Nature of the Beast // November 22 // 1981
@oscxrd
“And you’re certain that the intelligence is correct, yes?”
The house elf standing a few feet below Dolores fiddled with its filthy robes, not daring to make eye contact with her. “Y-yes Mistress, Sippy is being certain of it as a fact, Mistress.”
Dolores took a long drag on her cigarette, turning the ivory holder over and over in her hands. She looked down at the list of names. Her investigation - the Aurors, in her mind, had clearly been infiltrated, and would have to be purged before long - into the Battle at the Highlands had been put on hold while she kept the Ministry from falling apart without its figurehead, Munchim.
But the event, which she was certain had been an attempted assassination on the Minister in his own home, proved her theory: Janus was the true threat.
The group had to be made of members of both the Order and Death Eaters (and Merlin, which idiot decided they should be robed and masked to look so akin to Death Eaters? That was either to throw off suspicion of them being Order members, or Death Eaters doubling the game), and that meant that someone in the Janus was looking to bring new order to the world.
And that someone must be very powerful to have convinced enough people to aid in killing both Dumbledore and Voldemort.
She had to narrow down the search. She had the inkling that none of the known Death Eaters or Order members were powerful enough to kill Voldemort. It had to be a group effort.
A pack effort, perhaps.
While certainly there was no chance they could defeat him in a fair duel, perhaps the werewolves, beasts such as they are, were persuaded to join Janus for freedom or whatever other nonsense the beasts thought attainable.
“Perhaps that’s it. Was brute force the key to killing him? They overpowered Voldemort?” Dolores rolled her eyes when her elf audibly shrieked at the mention of the name.
“Ugh. Yixy go boil your hands in oil for that,” she said, dismissing the elf.
She left her office, and took the lift to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creaures. There she made a copy of the files on registered werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, before returning to the lift and going to Auror Office. There she obtained a list of notable contacts and associates of Greyback’s, and returned to her office.
The elf served her a cup of oolong and Dolores smiled at it, looking at the elf’s newly acquired scalding burns. She began correlating a list of possible werewolves, for approaching Greyback himself was, while not an impossible challenge to overcome, a disgusting idea. She narrowed her search down her search to two wizards and one witch.
“So these are the members of your pack, Greyback?” Dolores said, looking to the moving photo of him in his mugshot.
Now it was just a matter of choosing a link.
“Yixy, reiterate to me what you have learned about these three,” Dolores said, holding the files to its bulging eyes.
She listened as it nattered off topics about each supposed werewolf. “-and Mister Dupont, he and the Greyback get in many fights. Greyback is supposed to not be thinking that Dupont is not appreciating him.”
She stood, and had the elf return the files while she prepared some last minute research. Oh yes, this one would work.
Dear Mr. Dupont,
It has come to the attention of the Ministry of Magic that you are in strict violation of Wizarding law. All wizards infected with the disease of lycanthropy are to, as of the 1947 creation of the Werewolf Register, report to the Ministry and declare their status.
As you have neither sought treatment nor put the care of your fellow wizards in mind by continuing to act as an unregistered werewolf, we regret to inform you that you are left with two options.
The first is to surrender yourself to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (Beast Division) for immediate declaration of status and arrest, followed by incarceration at Azkaban prison until such a time that you are brought back to London for trial before the Wizengamot.
Secondly, and I write to you as a concerned friend sympathetic to the cause of your people. I lost a dear friend once, not to lycanthropy, but to the prejudice those feel towards werewolves. Come to me, Oscar. Meet me in Muggle London at Westminster Abbey, tomorrow at twelve noon, alone.
I will be the one in pink.
Sincerely, A Concerned Friend