As time passed, Greyback grew impatient.
Rage consumed his reason.
He couldn't understand.
Couldn't understand why this mongrel—his toy, his pet—could endure so much damage.
Why his will remained unbreakable. Like red-hot steel.
"ROAR!"
Greyback released a roar of total impatience. Abandoned all caution.
He poured all his strength into the next lunge. Like a black cannonball. To crush Lupin completely.
An opening.
Cold light flashed in Lupin's eyes.
The instant Greyback lunged, Lupin's mind flashed through countless full moons torn by pain.
Flashed through friends' eyes—that complex mix of fear and pity.
Flashed through himself curled in dark corners. Decades of self-loathing. Endless struggle.
All the pain. All the humiliation. In this moment, became fuel for his crumbling body.
He wasn't just fighting Greyback.
He was fighting his past self. The weak one trapped by curse his entire life.
He didn't dodge.
Instead charged into that stinking wind. Nearly self-destructive. Crashed into Greyback's embrace.
Greyback rejoiced.
He instantly tackled this fool to the ground.
Dust flew.
He pinned Lupin's chest with his knee. Opened jaws that could crush bone. Aimed at Lupin's vulnerable throat.
His favorite way to finish prey.
He'd savor it slowly. Enjoy the beautiful symphony of throat bones shattering.
The Ashen Claw werewolves cried out in despair.
Marco nearly lost control. Almost charged from the mine.
Yet Douglas stood there calmly. Watched Lupin pinned beneath. Made no move.
Like watching a gladiator match whose outcome he already knew.
The instant Greyback's drool-soaked fangs were about to pierce skin—
All pain and struggle vanished from Lupin's eyes.
Only absolute cold remained. Like Siberian permafrost.
He didn't push away the massive weight.
Instead used every ounce of strength. His legs locked around Greyback's waist like pythons.
Simultaneously, his hands—like red-hot iron clamps—shot up from below. Gripped Greyback's jaw.
Greyback froze.
He'd never imagined prey abandoning all defense at death's door.
Those cold eyes flashed with cruel amusement he'd never seen.
Lupin channeled a lifetime of hatred. A lifetime of unwillingness. A lifetime of strength.
His waist exploded with force. His entire body like a spring compressed to its limit. Thrust upward violently!
At the same time, his hands gripping that jaw twisted in opposite directions with all his might—
TWIST!
CRACK!
A bone-snapping sound sharp enough to make souls tremble exploded through the silent valley.
That sound drowned everything else.
Greyback's movements froze instantly.
His violent, arrogant eyes widened in disbelief.
Then all light—like a punctured balloon—rapidly faded.
Finally turned to dead, blank gray-white.
Lupin released his grip.
Slowly crawled out from beneath Greyback's limp corpse.
Covered in blood. Couldn't tell whose anymore.
His chest heaved violently. Like a worn bellows. Gasping. Sucking cold mountain air into burning lungs.
The entire valley fell silent.
Every werewolf stared with awe, fear, and fanatic worship at that solitary, blood-soaked figure.
One legend ended.
Another began.
Vengeance achieved.
Yet Lupin's face showed no trace of victory's joy.
Only boundless emptiness after a long nightmare finally ended.
He looked at Greyback's corpse on the ground. Like seeing his own cursed, pain-filled past.
That shadow—he'd buried it with his own hands. Forever. In this foreign land.
Douglas walked forward slowly.
He picked up the fallen wizard's robes. Dusted them off. Then gently draped them back over Lupin's shoulders.
"Welcome back, Professor Lupin."
He said calmly.
Lupin raised his head. Looked at Douglas. Eyes impossibly complex.
He'd won.
But he knew clearly—he could never go back.
He was no longer that gentle, kind Remus Lupin who always carried a trace of melancholy.
Valley wind carried away the last dull echo of shattered bone.
Bloody smell stuck in throats. Salty. Bitter. Tasting of rust and rotten mud.
Douglas's gaze shifted from Lupin to Greyback's dozen followers.
They huddled together. Bodies shaking like sieves. Sweat soaked their ragged clothes. Greasy against skin.
The instant Douglas raised his wand, a lead werewolf—face still smeared with blood—collapsed to his knees.
"Wait! Don't kill us! We're British!"
He shouted incoherently. Grasping at a last lifeline.
"We're like you—British! We were Hogwarts students too!"
Another werewolf snapped to awareness. Knelt down. Voice breaking into sobs.
"Yes! Before... before this damned curse! We were wizards! It was Greyback—he forced us!"
One who looked older even dared crawl forward two steps on his knees. Face squeezed into a smile uglier than crying.
"Holmes. Douglas Holmes, right? I'm Terry. Terry Boot. Hufflepuff! Your senior! Four years ahead of you. I ate your pastries once. Don't you remember? For Hogwarts' sake, for Hufflepuff's sake..."
He spoke without stopping. Eyes mixing fear and pleading.
Douglas said nothing.
Hufflepuff.
That word stirred a trace of warmth in his cold thoughts.
He'd seen too many who took wrong paths.
Slytherin ambition. Gryffindor impulse. Ravenclaw pride. All could push people toward the abyss.
But Hufflepuff... they were different.
A true Hufflepuff, even backed into a corner, still held that loyalty and fairness in their bones.
Their tenacity might twist into obsessive revenge, but they wouldn't find pleasure in tormenting the weak.
And this person before him...
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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