Prologue
January 29th, 1965
The shuffling footsteps of tired workers bounce off the marble walls. Men in black robes and gelled hair find their seat, as the smell of wearing off cologne spreads through the worn room. Cygnus Black scrunched his nose in disgust.
Even though the Black family was very well regarded in the Ministry, they despised the tireless procedures. A family of their status definitely wasn’t fit for a crowded room filled with filthy half-bloods.
“Orion,” he nodded at his brother. Orion Black wore tight robes laced with silver, matching the white hairs streaking his thinning hair. “You should order some Sleekeazy’s, father would be appalled at the state of your hair.”
Cygnus couldn’t help but chuckle at his brother's beet red face as he muttered, “I would never order anything from a Potter.”
“Where is Druella nowadays? I haven’t seen her in awhile.” A voice purred from the side. Walburga had certainly inherited the Black family tongue. She did it much better than Orion did. If she were a man, he remembered thinking, as he first met the snappy woman at a function, our income would double. Perhaps even triple.
“Druella is out with the girls,” Cygnus lied.
“Girls,” Orion repeated, as if only to shove it in his face once more. Druella and he tried having a boy all those years ago. One who could lead and inherit the Black riches when the time came; to serve Cygnus the glory of having the last laugh. “Luckily, we don’t have any of those.”
But alas, after three girls, he thought it would be absurd to try for another. Not after Sirius, the golden boy, was born.
“Our Sirius just turned five,” Walburga bragged, a large, catlike smile on her face. Walburga was very beautiful. Her plump figure was of many curves and her hair had thick black locks. “He was very happy with his new piano. Regulus was so excited that we decided to teach him early, too.”
“Regulus. The sick child.” he scoffed. “I’m surprised you could even teach the boy to play piano at all.”
“He isn’t sick,” Walburga snapped. “Regulus has his difficulties, but I can assure you he can play the piano with more skill than I’ve ever seen in a boy his age.”
Cygnus snorted. “I’m looking forward to watching that.”
Before Walburga could say a word in her defence, the ancient bell rang. Its sound boomed across the room, signifying the beginning of what was to probably be a lengthy trial.
“The Wizengamot is now in session!” the man declared, banging a loud gavel atop the old oak. “Lyall Lupin, rise.”
A quiet chatter broke out amongst the people of the Ministry, but Cygnus sighed, telling that the man taking the stand wasn’t part of the sacred twenty eight. The man was of broad shoulders and muscular hands. He knew those types of men; half-bloods, strong, of no manners, and definitely not the type of people worth hosting a trial for.
Despite this, the man stood tall before the noblemen. Cygnus didn’t know if that meant he was very brave or very foolish.
“I am Lyall Lupin, head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and the monster in this cage deserves to die.”
Looking down at the cage below him, he understood why the chatter was so loud as the defendant had been introduced. Although Cygnus didn’t recognize the Lupin man, he sure did recognize the man in the cage behind him.
The man was of white hair and proper dress robes, and he certainly didn’t look to be a monster. But if Cygnus knew one thing for sure, Fenrir Greyback was absolutely, without a doubt, the most monstrous half-breed he’d ever encountered.
From the way he stood beside the Dark Lord, his head up, confident with the knowledge that he could kill or hunt anyone in that room and that he had the darkest powers backing him if he decided to do so.
“Do not let his innocent appearance fool you,” Lyall boomed. “Do not be fooled by this innocent picture of a man like so many have before you.”
“This is boorish,” he heard Walburga whisper to Orion through the chatter.
But he shot her down, seeming to actually take interest in the low-life man standing before them. Or perhaps he just wanted to stay out of Henry Potter’s ear-shot. He’d always been afraid of the man. Always cowering before his muscular, quidditch-built figure. Cygnus suppressed a chuckle just thinking about it.
“This beast isn’t a man like you or me, he’s a wolf. He is a monster. And you know what monsters are?” he asked, pointing at the man—or wolf— with an accusing finger. “They’re soulless, evil, and deserving nothing but death.”
He paused, as if for dramatic effect before resuming. “No matter how they look, where they’re from, or who they’re pretending to be, they are always monsters. No matter what they’ve done, they’re still the same beasts that tear apart families. The same beasts who long for the taste of blood, and strive for the death of every man in this room.”
The Minister squinted at the man in the cage, as if trying to imagine this serene man as the same beast that kills people every month. The man sat silent in the corner as the Minister assessed him; no signs of the monster hiding inside him, except for those green eyes. Those terrifying green eyes.
Cygnus wasn’t afraid of many things, but those green eyes would never cease to haunt his dreams.
Maybe the Minister couldn’t see it, but Cygnus could. Especially from the front row. The man’s eyes shone with that spark of malice in his eyes. He seemed serene, but a small spark—perhaps even indistinguishable to the human eye—shone through them. Maybe it's only something one could see after witnessing those gore-hungry eyes as blood dribbled down his cheeks.
“Mr. Lupin, you’re accusing this man of being a werewolf? I hope you know that is a very serious accusation.”
“Yes,” he said without a moment's hesitation. “I know how severe this situation is and how monstrous this beast is because I’ve been in the room while these things have happened. This man is evil. These monsters are evil.”
“Mr. Greyback? Do you have a defence?” the minister questioned, rubbing his grey beard.
The man stood from within his cage. “I have served wizard kind my whole life. I have never refused an officer, I don’t hesitate to donate to the corporation when our kind is in need, and I have never broken any rule, let alone,” he swallows. “Killed someone.”
He says the words as if the mere thought disgusts him. As if the mere thought of a corpse at his hands brings him fear.
Merlin, if he were the Minister, even Cygnus would believe the man.
“Very well,” the minister said with a sigh. “All in favour of keeping Fenrir Greyback in the cage until the full moon, must raise their hand.”
The vote was simply a formality. The moment the Minister’s wrinkled hand stayed motionless, most of the room didn’t dare raise their hand.
Only the Potters and a few others raised their hands. Cygnus doesn’t dare do the same. As much as he would have liked to see the smug smirk wipe off the beast’s face, a half-breed wasn’t worth disobeying the Dark Lord.
Who cares about a beast as long as the Black family stays pure and their blood stays untarnished with werewolf blood?
The gavel banged on the oak table once again. The trial has ended, and everyone begins to leave their seats.
“I’ve seen him kill with my own eyes!” Lyall pleaded, looking into the eyes of the Minister. After the Minister shook his head, the man scanned the crowd, as if he was looking for something. But as Cygnus followed his gaze, it had become very clear what—or who— he was looking for. He cursed himself for not guessing earlier.
“Dumbledore! Please!” Of course. The beloved principle of that beloved school. The man who raised these foolish men and witnessed the attack of Greyback on those young girls. His eyes switched from the pathetic man standing before them to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, sitting at the other side of the room, looked as if he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a small hole in the earth and never return. But instead, he shook his head solemnly. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I have no inside information about werewolves, and certainly not about Mr. Greyback.”
Even at the sound of Dumbledore's condescending tone, Cygnus cringes. It’s as if the man was still speaking to measly school children.
He’d always hated that about Dumbledore. Ever since he’d taught Transfiguration in the ancient classroom, and even now, in an open courtroom. He thanked the lords he’d no longer had to suffer his tireless teachings.
“He’s a monster! They all are! They’ve killed children!” Lyall yelled. “You were there! Don’t you care about them?”
Dumbledore began to answer the man, but he was cut off by an angry Minister. “Mr. Lupin, if you continue with these outbursts, we’ll have no choice but to send you to Azkaban for the night. I’m sure the dementors will be pleased to meet you.”
Lyall sighed. His bold features suddenly seemed a lot more weary as he gave in. “My apologies, Minister.”
Even though the man stopped protesting, he still glared as the security guards freed the man in proper clothing. Perhaps he too could see the beast shining within those green eyes. The death of those children reflected in them.
But at the end of the day, children didn’t really matter. Not until they were adults.
The wizards and witches shuffled out of the packed room. But as Cygnus was leaving the double doors of the courtroom, he couldn’t help but glance back at poor, half-blooded Lyall.
The man in the proper clothing, the beast, had come up to him. He whispered something in the man's ear. His eyes lit up while he said the words. Perhaps it was a promise of death.
Whatever it was that he said, it made Lyall blanch.