9 August 1967

𝙶𝙾𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙿 𝙲𝙾𝙻𝚄𝙼𝙽

WEREWOLVES AT OUR DOORSTEP: IS MAGICAL BRITAIN UNDER SIEGE?

By the Daily Prophet’s Gossip Correspondent, Tabitha Tattleton

It began with a bite. A single night, a single lapse in security, and Britain found itself with its first publicly known werewolf child. Two years ago, young Remus Lupin was dragged beneath the full moon’s cold light and marked forever, cursed to live his life under the grip of lycanthropy. It was a tragedy, they called it. An accident. A horrific twist of fate. But was it?

For over two years, the wizarding world has been told that Lupin is a victim, an innocent child who deserves sympathy, protection, even so-called “equality.” The activists write their letters, the sentimentalists wring their hands, and now there are those who whisper that perhaps it is time we see werewolves not as threats, but as misunderstood members of our society.

There are even some who push for legislation to allow lycanthropes to walk among us freely, to study beside our children, to hold positions of power, to teach magic in our schools, to take jobs that would place them in direct contact with unsuspecting witches and wizards. They argue that werewolves are not monsters, merely victims of unfortunate circumstance, and that their monthly transformations should not bar them from full participation in our society.

But not everyone is so blind to reality.

“No one is suggesting cruelty, but let us not be naïve. A werewolf is a werewolf. No matter how politely they dress it up,” one well-respected member of the Wizengamot told this reporter.

Others speak even more plainly. “We do not let dragons nest in our homes and hope for the best,” an esteemed business magnate observed over tea just yesterday. “So why should we pretend werewolves pose no threat?”

He is not alone in his concerns. Several influential figures, speaking to this reporter under conditions of anonymity, have voiced similar fears. One particularly well-respected member of an influential magical family put it bluntly: “We cannot afford to prioritise sentimentality over safety. What happened to that boy, Remus Lupin, was tragic, but we must ask ourselves—how many tragedies are we willing to risk?”

And yet, through all of this, one voice has remained suspiciously silent.

The public debates rage, the Ministry scrambles to act, and respectable voices speak out in warning—but the Lupins? Nothing. No reassurances. No apologies. No attempts to show the world that their son is just another unfortunate soul caught in a cruel twist of fate.

Not once has young Remus Lupin himself been seen in public since his condition was made known. Not once has his family spoken to ease the concerns of the wizarding world. No carefully controlled interview, no Ministry-monitored statement, not even a photograph to prove that he is, as they claim, just a boy.

Instead, they have vanished.

For an unsettling length of time, the Lupins were practically untraceable. A family once easily found within Ministry directories, now scrubbed from public records, their whereabouts obscured beneath layers of enchantments. Suspicious, is it not? That a man once recognised across the wizarding world as a leading expert on Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions—frequently consulted by the Ministry itself—should suddenly feel the need to disappear without explanation?

And yet, even the most carefully woven deceptions cannot hide the truth from determined investigative journalism. Through my own relentless efforts—efforts that, I might add, certain Ministry officials have clearly failed to match—I have uncovered what they seemingly cannot, or will not, admit.

The Lupins have abandoned their former home entirely, relocating to an undisclosed property deep in the countryside, concealed behind extensive protective enchantments. When I arrived to confirm my findings, I was met not with answers, nor a simple refusal, but an attack—a charm so violent that I was thrown backwards, left bruised and winded upon the hard ground.

A bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say, for a family that claims to have nothing to hide?

The silence surrounding young Lupin’s condition is deeply troubling. It is well documented that a werewolf’s first transformation is the most violent, the most uncontrolled, the one that determines whether they will be a danger to themselves and others for the rest of their lives. And yet, there are no records of Lupin’s first transformation. No official documentation of how he was contained. No Healers who will speak of the night he first turned.

The Ministry surely knows.

The Lupins know.

Yet, no one will say a word.

But while Britain has been distracted by its naive sentimentality, by its desperate attempt to cling to the belief that werewolves can be controlled, something else has been stirring in the darkness. Because just as one werewolf child was paraded before us, another name—one far more infamous—was suddenly erased from the world.

Fenrir Greyback.

For years, he was Britain’s greatest monster, a werewolf who did not just attack children but actively sought to recruit them into his ranks, to build a future where werewolves were no longer outcasts, but rulers. Greyback was feared, despised, hunted. The Ministry swore that he was their highest priority. And yet, when he finally fell, there was no grand capture. No trial. No public display of justice.

One day, Fenrir Greyback was simply dead.

The Ministry will not say how.

They will not say who was responsible.

They will not explain why one of Britain’s most dangerous creatures was allowed to be silenced without consequence.

But his followers have not forgotten.

Greyback’s most devoted werewolves believe he was assassinated—not by Aurors, but by witches and wizards who feared what he was building. They believe their leader was taken from them. And now, some whisper that they are preparing to take something in return.

There are murmurs of werewolves slipping into the wilderness, abandoning all pretense of magical society. Others believe that some have remained among us, hidden in plain sight, waiting for their moment to rise. Some seek revenge. Others seek something far more dangerous—legitimacy.

A world where werewolves do not hide, but rule.

And that brings us back to the boy.

Remus Lupin was bitten at exactly the age Greyback would have wanted. He has been kept from the public eye. His family has gone to extreme lengths to keep him from scrutiny. And in doing so, they have allowed the worst kind of speculation to take root.

Because let us not forget, dear readers—werewolves do not bite their own.

What, then, was the true purpose of the attack on young Lupin?

Did he escape the fate of becoming one of Greyback’s recruits? Or was he always meant to be one?

It is a disturbing question, and one that the Lupins refuse to answer.

Meanwhile, the Ministry’s Full Moon Safety Act—a simple, logical proposal to ensure public safety by requiring all registered werewolves to report to containment zones during full moons—has been met with shocking resistance. There are those who call it an injustice. They claim that werewolves should be treated with “compassion.”

Among its loudest critics?

Albus Dumbledore.

In a public statement, the new Hogwarts Headmaster denounced the act, calling it “a dangerous overreach.” It would be fascinating to know whether Dumbledore would feel quite so strongly had he ever found a werewolf standing in his bedchamber.

Attempts to secure an interview with the man were met with complete refusal. A visit to Hogwarts was denied, and multiple owls sent to his office were returned unopened, one accompanied by a single lemon drop wrapped in parchment. A joke? A dismissal? Or perhaps, an admission that even Dumbledore knows he cannot justify his position.

The Ministry, at least, is beginning to take this crisis seriously. The Werewolf Capture Unit has been expanded, new containment measures are being introduced, and officials are beginning to ask the difficult questions.

The ones that should have been asked the moment Remus Lupin’s name first appeared in the Prophet.

Would a boy with nothing to hide refuse to be seen in public?

Would a family with no guilt shut themselves away from the world?

Would a child with no future among werewolves be so desperately protected from scrutiny?

Britain has spent two years pretending that Remus Lupin is a tragedy.

But perhaps it is time to consider another possibility.

Perhaps he is not a child we should pity.

Perhaps he is a child we should fear.

The next full moon is coming.

And Britain isn’t ready.