Chapter 94: The Captured Alpha
Fenrir Greyback watched the lone figure standing amidst the carnage, and a tremor began deep in his core, shaking its way to the surface until his very legs quivered. The fear was no longer just an emotion; it was a physical poison in his veins.
How? His mind screamed, refusing to process the scene. Eleven of his strongest, most vicious wolves. Eleven wizards, cursed or not. Slaughtered in less than a minute by a boy who didn't even use a wand. That golden-red circle… it ate magic. It defied everything.
In a sudden, chilling moment of clarity, he understood why the Dark Lord was obsessed. This wasn't a new prophecy child; this was a natural disaster in human form.
Run. The instinct for survival, stronger than any loyalty or pride, screamed in his head. If he failed, the Dark Lord might punish him. If he stayed, Throne would kill him.
He didn't dare Apparate. The trace, the risk of leading the enemy back to Malfoy Manor… it was unthinkable. He saw the figures in the doorway—Black, Lupin, Moody. The Order. Apparition was a signature, a trail he couldn't leave.
Instead, he focused, drawing on the dark, twisted flight magic the Dark Lord had taught his inner circle. His body dissolved into a plume of thick, oily black smoke that erupted from the forest floor, coiling upward into the night sky, aiming for the distant tree line.
He thought he was unseen, a shadow among shadows.
"Fenrir Greyback," a voice called, calm and carrying, freezing the blood in his smoky veins. "Do you truly believe you can outrun me?"
Greyback's form stuttered in the air. He looked down.
Elian Throne was looking directly at him, a small, cold smile on his face. Then, the boy moved.
It wasn't flight as Greyback understood it. It was a sudden, terrifying launch, like a human arrow shot from a bow. There was no smoke, no drama—just impossible acceleration. In the blink of an eye, Elian was there, intersecting the path of the fleeing smoke.
A hand, wreathed in the fading afterglow of a Raggador ring, reached into the dark cloud.
There was a sickening crunch, the sound of major bones shattering, and a scream that was entirely, horribly human tore from the smoke.
The dark plume dissipated, unraveling. Two figures became distinct in the moonlight—Elian, hovering effortlessly, and Fenrir Greyback, held aloft by his ruined arms. Both of the werewolf's arms hung at grotesque, unnatural angles, bone protruding through skin and robe. Blood pattered down onto the snow below.
Elian gave the whimpering, broken figure a casual look of disdain, then descended, gliding back to the clearing before the Lovegood house. He dropped Greyback unceremoniously at Mad-Eye Moody's feet. The werewolf leader hit the ground with a thud and a fresh shriek of agony.
"I believe this one may be of use to you," Elian said, his tone disturbingly light, as if handing over a mildly interesting book. "He's disarmed, quite literally. Won't be dying from this. Consider him a token of my thanks for your protection of Luna and Mr. Lovegood."
He brushed a speck of imaginary dust from his cloak, the picture of nonchalance amidst the gore and the groans of his captive.
Inside the doorway, the tableau of shock shattered into frantic action.
Remus Lupin's face, pale and strained a moment before, contorted into pure, undiluted hatred. He saw the creature that had doomed him to a life of monthly agony and social exile lying broken at his feet. His wand was in his hand, trembling with the force of his rage.
"Lupin, NO!" Mad-Eye Moody roared, his own wand coming up, not at Greyback, but at Lupin. "Stand down! He's a prisoner! He has intelligence!"
Sirius Black moved instantly, positioning himself bodily between Moody and his friend. "Moody, you know what this animal did to him!" Sirius snarled, his own anger a cold fire. "You know!"
"I know he's a Death Eater who knows where the snake is hiding!" Moody shot back, trying to shove past Sirius. "This isn't about vengeance, Black, it's about the war!"
Sirius didn't budge. He stood like a rock, his eyes locked on Moody's, his body a shield for Lupin's moment of reckoning. Whatever Remus decided, Sirius would back him, consequences be damned.
Elian watched the standoff impassively. His part was done. He'd delivered the prize. What the Order did with it was their business.
Xenophilius Lovegood stared, dumbfounded, from the broken werewolf to the arguing wizards to the calm, blood-spattered boy. His Christmas had veered into a surreal nightmare.
Luna, however, only had eyes for Elian. She scanned him anxiously, her silvery gaze checking for injuries. Finding none—only tousled hair and muddy trousers—she met his eyes and gave a small, relieved nod. He returned it with a faint, reassuring smile.
"LUPIN! DON'T YOU DARE!" Moody bellowed, his voice cracking with urgency.
It was too late. Lupin's face was a mask of decades-old pain and fury. His wand, pointed directly at the writhing Fenrir Greyback, began to glow with a malignant, dark purple light. The curse was already forming on his lips, a spell of pure, personal vengeance.
The air crackled with impending violence, a different kind than the one that had just ended outside.
(End of Chapter)
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