Douglas spoke softly.
"You didn't shatter anything, Lupin."
"You just completed an exorcism decades overdue."
His voice was steady and warm. Like a campfire.
"You didn't exorcise Greyback the person. You exorcised the demon he planted in your soul—the one called 'curse.'"
"You cut down a banner."
Lupin raised his head. Looked at him, confused.
"Fenrir Greyback was the banner where all Britain's hateful, mad werewolves gathered. He gave their savagery a name. A reason."
Lupin froze.
"Now that banner has fallen."
Douglas's voice carried cold logic.
"His followers are leaderless. Britain's entire werewolf community is now a massive power vacuum."
"There'll be chaos. Infighting. A dozen weak but equally cruel Greybacks trying to seize his throne."
"And those he oppressed, enslaved—they'll lift their heads for the first time. Think about one question: without Greyback, where do they go?"
He stopped. Looked at Lupin intently.
"This is your chance. No—our chance."
Lupin's heart jumped.
He remembered that man in Knockturn Alley's depths. Supporting a shabby shelter with cheap stew and herbs.
"Marcus..." He spoke the name unconsciously.
"Exactly. Marcus Belby." Douglas's lips finally showed genuine amusement. "A Hufflepuff. A true leader who understands unity and sharing—not ruling through fear and violence."
"Greyback brought werewolves more hatred and discrimination through killing."
"You can bring them a new future through order and dignity."
Douglas stood. Patted Lupin's shoulder.
The gesture wasn't heavy. Yet seemed to place new responsibility on him.
"Your battle just began, Professor Lupin."
"Your past died in this valley."
"Now stand up. Become their shepherd."
Shepherd.
The word echoed in Lupin's heart.
He looked at the cold corpse on the ground. Then at his own scarred body.
That suffocating emptiness was quietly receding.
Replaced by something heavy yet helping him find his breathing rhythm again... a sense of mission.
He was no longer just a victim. A revenge-seeker.
He could become... a builder.
Lupin picked up his wand. Washed the blood from his face.
On the ground, the mirror-like water reflected eyes no longer confused or pained. Only steel-hard determination remained.
"What should I do?"
"Write a letter," Douglas said concisely. "Tell Marcus that Fenrir Greyback and his most loyal hyenas stayed in the Apennines forever."
"Tell him the pack needs a new leader."
"Not a tyrant like Greyback. A shepherd."
"Someone who truly understands their pain. Someone who conquered that pain. Someone who can prove to them that the beast inside us can be mastered—not just released."
Lupin's heart trembled.
Like a spark thrown into those empty ashes.
He looked at his hands.
These blood-stained hands that just ended a life.
They were no longer just tools of revenge.
They could perhaps become... tools for building new order.
A responsibility so heavy he could barely breathe began filling that emptiness.
Not for himself.
For saving more people. So they wouldn't repeat his cursed, painful fate.
Lupin slowly straightened his spine.
His wounds still bled. Every muscle screamed exhaustion.
But light rekindled in his eyes.
No longer the gentle Professor Lupin's light. Not the avenger's light either.
A leader's light. Calm and resolute.
Italian Ministry of Magic
On the animated map in Lorenzo's office, the dark red dot representing Fenrir Greyback abruptly extinguished.
Like snuffed out by an invisible hand.
Lorenzo's lips curved with satisfaction.
He picked up a quill. Wrote rapidly on fresh parchment.
Rolled the parchment. Tied it to an ordinary-looking gray owl's leg.
"Go." He said softly. "Deliver this to the Daily Prophet's Rome correspondent. Right now, I think my friend very much needs this news spread."
Vatican
The windowless prayer room.
The old man in cardinal's robes watched the silver basin's water surface.
It reflected Douglas coldly eliminating Greyback's remnants with killing curses.
Green light flickered. Like serpent eyes.
He slowly turned. Faced deeper darkness behind him.
"Go. Don't wait!"
A voice responded from darkness: "Your will be done. The heretics' carnival shall end in holy fire."
The Valley
Douglas's gaze shifted from Lupin to Valerius.
"Valerius."
Douglas's voice was calm.
"Professor."
Valerius immediately bowed. Posture impeccable.
"Make him a coffin."
Douglas pointed at Greyback's corpse on the ground.
"Make a coffin. Just big enough to fit him."
He asked no more questions. Turned and dove into work.
For him, this was no longer handling a beast's corpse. It was completing another assignment Douglas gave to test his craft.
Douglas watched his busy figure. Looked at those charred craters. Finally levitated Greyback's corpse with magic. Waiting for the coffin's completion.
This corpse would be a letter to the British Ministry of Magic.
A letter written in corpse—announcing the werewolf world's old era had ended.
Just then—
A strange sensation—like a cold needle—pierced everyone's nerve endings in the valley.
The air thickened.
Wind stopped. Bird calls vanished. Even insect chirping cut off abruptly.
A scent mixing church incense with hospital disinfectant's pungent holiness appeared from nowhere. Suffocating.
The Ashen Claw werewolves released uneasy growls. Their bodies instinctively sensed threat. Hair stood on end.
Valerius released a pained hiss. Blood vessels beneath his skin seemed ignited. Abnormal flush rose on his pale face.
Pure, destructive power—targeting their very existence.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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