At dinner time, the attic was filled with the sizzling sound of roasting fat and the rich aroma of meat.
Two long tables had been pushed together, and over twenty people sat around them, the meat on their plates piled high like small mountains.
Today’s main course was Erumpent ribs.
The meat from the two calves Alvin had processed earlier had been marinated in spices by Vivienne.
Now, it was roasted until the outside was charred and the inside tender, the meat falling off the bone at the slightest tug.
A newly arrived young werewolf stared at the rib on his plate—which was larger than his own face—his Adam’s apple bobbing, yet he didn’t dare pick up his fork.
“…Merlin, is…
is this the legendary Erumpent meat?
I can’t believe it!
I heard that wealthy Pure-blood lords only serve this at their grandest banquets…”
The old werewolf sitting next to him picked up a piece of meat and stuffed it into his mouth in one go.
“Little brother, just eat.
You only say that because you got here late.
If you’d arrived this morning, you’d have had whole roasted sheep with smoked chicken, and meat pies for lunch.”
The young werewolf listened, cut a small piece of meat, and placed it carefully in his mouth.
A second later, the speed of his chewing grew faster and faster until he was practically bolting his food.
“Slow down, kid.
No one’s going to steal it from you.”
“Wuuu…
In my whole life…
no, my whole family combined…
wuuu…
we’ve never had such a magnificent meal.” The werewolf wept as he ate.
Sharpclaw sat across from him, a pile of bones already sitting in front of him.
He was currently using a rib bone to pick his teeth.
“Heh, you’re right about that, kid.
This meal is indeed something we couldn’t even dream of before.”
He raised his voice slightly.
“So, you all better remember this clearly.” Sharpclaw’s gaze swept over the newcomers.
“This meat, this food, this roof that shields us from the wind and rain and even has a damn Silencing Charm on it—who gave it to us?”
“The Gold Boss gave it to us,” Greyback muttered in response.
“Right!
The Gold Boss!
A…
a handsome young man who fished us out of the gutter, gave us money we might not see in a lifetime, gave us food, gave us work, and doesn’t look at us like we’re monsters.
We have to remember this kindness!”
The old werewolf stopped chewing and nodded heavily.
“Sharpclaw is right!
From now on, our lives belong to the Boss!”
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“To the Boss!”
Everyone raised their ribs and echoed loudly.
The atmosphere grew heated.
New and old members began to brag to each other, debating which piece of meat was fattier and complaining that the training intensity wasn’t high enough.
Even Tom, usually the most silent, had a trace of a smile on his face.
Watching this scene, Sharpclaw felt a bit proud, yet a bit sentimental.
He was proud that the team was starting to look like something real; he was sentimental because he remembered his own days scavanging for moldy bread in the trash heaps of Knockturn Alley.
Just as everyone had finished eating and was patting their distended bellies, Vivienne appeared with a massive roasting tray.
“Come on, freshly roasted Augurey legs, marinated with garlic and rosemary…” she called out warmly.
The table went instantly silent.
Everyone stared at the tray of glistening bird legs with complex expressions.
“Um…
Sister Vivienne,” the young werewolf said, rubbing his round stomach.
“I really…
really can’t eat anymore…”
“Yeah, I’m full up to my throat,” the old werewolf said with a wry smile.
“This meat is great, but no matter how good it is, I can’t shove it in.”
“Maybe save it for tomorrow?” someone suggested.
Vivienne let out a helpless sigh.
“It can’t wait until tomorrow.” She pointed to several bulging Undetectable Extension Bags piled in the corner.
“The kitchen still has half a side of Rock-skinned Boar, two buckets of processed Plimpies, and a whole crate of smoked fish.
If we don’t eat it soon, it won’t be fresh by tomorrow.”
She looked at the table full of stuffed people and sighed again.
“Honestly, can’t you all work a bit harder?
The Boss processes too many ‘ingredients’ every day.
No matter how much I vary the recipes, I can’t keep up with the speed he buys them.
The extra Undetectable Extension Bags are all being used for storage now, and some of the meat will spoil if it’s left too long…”
The table was pin-drop silent.
The new werewolves looked at each other; it was the first time they had ever worried because “there was too much meat to finish.”
Ultimately, they decided to do extra training tonight.
Train hard, eat hard.
***
Alvin didn’t eat dinner—or rather, he was currently “eating.” Since the day before yesterday, his dinner consisted only of potions.
As he was chugging his two hundred and thirtieth Mana Replenishment Potion of the day, Ear rushed upstairs.
“Boss, urgent intelligence.”
Alvin swallowed the potion and tossed the empty bottle into the “mountain of glass.” “Speak.”
“Those seven hunters from the Rozier family entered Knockturn Alley this evening.”
Alvin’s gaze darkened.
“They’re offering a high price on the black market for information on an ‘eleven-year-old, black-haired boy.’ A hundred Galleons per tip.”
Ear watched Alvin’s expression.
“What do they look like?
Did anyone recognize them?”
“Kyle recognized one when he passed by.”
“Tell Kyle to come up.” As Ear was about to leave, Alvin added, “Bring Sharpclaw and Remus as well.”
“Yes, Mr.
Royce.”
Three minutes later, the four of them stood before Alvin.
“I saw one of them this evening.
A man named Erik ‘Razor.’ He was a Death Eater.
After the Dark Lord fell, he wasn’t sent to Azkaban; word is he traded information for immunity.
He’s an expert in Tracking Charms and Dark Arts, especially the Cruciatus Curse,” Kyle reported.
Ear added, “Boss, the Rozier family is playing for keeps this time.”
Alvin said nothing.
He walked to the window, looking at the recruits training in the courtyard.
Right now, he had twenty-one men under him.
On the other side were seven professional hunters.
“Boss, should we move to avoid them?
Change locations, or—” Lupin couldn’t help but speak.
“No.
Tonight, we are going to launch a proactive hunt,” Alvin interrupted.
Everyone in the room was stunned.
“But they’re professionals…”
“Which is why we must strike first.
If we wait for them to figure out our situation, it’ll be too late.”
Sharpclaw didn’t care who the opponents were.
“Whatever the Gold Boss says, that’s what we do.
Whoever he says to hit, we hit.” He grinned.
“Besides, there’s twenty of us against seven.
How do we lose?”
Lupin and Ear exchanged a look but didn’t speak.
Alvin turned around to face the four of them.
“Ear, keep a close eye on their movements.
Kyle, Sharpclaw, let your men rest for a bit and check their equipment.
In one hour, assemble on the first floor.”
“Yes!” the three replied before turning to leave.
Once they were gone, Lupin said, “Boss, killing the Rozier family’s hunters is equivalent to a formal declaration of war.
Kaspar won’t let this go.”
“Are you certain you want to do this?”
Alvin looked at him.
“Remus, from the day I ran away from that ‘home,’ the war had already begun.”
“I’ve simply chosen to fire the first shot.”