “I was the one who discovered the leak.” He murmured lowly, not that there was anyone around to hear. His office had charms unlike any other room in the house, nothing he said within these four walls could be heard beyond them regardless- and only those whom he permits are able to enter… despite that, a small part of him always felt like someone was watching, someone was listening. It was the price one paid for the life he lead.

Normally, he’d let others handle this situation. Selected by himself, sure, and usually his fallback was Fenrir- he had a particular knack for sending the right message… but this one, this one felt personal. It was someone that Rodolphus had personally brought into their organization, someone Rodolphus had mentored and brought up through the ranks. Someone who held too much of a notable position to allow just anyone to visit upon him. 

“Oh… this one definitely deserves special treatment.” He all but growled as he downed the last of his drink, before topping up his own and then Fen’s, regardless of whether or not his wolf needed more. The Lestrange heir was on edge, an itch in his spine that refused to cease. “It’s Travers…” Just saying his name out loud had his blood boiling. “We need to make an example of this one. And we need to act fast, before this gets worse.” He had to admit… cirumstances aside, he missed working…

A ghost of surprise passed over his face. Rodolphus had discovered the leak, had he? While no doubt troublesome that it had been significant enough to reach his attention, Fenrir couldn’t help the burst of eager fire that burned within him—could he have been so lucky to have his wish come true? Would it be an intimate affair, one where the victim knew full well of the long game of suffering that would await them before death was finally granted? The idea of looking into the eyes of someone he knew, of watching the last bit of breath leave their body—the idea alone had him salivating. It was intoxicating; it was godly.

“Travers...” The name slid off his tongue like silk, a thoughtful note to his tone. He knew Travers—not well, but enough that the seriousness of the situation did not escape him. A moment of pause fell over him, long enough for him to drain his newly-refilled glass, before he spoke again. “Was he a mole from the beginning? Or did someone lead him astray?” Normally, he asked very few questions about this sort of work—the circumstances mattered little in comparison to the opportunity for fresh blood—but this was... different, more important. If there were others out there that intended to bring them down, they would need to be flushed out and made examples of as soon as they could manage.

Greyback took one last puff of his cigar before he set it aside, rolling his aching shoulders. The beast within was weak tonight, but his thirst for blood remained intense, regardless. “We should get going, then,” he said, tongue darting out to run along his lower lip. “Don’t want to keep the bugger waiting for too long.” For useful reasons as well as his own, selfish desires. The quicker they got going, the longer he would have to play with him. “Where are we headed?”