Abernathy wasted no time letting the werewolves regroup. With a sharp flick of his wand, he barked, "Incarcerous!"
The acolytes surged forward, their numbers nearly double that of the enemy. A successful ambush might have given the werewolves a fighting chance, but the acolytes' superior tactics and enchanted gear had caught them flat-footed.
In seconds, ropes bound the attackers in place. The acolytes wasted no time, wands flashing as they unleashed a barrage of spells.
"Reducto!"
"Diffindo!"
"Bombarda!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Some opted for the Killing Curse outright, while others shattered bones or tore flesh—either way, the result was the same. Potent and final. Cleaning up the mess of gore was the only downside.
"Check for injuries!" Abernathy called, scanning the group. No one had been touched, and he exhaled in relief.
The enchanted cloak draped over his shoulders had been a game-changer. Drawing from Argus's innovative notes, it wove in a Shield Charm that blunted the werewolves' initial charge. Without it, casualties would have been inevitable—even in victory.
"Someone's hurt!" a voice shouted.
Abernathy tensed again. These were the acolytes' elite; losing any to a bite would be disastrous.
He rushed over. "What happened? Who?"
A blond boy pointed to his seated companion. "He twisted his ankle dodging a falling werewolf corpse."
Abernathy stared, then swore under his breath.
...
Knockturn Alley felt eerily deserted as Lupin and Sirius trudged back. Stranded without a Knut to their names, they'd returned hoping to scrape together enough for a meal.
"Why's it so quiet today?" Sirius muttered, glancing around the shadowed lanes.
"Wait—I think I know," Lupin said, his face paling. As someone who'd scraped by here for years, he spotted the red flags: fewer shady figures lurking, several familiar haunts boarded up or vanished. The air hummed with unspoken dread.
"Moony, if it's the Aurors..." Sirius began, misreading his friend's expression. He clapped Lupin on the shoulder. "If they grab us, just say I forced you into it. Flash your wand—they won't risk tangling with a werewolf. It'll be their mess."
He started to shift into his Animagus form, but Lupin grabbed his arm. "Easy. It's not the Ministry—not yet. If it were Aurors, the whole Alley would be in chaos. No one here's squeaky clean; they'd scatter like rats."
"I'll poke around first," Lupin said. "Grab some odd jobs, see what I can learn."
From his old contacts, the truth trickled out: werewolves had stormed the Alley, only to get slaughtered by a group calling themselves the acolytes. Lupin's jaw hit the floor.
He relayed it all to Sirius back at a dingy shack. "Impossible," Sirius sputtered. As a Black—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, alongside families like the Selwyns and Rosiers—he knew the Alley's dark wizards weren't pushovers. Guts alone wouldn't cut it against a pack like that.
They pooled their meager earnings—just a handful of Knuts from Lupin's day labor—for a stale loaf of black bread. No Prophet to confirm the rumors; it barely covered a snack.
"We've only been away a few days—how's everything gone to hell?" Sirius groaned, slumping against a wall, stomach rumbling.
"The acolytes are rising fast," Lupin replied, tearing off a chunk of bread. "Bound to clash with the old pure-blood guard eventually. This was just a skirmish."
Sirius nodded, grateful for the company. Lupin had been isolated too long—friends dead or jailed. Reconnecting with an old mate like Sirius felt like a lifeline.
"I read in the Prophet their leader's just a kid," Lupin continued. "Still at Hogwarts. Took down the Chamber of Secrets beast in second year—saved Harry's life, even."
Sirius grinned. "No surprise there. Harry's got fire in him; diving into danger's how you forge a real wizard. Shame he's Slytherin—Gryffindor material, if you ask me. Who else has the stones to solo that Chamber?"
"He's Grindelwald's son," Lupin murmured. "Looks just like the old man in his prime. Hogwarts adores him—more than... well, you know who."
Sirius's eyes lit up. "Even better! We could loop him in against that rat-faced coward." He meant no harm by the enthusiasm; the subtle warning in Lupin's tone sailed right over his head.
Lupin let it slide. "Rest up. After summer, I'll scout a job with the acolytes. Better pay than this grind. You keep tabs on Pettigrew at school."
"You're ditching me?" Sirius blinked.
"Pettigrew's spooked from your breakout—he's gone to ground. We can't starve waiting him out." Lupin shrugged. "A day's work here feeds us half-decent. Acolytes might actually pay a living wage."
Sirius flushed, watching Lupin devour most of the bread. Guilt gnawed at him; without him in tow, costs would plummet.
Then Sirius bolted upright. "Hang on—you said the acolytes hauled the injured from the Alley to St. Mungo's? Footed the bill?"
"Yeah."
"And saved Harry from that Chamber monster?"
"Right. Why?"
Sirius's face lit up. "What if we told this kid the truth? Think he'd help?"
Lupin stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Are you daft? Spill our secrets to a stranger? Without proof, why would he buy it?"
"He's got a rep for digging into mysteries," Sirius pressed. "Seems decent—"
Lupin shook his head. "Drop it."
Sirius backed off, but the idea lingered, a quiet spark in the back of his mind.
---
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