"What additional details have you gathered about this smuggling boss?"
"Master, his name is Howard—nobody knows his surname. Everyone simply calls him Boss Howard, while his closest subordinates refer to him as Old Man Howard." Markwood leaned forward slightly. "He's a very burly man, quite intimidating physically, with three parallel scars running across his face."
Markwood paused, considering his words carefully. "However, in my assessment, many of his mannerisms are actually quite refined. He's actively trying to suppress that elegance, attempting to appear more rugged and common. But I've spent considerable time around Lord Barnabas, so I naturally recognize true aristocratic bearing when I see it. I suspect this Howard originates from a pure-blood noble family."
Hearing this, Sean raised an eyebrow with interest.
Born into a pure-blood noble family?
"Continue investigating this matter," Sean instructed quietly, "but exercise extreme caution. Remain discreet at all times. Understood?"
"Yes, Master."
Looking at Markwood—who resembled a middle-aged witch and had just bowed respectfully to him—Sean's lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement before he spoke again. "Keep close surveillance on the situation there. If an opportunity presents itself, notify me immediately. We must gain control over Howard. Keep him firmly within our grasp."
"Understood, Master."
"Very well. That concludes our business for tonight. If there's nothing else, I'll return to the castle."
"Master, please exercise caution on your journey back."
Nodding once, Sean rose from the table and departed the Three Broomsticks.
Night had fallen completely over Hogsmeade, casting long shadows through the narrow village streets. Sean made his way toward the edge of the settlement, heading for the Shrieking Shack.
Just as he turned down the overgrown path, a predatory gaze fell upon him—seemingly insignificant at first, but carrying the focused intensity of a hunter spotting prey. The attention bore aggressive, murderous intent.
Sean naturally noticed this unusual scrutiny immediately.
However, he didn't pause or alter his pace whatsoever. Instead, he continued steadily toward the Shrieking Shack. The moment he pushed open the decrepit door and stepped inside, Sean cast a Disillusionment Charm and pressed himself against the wall behind the door, becoming effectively invisible.
He didn't have long to wait.
The door creaked open again, and two cloaked figures entered the Shrieking Shack one after another, their heads swiveling as they searched the abandoned interior.
"Ironclaw," one figure hissed with evident frustration, "I should have made this clear before we left—we're here to make contact with our target, not to indulge your appetites. If you rashly cause a massacre here and frighten the target into hiding within Hogwarts where we cannot reach him, how exactly are we supposed to complete our mission for the king?"
The man called Ironclaw appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties. He was bent slightly forward, nose twitching as he searched for something by scent. Hearing his companion's words, he replied dismissively, "Silverfang, don't worry yourself unnecessarily. It's not the full moon tonight. Even if a couple of people die, no one will suspect us specifically."
Ironclaw's voice took on a cruel edge. "Besides, I'll clean up the evidence thoroughly. We don't know how long we'll be stationed here. Are we supposed to live like ascetic monks indefinitely? You can restrain yourself if you wish, but I cannot. I get... itchy... if I don't taste human flesh regularly. This one looked to be in his prime, I—"
Ironclaw stopped abruptly.
He turned slowly, sniffing deliberately toward the Shrieking Shack's entrance.
Though both werewolves maintained human form, years of lycanthropy had left permanent marks. Even while human, they retained certain wolf-like characteristics—sharpened nails and teeth, and a significantly enhanced sense of smell far superior to ordinary humans.
Ironclaw continued sniffing methodically, then spoke with confused surprise. "Strange... the scent grows weaker the further into the shack we go, but it's strongest right here near the entrance. Did he discover us somehow and slip back out the moment he entered?"
Many werewolves had never received systematic magical education.
If it weren't for Dumbledore's personal guarantee and support, Remus Lupin would never have been permitted to attend Hogwarts for proper schooling.
Ironclaw, though technically a wizard by blood, had received no formal education and possessed minimal natural talent. No respectable wizard would have accepted him as an apprentice, so magic had never become his forte.
Silverfang, however, was far more reluctant to relinquish his wizarding identity and capabilities. Upon hearing Ironclaw's words, he immediately grasped what had occurred—the target had used a Disillusionment Charm to hide!
"Ironclaw, defend yourself! He's used a Disillusionment Charm!" Silverfang shouted, already drawing his wand.
Both werewolves drew their wands simultaneously. Even outside the full moon's influence, their preferred fighting style still relied primarily on magic and wands rather than physical prowess.
However, in their non-transformed states, their magical abilities were woefully inadequate to face Sean Bulstrode alone.
"Confringo!"
A blazing sphere of orange flame materialized before Ironclaw and Silverfang as Sean dropped his concealment charm. The Blasting Curse detonated a split second before either werewolf could complete their own casting.
BOOM!
The explosive fireball engulfed both figures, sending them flying backward through the flames. They crashed heavily into the walls and dilapidated furniture scattered throughout the Shrieking Shack, splintered wood and dust billowing around their smoking forms.
While hiding nearby, Sean had already learned these two intruders' identities from their own conversation.
He knew they were werewolves.
In truth, Sean held no particular prejudice against werewolves as a species. To him, werewolf wizards were functionally no different from ordinary wizards—they were people first, afflicted with a curse they hadn't chosen. However, from these two's casual discussion, it was abundantly clear they had completely embraced their werewolf identity, had deliberately severed themselves from humanity, and even regarded humans as food and objects of casual amusement.
Such individuals—whether werewolves or ordinary wizards—were irredeemable scum. Sean felt absolutely no moral hesitation about killing them.
"Bastard! You burned me! BURNED ME! I'll kill you! KILL YOU!"
Even in human form, werewolf wizards possessed physical capabilities that far surpassed ordinary humans. A single Blasting Curse hadn't killed them instantly, and Ironclaw lunged at Sean with feral rage despite his charred skin and smoking robes.
Seeing Ironclaw charging directly at him, Sean appeared momentarily stunned, standing frozen in place as though shocked by the werewolf's resilience.
Witnessing this apparent paralysis, Ironclaw's burned face twisted into an expression of savage excitement and cruelty. He raised both hands, sharp nails extended like claws, reaching directly for Sean's throat.
Just as Ironclaw's claw-like hands were mere inches from Sean's neck, a hand like an iron vice suddenly shot out and seized Ironclaw by the throat. With tremendous strength drawn from his Troll Strength talent, Sean slammed Ironclaw bodily into the ground with bone-crushing force.
CRACK.
"What—" Ironclaw's eyes widened with horror as he stared up at Sean, who was now pinning him effortlessly to the floor. He couldn't comprehend how this human's physical strength could possibly overpower a werewolf, even in human form.
Ironclaw reached up desperately, trying to pry Sean's hand from his throat, trying to fight back. But in that moment, the hand gripping his neck tightened with inexorable force.
SNAP.
Ironclaw's neck broke cleanly. His outstretched arms fell limp and powerless, dropping uselessly to the dusty floor.
Having killed Ironclaw efficiently, Sean looked up sharply toward where Silverfang had been standing—only to see the second werewolf had already fled the Shrieking Shack entirely, disappearing into the darkness beyond.
Still gripping Ironclaw's corpse by the neck in one hand, Sean pursued Silverfang in the direction he had fled, moving with supernatural speed through the shadowed landscape.