Chapter 100: The Council and a New Ally
Albus Dumbledore's smile, usually so warm, was strained as he greeted Moody and Sirius. The raw, agonized screams slicing through the gloom of 12 Grimmauld Place were impossible to ignore. They spoke of deep-seated fury and excruciating pain—the sounds of a torture session, not an interrogation.
He was startled to hear Lupin's name invoked in the torrent of abuse. Remus Lupin, whom he knew to be a man of profound gentleness and controlled pain, not a tormentor. Had he misjudged so badly?
"Headmaster," Sirius said quickly, setting his glass down with a clatter. "Let me stop him. We… we have a captive. A special one. Lupin has… history with him."
Sirius hurried off towards the source of the noise. Moody stumped closer to Dumbledore, his face grim.
"We've got Fenrir Greyback," Moody muttered, his voice low. "The werewolf leader. Death Eater. Black says he's the one who bit Lupin." He paused, his magical eye whirring as if trying to process the memory. "Wasn't us who caught him, though. It was the boy. Throne."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Elian captured Greyback?"
"Captured?" Moody gave a harsh, disbelieving bark of a laugh. "He massacred the rest of the pack. Twelve of them. Like they were practice dummies. Then he plucked Greyback out of the sky like a snitch and handed him to us as a thank you for guarding the Lovegoods. Never seen anything like it. That magic of his… it's not duelling. It's… butchery. Efficient. Terrifying. Merlin's beard, Albus, he's sixteen."
Twelve. The number echoed in Dumbledore's mind. He had known Elian was powerful, an anomaly. The Hogsmeade incident had proven his lethal capability. But this… this was a scale that shifted the board. A single wizard, not yet of age, taking on a pack of armed, magically-capable werewolves and emerging not just victorious, but dominant. It spoke of a power curve that was not just steep, but vertical. Where was the ceiling?
Before he could formulate a question, the screaming stopped. A moment later, Remus Lupin emerged from a side room. He looked pale, drained, but there was a new, grim lightness in his posture, as if a terrible weight had been partially lifted. He met Dumbledore's gaze without flinching.
"Headmaster. Greyback is alive. For now. You'll understand, I hope, that my restraint was… tested."
Dumbledore looked into Lupin's weary eyes and saw decades of monthly agony and social exile. He said nothing, merely placing a hand on Lupin's shoulder—a gesture of understanding, not condemnation.
He pushed the door open a crack. The metallic stench of blood was thick. In the flickering candlelight, he saw the ruin of Fenrir Greyback, armless and chained in a pool of his own gore, barely breathing. Dumbledore closed the door softly. The man was a monster, but the sight was no less pitiable.
Turning to the others, his voice was calm but carried the weight of command. "Summon the Order. A full council. And send for Severus. We must ascertain if Legilimency can extract anything of value from our… guest before he expires."
Lupin and Sirius nodded, moving to carry out his orders. Dumbledore knew the likelihood of Greyback holding crucial secrets was slim. Voldemort viewed his werewolf followers as useful beasts, not confidants. Severus would undoubtedly know more. But one did not ignore any potential source of intelligence, however tainted.
As he made his way to the drawing-room to wait, a profound weariness settled over him. The war was escalating faster than he had feared. The Ministry's blindness, the Azkaban breakout, and now this—a display of raw power from a new player that changed every calculation.
He sank into a worn armchair. The next step was clear. The Order needed to know about Elian Throne, not as a mysterious student, but as the potent, unpredictable ally—or potential variable—he had proven himself to be. They needed to understand that a new kind of magic walked among them, and that the boy who wielded it had just single-handedly crippled a significant portion of Voldemort's fringe forces. Introducing him would be delicate. Some, like Moody, were already wary. Others would be fearful. But they could no longer afford to operate in ignorance.
The battle lines were being redrawn, not just between light and dark, but around a new, brilliant, and terrifying point of power. His name was Elian Throne, and he was no longer just Dumbledore's concern. He was the Order's business.
(End of Chapter)
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