Fenrir’s hunched silhouette flashed through the tangled, uneven forest and vanished into the black of the night.
Moody’s curses, hurled in a fury, burst through the trees in sprays of fire.
Showers of sparks sent roosting birds shrieking into the air, but not a single spell so much as grazed Fenrir’s shadow.
Moody snorted heavily.
His wand jerked up and down a few more times, more out of stubbornness than purpose, before he finally let his arm fall.
The werewolf was gone, and he knew it.
A short way behind him, Minerva had already dealt with Leon.
Fenrir had tossed the man aside like a disposable pawn.
Now Leon lay trussed in place by several thick, living vines.
It hardly mattered.
Leon was unconscious, well beyond feeling anything.
Moody angled his broom downward, landing beside Leon in a rough, impatient skid that sent dust spinning.
The chaos of the night had drained him, and Fenrir’s last-minute escape left a bitter edge of frustration.
“Fenrir escaped,” Moody growled, resentment and concern roughening his voice.
“That cruel beast won’t give up on revenge.
I’m afraid he’ll cause a lot of trouble in the future.”
Minerva let out the faintest sigh, the night wind tugging at the ends of her hair.
The strain of the night weighed on her as well.
“We were too blindly trusting in the prophecy,” she said quietly.
“We let it make us overlook how cunning these werewolves are.
What’s done is done.
Let’s go back and check on the Lupin family first.”
They mounted their broomsticks and flew Leon back to the Lupins’ garden.
The sight that greeted them was wretched.
The carefully tended flowers and shrubs were crushed into the mud, the fence had been smashed through in several places.
The once-cozy garden was ruined beyond recognition.
Only Harland remained, trussed up by Rober Jr.
and dumped alone in the middle of the yard like a discarded parcel.
Minerva drew in a breath at the scene, then flicked her wand.
Leon rose, weightless, and she set him gently down beside Harland.
The two unfortunate werewolves were reunited, side by side.
Inside the Lupin house, the air in the hall was taut and awkward.
Lyall Lupin sat on the sofa, his face set in a troubled, unreadable expression.
It was Hope who moved first.
Though she was a Muggle, she had already settled the newly awakened Remus beside his father and then disappeared into the kitchen.
She soon emerged with a tray of tea.
Under the wavering lamplight, her face was chalk-white, and the fingers gripping the tray trembled faintly.
The sheer possibility of the attack’s success had clearly shaken her to the core, but she forced herself to stay composed and offer thanks to those who had rushed to help in the middle of the night.
Minerva and Moody sat down beside Robert.
At once, Remus hurried to thank them, echoing his mother’s words as best he could.
Before Moody could reply, Hope was already pressing steaming cups of black tea into their hands.
Moody accepted his with no polite escape left to him, took a small sip, and then, after a brief pause, chose to cut through the heavy silence.
“The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad is already on its way,” he said.
“They’ll deal with what happened in the village.
The matter of the wizarding world being exposed will be handled properly.”
“These two captured werewolves will be sent to Azkaban to face the trial they deserve.”
He broke off for a moment, his voice turning thicker, more weighted.
“As for the Muggles who were attacked… the Ministry of Magic has procedures to deal with that as well.”
The seasoned auror forced his emotions back under control, but when he spoke of the innocent people injured or killed, his teeth closed hard on his lower lip all the same.
The rage burning in his chest was worse than usual, if only because every injury tonight could have been avoided.
The McGonagall siblings felt the same.
They couldn’t make themselves calmly face the deaths of innocent people, nor could they peacefully accept the Lupin family’s gratitude.
In the end, all they could do was maintain the illusion that they had “rushed over the moment they heard the news.”
That unspoken lie grew heavier with every grateful word from the Lupins.
Lyall Lupin, shaken and relieved to still be alive, thanked the three of them in a clumsy rush.
As a middle‑aged wizard who usually cared only about researching supernatural phenomena, Lyall had spent so little time among his own kind that he no longer knew how to handle his emotions in front of others.
So he only rubbed his hands together in embarrassment and stammered through his thanks.
Robert Jr.
was particularly ill at ease.
Every time Lyall’s gaze landed on him, every time he heard that earnest “thank you,” he saw, once again, that body lying in a pool of blood in the southern village.
Looking at young Remus—about the same age as Damien—the shared feeling of fatherhood, mixed with the guilt of not stopping the attack in time, pressed on his chest like a weight.
After hesitating several times, Robert Jr.
finally couldn’t keep silent.
When he spoke, his voice was drier and rougher than usual.
“Mr.
Lupin, Fenrir has escaped, and I’m afraid he won’t let this go.
Do you…
do you have anywhere you can go to avoid this guy?”
At that, Lyall’s eyes went bloodshot, his voice breaking.
“I will never forgive myself.
Just because I said those…
those words that everyone agreed with, I brought such a disaster upon my child.”
“If it weren’t for you, if your son hadn’t prophesied…
I simply dare not imagine…” He shook his head in agony, guilt toward his son crashing over him like a wave.
Robert Jr.
shifted in his seat, unable to find a comfortable position.
Moody’s reaction was more straightforward.
He suddenly stood up.
“The people from the Ministry of Magic should be arriving soon.
I need to go and hand over the situation to them.”
He was already striding toward the door before he finished speaking.
Lyall watched Moody’s back disappear, then turned, shoulders slumping, and said to Robert Jr.
in a dispirited tone,
“To tell you the truth, Mr.
McGonagall, I am the last wizard in our family.
Since graduating from Hogwarts, I’ve spent most of my time traveling.”
“Dealing with some…
well, paranormal events and Dark creatures, mostly helping Muggles resolve that sort of trouble.
So…”
He gave a twisted, bitter smile, sadness seeping into his words.
“I really don’t have many close friends in the wizarding world.”
Robert Jr.
fell silent.
He laced his fingers together; his knuckles went white with the force as he rubbed his hands together awkwardly.
The lion of Gryffindor did not lack the courage to stand up, but the weight of being a father made the words hard to force out.
After a long, quiet moment, Robert Jr.
let out a slow breath.
At last, he gathered his resolve and looked Lyall Lupin in the eye.
“Mr.
Lupin,” he said, his calm voice underpinned by a firm determination, “if you don’t mind the damp and cold climate of Scotland, you can bring your family to Ochertyel.
We live in seclusion there.”
“My brother Malcolm and my mother Isobel both live nearby, and they are also wizards.
In case…
in case Fenrir comes knocking again, we can look out for each other.”
At those words, Hope choked back a sob.
She covered her mouth with her hand as tears slipped silently down her face.
Lyall’s already drawn features twisted with deeper guilt.
He opened his mouth and muttered to Robert Jr.,
“Mr.
McGonagall, this…
this is too dangerous.
It’s also very dangerous for your family.”
His voice shook.
The Hufflepuff badger would never willingly put a friend in harm’s way.
“There’s nothing to worry about.
There are more of us; if we could drive him away once, we can drive him away a second time.”
Robert Jr.
spoke firmly to Lyall, eyes bright with a lion’s courage.
Lyall’s cheeks trembled.
He clutched Robert Jr.’s hands so tightly his knuckles went white, his voice shaking so badly it was barely understandable.
“Thank you, thank you…”
Robert Jr.
was uncomfortable with such raw emotion; he wasn’t used to scenes like this.
Eager to move on, he changed the subject in a hurry.
“Then let’s pack up as soon as possible.
As soon as it’s dawn, we’ll set off for Scotland together.”
Minerva sat quietly to one side, taking everything in.
She didn’t say a word, but everything that had happened tonight—along with Moody’s odd behavior—stirred fresh doubts in her mind about Dumbledore’s arrangements during this period.
For now, Minerva pushed those thoughts down.
All her questions would have to wait until she was back at Hogwarts, where she could raise them with Dumbledore slowly and in full.
By the dim light of early dawn, several trunks of different sizes were stacked at the cluttered yard entrance.
Each one, stretched with undetectable extension charms, held nearly all of Lyall and Hope’s belongings.
Leon and Harland, who had spent the night out in the yard, had already been taken away by the Aurors Moody had brought in early in the morning.
Both were werewolves now returned to human form, both dejected.
But where Harland was filled with fear and panic, Leon’s exhausted face carried a faint trace of relief.
That strange calm made the Aurors escorting him glance his way more than once.
In the distant village, several Ministry of Magic wizards were dealing with the aftermath of Harland’s attack.
With smooth, practiced wand movements, they rebuilt the blown-out farmhouse walls and mended the shattered fences, restoring them one by one.
A wizard wearing a monocle, his manner meticulous, murmured an incantation under his breath as he pointed his wand at the Muggle woman attacked the night before, slowly reshaping her memory of that horrific night.
His motions were so familiar they had become almost mechanical.
In times as chaotic as these, there was never any shortage of poor souls mauled by dark creatures.
As for the other frightened Muggle villagers, they were much easier to handle.
After a few soft incantations of “Obliviate,” they forgot the terror of the night entirely, convinced they had slept soundly in their beds until morning.
At last, the body of the man whose throat had been torn open was lifted gently into the air by magic.
Bloodstains vanished from his skin and clothes.
His shredded garments rewove themselves, neat and whole.
The fatal wound disappeared beneath a careful series of spells.
In moments, an unfortunate victim had been turned into a “lucky man” who had simply passed away peacefully in his sleep.
The power of magic could always smooth over these unspeakable tragedies until they looked almost reasonable.
Robert Jr.
stood not far away, brow furrowed, watching the clean-up with a heavy gaze.
He’d had a chance to stop all this.
But he had been a step too late.
Because of his negligence, an innocent man lay dead, and a tragedy that should never have happened had come to pass.
Silently, he swore that he would never allow anything like this to happen again.
He would protect that child himself.
He would face that damned werewolf head-on.
If that cunning Fenrir dared to strike again, he would be there at the very front, and he would not let any more innocents be harmed.
When the work was finished, the monocled wizard sent off an owl toward the Ministry of Magic.
Later, specialists there would liaise with Muggle authorities to arrange compensation for those who had “naturally” died in magical incidents.
Seeing that the Ministry’s follow-up work was nearly complete, Rober Jr.
turned and headed back toward the Lupin family’s house.
Lyall paced through the house, wand tapping lightly against his palm as he methodically erased every trace of their lives there—anything that might someday draw dark wizards to this place.
With each sweep of his wand, the house’s warmth was stripped away, the signs of life fading bit by bit, until it looked as though no one had ever called it home.
Beside Robert, the air gave a soft crackle, and Minerva appeared out of thin air.
The chill that accompanied her arrival made the boy at her side shiver.
She had spent most of the night at the Ministry of Magic, arguing and negotiating until the Portkey application was finally approved.
Only now could she hurry back with the newly fashioned Portkey in hand.
Hope stood gazing at the neat, elegant cottage, her eyes full of reluctance.
This was the home she and Lyall had dreamed up and designed together after they’d fallen in love.
Once, she had described every detail of her ideal home to him, and Lyall had turned those visions into reality with magic, bit by bit, in this quiet clearing in the forest.
And now this house—the vessel of their love and happiness—was about to be abandoned completely.
Her eyes stung at the thought.
She lowered her head to look at Remus, standing obediently and sensibly at her side.
Ever since the sudden attack the previous night, Remus had simply stayed close to his parents, never crying, never complaining.
A small comfort warmed Hope’s heart.
As long as her son—Remus—could grow up safely and healthily, without becoming some sort of strange monster, then, to a mother, nothing else mattered more.
Hope drew a deep breath, hugged Remus a little tighter, then turned to Lyall.
Her voice trembled as she spoke.
“Dear, it’s time for us to go.”
Lyall answered her quietly.
His wand traced one last arc through the air as his gaze swept over the home he had built with his own hands and magic, every corner once filled with his heart and soul.
He stepped slowly out of the house that had held six years of their lives, locked the door with a gentle click, and walked back to his wife’s side.
Minerva watched in silence as Lyall soothed Hope and straightened Remus’s collar.
The careful tenderness of that small gesture sent a faint ache through her chest.
She could have had such a warm family once—but the man she had given her heart to had long ago married someone else…
She lowered her eyes, hiding the tangle of emotion surging within her.
When the Lupins approached with their luggage, she schooled her features into calm neutrality and spoke evenly:
“Mr.
Lupin, the Portkey is ready.
We leave precisely at six o’clock.
It will take us straight to Scotland.
Is all your luggage packed?”
Lyall glanced at the three suitcases at his feet and sighed softly.
“Of course, everything is ready.”
Just as they were about to leave Tredigar, Alastor Moody came striding over.
“Mr.
Lupin,” Moody’s voice was harsh and gravelly, “after you leave, I’ll put a Concealment Charm on this place.
It might not do much against certain types, but it’ll still work somewhat against werewolves.
A few more obstacles can throw them off a bit—make things more stable for you down the line.”
Lyall bowed deeply to him.
“Mr.
Moody, I…
I don’t know how to put it into words.
I’m very grateful to all of you.
You saved my child…
and you saved me.”
Moody looked a little unsettled by the formality and only managed a brusque wave of his hand.
Minerva stepped in at just the right moment to smooth over his discomfort.
“Time’s nearly up.
Everyone, put a finger on the frisbee in my hand.”
At her words, they all crowded close, each person stretching out a finger to touch the Portkey—an old, nondescript frisbee resting in Minerva’s palm.
When the clock struck the hour, a powerful force yanked at their navels.
The world spun; the scenery blurred and vanished.
An icy wind slapped against their faces as the whirlwind stopped—they were already standing in the Scottish Highlands.
After Lyall and the others vanished, Moody turned back toward the Lupins’ old home, his face set and grim.
He lifted his wand and began layering one intricate concealment charm after another over the house, sealing it away from prying eyes.
It was the last thing he could do for the Lupin family.
Remus Lupin, not yet five years old, was experiencing Portkey travel for the first time.
The wild, yanking sensation left his stomach churning; it was anything but pleasant.
But when he finally staggered to his feet, blinking away the brief bout of dizziness, the sight that greeted him drove all discomfort from his mind.
Spread out before him was the vast, ice‑covered expanse of Lake Ochertyel, glittering under a stark, wintry sky.
He had never seen anything so grand in his short life.
The air that burned his lungs with cold carried a strange, invigorating purity.
He fell in love with this frozen, untamed wilderness almost at once.
He did not yet know that from the moment his small boots touched this land, the course of his life—once smothered in shadow—had quietly begun to bend toward a new path, one brimming with unknown possibilities.
This time, he would no longer need to hide.
He would no longer dread the full moon, nor run from the warmth and beauty of family.
Remus Lupin had been given a new life.