Bellatrix's guardian intent, blue-white light, steady and unchanging, bled down the mental link and wrapped the anchor layer by layer.
Something in Edgar's head began to glow. Warm, and level, like the fire in the Hufflepuff common room. It drove nothing out and held nothing down. It was simply there.
The guardian image sank through him, reinforcing his home, his sense of self, his refusal to hurt anyone, then settled and drove itself into the floor of him.
On future full moons, when the animal broke through and swept his reason away, everything else would go. Only this anchor, sheathed in Bellatrix's light, would hold.
The last rope he'd be able to grab before he turned all the way into a beast.
It wouldn't take shape in one sitting.
Regulus knew he'd only planted a seed.
Whether it grew, and into what, depended on the man himself, on one full moon after another, on every round of tearing between the animal and the human.
He'd only started it.
The outcome, as such, didn't much concern him.
Success meant a werewolf who kept his mind through the full moon.
Failure, or a crooked growth, something fiercer than before, was also a result.
Outright collapse he'd accept too.
What he cared about was whether will could master the beast at all.
Dumbledore had said a werewolf couldn't manage it alone.
Edgar's level didn't reach the average Hogwarts graduate, let alone anything better. On his own he had no chance.
Which was exactly the point Regulus wanted tested. If a man couldn't do it alone, what if someone supplied the missing piece?
Use Bellatrix's guardian intent to shield the anchor of his humanity, and let him strengthen it through every round of the struggle. Did that road go anywhere?
Regulus had handed him a rope. Whether he caught hold of it each full moon was up to him.
Verification, that was all.
Then again, he'd done a decent thing here.
Helping a Hufflepuff werewolf keep hold of his humanity. Professor Sprout would be glad to hear it.
Call that a side benefit. Nothing wrong with that.
Edgar opened his eyes, blinked, looked at his hands.
Ten fingers, nails still clean, nothing altered. But something new sat in his head, and he had no words for it.
Greyback stood a few paces off.
He watched Regulus, on his ground, do something to one of his wolves that he couldn't begin to follow.
Couldn't hear it. Couldn't understand it. Couldn't put a hand in.
He wanted to intervene. His body wouldn't move.
A king in name, planted in the middle of his own territory like a fence post, reduced to spectating something he couldn't even identify.
He didn't dare aim that anger at Regulus. But the look he turned on Edgar had gone dangerous.
Cold fire flickered in the yellow eyes. That was the species. Long memory, no mercy.
Traitor.
Once these two wizards left, there'd be a reckoning for the wolf who'd forgotten his place and gone over his leader's head to court a wizard.
Regulus noticed.
The anchor had steadied, sunk to the bottom, sheathed in blue. The work was done.
He withdrew and told Edgar, "Go back."
Edgar swayed, surfacing from the touch on his mind.
He looked at Regulus with gratitude and something else besides.
He'd caught Greyback's mood too. His shoulders drew in again as he backed away, footing unsteady.
Lucius took it all in, the leader's expression included, and started calculating.
Edgar's survival meant nothing to him. Truthfully, he still hadn't worked out what Regulus had done to the creature.
But Regulus had his reasons, and if the wolf was a sample Regulus wanted, Greyback couldn't be allowed to break it yet.
Regulus didn't spare Greyback another glance. He turned his head. "Lucius. Your errand."
Lucius took the cue, the reserved mask sliding back into place.
He stepped forward, planted the cane, lifted his chin, and delivered the terms again in that unhurried drawl of his.
Restraint. Designated targets only. Nothing near wizarding settlements. The supplies had been delivered. Such was the Dark Lord's will.
Greyback's eyes went from Regulus to Lucius, and back to Regulus.
No bared teeth this time. No crowding forward. Not one word of refusal.
A low sound rolled out of his throat, and then he nodded and it was done.
Head down, shoulders sagging. Had there been a tail, it would have been tucked.
Compared to the haggling and the sullen stalling of an hour ago, this was clean.
Underneath the surrender, though, something vicious sat coiled.
Regulus terrified him. The sight of the boy set his organs shaking and every hair on end and left him wanting to bolt.
The fear had nowhere to go. It circled and burned in his chest.
He glanced back at Edgar again, savage enough to draw blood.
He couldn't touch a wizard. But a spineless thing in his own den?
Watching the animal finally nod, Lucius felt thoroughly pleased.
He was also entirely clear on one point. Regulus had accomplished this errand for him.
The whole worry before coming had been Greyback refusing to be managed, and he'd ground away at it for ages without getting a straight answer.
Then Regulus said nothing surplus at all, and the wolf caved on his own.
The debt had landed solidly, which was precisely the aim.
That was what he'd come to Regulus for. Not an extra pair of fists. A favor that stuck.
And now it had stuck, and stuck heavy. The more concrete the debt, the happier he was.
He raised his eyes to Regulus, the question plain enough. Nothing else? Shall we go?
Regulus was already looking at him, and as their eyes met the corners of his mouth pulled wide.
Wider than usual. Not the controlled, settled expression he normally wore.
Lucius had seen that face before.
In the ruins of Lestrange Manor, Bella crumpled at his feet, grey magic seeping out of him, his mouth had curved at exactly that angle.
Something in Lucius tightened, and he braced without knowing what against.
Then he understood. The smile wasn't for him. It was for Greyback.
Regulus paid the reaction no mind. He sniffed, once. "It stinks."
"What?" Lucius said.
No answer came. Regulus turned back to Greyback, the expression unchanged.
Under that expression, Greyback couldn't draw breath.
Impossible to name what it was. Not savage. Not angry. There was even a trace of humor at the mouth.
And that trace of humor unnerved him worse than any of those lethal presences had.
Instinct shrieked at him to run, to drop flat, to bare his throat and beg.
He managed none of it. Frozen, the malice in the eyes scoured clean away, pupils narrowed, nothing left but a small bright terror at the back of them.
Regulus raised a hand, palm up.
Fiendfyre came up out of the ground.
The clearing exploded all at once, orange-red flames mixed with deeper crimson bursting from the soil, the cracks between the stones, every inch of ground.
A wall of fire as tall as a man slammed shut around the center of the village, swallowing the remains of the campfire, the piles of rotting refuse, everything gathered there.
It moved faster than anything living could react. The flames swept across the entire clearing in a single instant.
The piles of garbage crumbled into ash. Stones marked with territorial scent split apart. The greasy film coating the ground vanished in a flash.
But the fire flowed around every living creature. Wherever a werewolf stood, the flames curved away with impossible precision.
The burn stopped cleanly at their feet.
The heat sent them stumbling backward, scorching their skin as flames roared less than half a foot from their faces.
Thirty or forty werewolves stood trapped inside the ring of fire, surrounded by blazing orange flames from every side, yet not a single hair on their bodies burned.
The stench of blood, musk, and half a year of accumulated filth disappeared, burned completely to ash.
Regulus turned his palm over and pressed it downward. The Fiendfyre vanished instantly.
The wall of fire collapsed and disappeared so quickly it almost seemed as though it had never existed.
The heat faded. The shimmering air settled, and silence returned to the village.
From the moment the flames ignited to the instant they vanished, the entire display lasted less than a second.
The ground was left blackened beneath a thin crust of ash. Every scrap of refuse and every trace of the foul smell was gone.
Fresh wind drifted back through the hollow, carrying only the clean scent of scorched earth and the strange emptiness that follows after everything has been burned. It was a vast improvement over the stench that had filled the village before.
Not one werewolf dared move.
Dozens of eyes remained fixed on the scorched ground and on the wizard standing calmly at its center, his hand only just lowered.
The lieutenant with three claw scars dropped to his knees, his kneecaps cracking against the burned earth. The broad-shouldered one kept an arm over his face and couldn't bring himself to lower it.
They had seen blood. They had seen death. They had torn apart their own kind with their bare hands. But they had never seen anything like this. One man, one hand, reducing the earth to ash, then making an entire sea of fire disappear as though it had never existed.
Greyback was trembling the hardest of all. His legs gave out beneath him. His eyes were wide, his mouth hung open, and his throat locked around a scream that never came.
He finally understood.
From the very beginning, he'd been the prey. He always had been.
Regulus lowered his hand, and the last trace of emotion left his face.
"I'll come again," he said evenly.
Then he turned and walked toward the mouth of the valley.
Lucius remained where he was for a moment before tapping the blackened ground with the tip of his wand, leaving behind a small circular mark.
The scene kept replaying in his mind. Orange flames erupting from the earth. Regulus turning his palm over. The fire disappearing in the very same heartbeat.
Lucius had seen Fiendfyre before, of course.
He had never imagined anyone using it like a broom to sweep away filth.
That disturbed him even more than watching Lestrange Manor burn.
He had witnessed plenty of magic he couldn't understand. Not understanding it was something he could live with.
This time was different.
He had seen every step of it, from beginning to end, and that was exactly what unsettled him.
Gathering his robes, he hurried after Regulus.
Beneath the silent gaze of dozens of werewolves, the two of them crossed the clearing and disappeared down the path leading out of the valley.
Behind them, not a single sound followed.
---
Join my Patreon for early access to chapters: patreon.com/rivyura
Next Target 600PS :)