The Delacour estate, a grand château nestled in the heart of the Loire Valley, exuded an air of aristocratic opulence. The study, adorned with centuries-old paintings and gilded bookshelves lined with arcane tomes, was bathed in the golden glow of a roaring fireplace. Seated in the high-backed leather chairs were Charlus Potter and Arcturus Black, men of power and legacy, their sharp gazes fixed on Jean-Claude Delacour, who stood before them, ever the picture of Gallic elegance and barely restrained ire.
Jean-Claude, dressed in a tailored navy coat with gold embroidery, placed a thick dossier onto the polished mahogany desk. He exhaled through his nose, as if trying to rid himself of a particularly offensive scent.
"Zese reports detail ze latest moves of Lucien Malfoy," he said, his deep, accented voice laced with irritation. "'E is gathering support among ze French Purebloods, rallying ze old families who still believe zey should 'ave zeir hands in ze affairs of Britain."
Charlus, his presence as commanding as a lion surveying his domain, took the dossier and flipped through it with practiced ease. His lips curled into a humorless smirk.
"Malfoys. Always the same. Give them an inch, and they'll demand a mile—preferably paved with stolen gold and someone else's dignity."
Arcturus, whose very presence seemed to make the room colder, chuckled darkly, the sound deep and foreboding. "A mile? You're being generous, Charlus. A Malfoy will demand a mile, steal another, and claim the deed was always in their possession."
Jean-Claude let out a short, sharp laugh, though it lacked amusement. "Zis is why I despise zem. Zey smile in your face while zey steal your purse."
Charlus turned another page, his sharp eyes scanning the intelligence. "So, Lucien Malfoy fancies himself a kingmaker among the French Purebloods? Interesting. The man's ambition exceeds his ability, much like his father's before him. And his father before that."
Arcturus steepled his fingers, his piercing gaze locked onto Jean-Claude. "The Malfoys have always been scavengers masquerading as nobles. They call it 'preserving tradition'—I call it dressing up theft in velvet robes."
Jean-Claude exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "'E 'as begun forming alliances wiz ze Lestranges—ze French branch, not ze British one. Zey are not as unhinged, but zey are dangerous in zeir own way."
Charlus scoffed, setting the report down with an audible thump. "That's like saying one basilisk is less venomous than another. Still, better the French Lestranges than the mad dogs we have in Britain." He paused, then smirked. "Not that Rodolphus or Rabastan had much venom to begin with. Between the two of them, they share a single functioning brain cell."
Jean-Claude grinned, sharp and knowing. "Ah, oui. But zeir father, Gustave Lestrange, 'as some wit about 'im. And zat is ze problem."
Arcturus's expression remained impassive, though a flicker of interest glinted in his dark eyes. "Gustave Lestrange is many things, but he is no fool. That makes him infinitely more dangerous than Lucien Malfoy."
Jean-Claude nodded grimly. "And 'e is careful. 'E plays ze long game, does not act rashly."
Charlus hummed, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Then we must move carefully as well. The last thing we need is a continental war among the Pureblood elite. But we also cannot allow Lucien to grow bolder."
Arcturus leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning contemplative. "Perhaps it is time to remind the Malfoys of their place. They were nothing before Abraxas clawed his way into influence, and they will return to nothing if we so choose."
Jean-Claude smirked, "I would 'appily see zem fall. But ze question is—'ow do we make zem trip?"
Charlus's smirk deepened. "By doing what we do best, my dear Jean-Claude. We let them dig their own graves. And then, when they've convinced themselves they stand at the peak of power…"
Arcturus finished the thought, his voice like a blade gliding over stone. "We kick them off the cliff."
Jean-Claude chuckled, low and full of approval. "Zat, gentlemen, is a plan I can support."
Charlus lifted a glass of fine French cognac, swirling it slowly before taking a measured sip. He let the warmth spread through him before setting the glass down with finality. "Then let us begin."
The three men sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air. Outside, the moon rose over the Delacour estate, casting long shadows across the land—shadows that would soon stretch over the Malfoys as well.
—
The Farewell at Dawn
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the snow-dusted grounds of the Delacour estate. The air was crisp and still, each breath a small cloud of vapor. The courtyard, usually full of boisterous laughter and playful shenanigans, was quiet now, save for the soft crunch of boots in the snow as the children stood huddled together, taking one last look at the place they had come to call home for the past few weeks.
Harry Potter, eyes slightly misty, stepped forward, his heart heavy with the knowledge that their time in France had come to an end. He turned to Fleur and Gabrielle, who stood in front of him with matching sad smiles. "We're really going to miss you," he said, his voice thick with emotion as he glanced back at Neville and Susan, who were standing beside him, each with a similar expression of reluctance.
Fleur Delacour, her silver-blonde hair shimmering in the early sunlight like spun moonlight, bent down to embrace Harry. Her arms wrapped around him in a hug that was warm and comforting, despite the chill of the morning air. "We will miss you too, 'Arry," she said, her voice soft but resolute. "But remember, zis is not goodbye forever. We will see each ozzer again, I am sure."
Gabrielle, her bright blue eyes filled with emotion, stepped forward next and hugged Harry tightly. "Oui! You must come back to France, or maybe we will visit you in Britain! I want to see your magical world!" Her French accent was thick, but her enthusiasm was unmistakable.
Tonks, who had transformed her hair into a wild shade of vibrant purple for the occasion, laughed lightly, clearly enjoying the tender moment. "That's right, Gabby. There's always another adventure just around the corner." She flashed a grin at the girls, then turned to the group, shaking her head with mock exasperation. "Seriously, though, don't be getting all weepy now, Fleur. You're going to make me cry, and I don't have enough makeup to cover that."
Sirius Black, standing to the side with Dorea, watched the exchange with a wry smile on his face. "It's good to see them making such strong bonds," he remarked, his voice laced with nostalgia. His gaze flicked toward Andromeda, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Reminds me of our Hogwarts days, eh, Andromeda?"
Andromeda Tonks, her expression warm and wistful, smiled softly. "Absolutely. It's always nice to see the next generation following in our footsteps," she replied, her tone affectionate yet measured, always keeping her cool.
Amelia Bones, ever the practical one, checked her watch with a slight frown. "We should get moving if we don't want to miss our portkey," she said, her voice firm yet not without a touch of kindness. She glanced at Ted, who was trying and failing to distract himself from the looming departure with some last-minute fiddling with his scarf.
Charlus Potter and Arcturus Black, standing just a little ways off, shared a brief, knowing glance. They knew how important this moment was—this farewell between the families—and yet they were the first to remember the task at hand. The Potters, the Blacks, the Boneses, the Longbottoms, and the Tonkses had pressing matters to attend to back home. "Alright, everyone," Charlus called out, his voice rich with authority yet tinged with warmth. "Time to head back."
The children, though reluctant, gathered their belongings, and Fleur knelt down to give Harry, Neville, and Susan one final hug. "Take care, and study 'ard," she told them, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of mischief and kindness. "And remember, you always 'ave friends in France."
Susan Bones, whose freckled face was a picture of earnestness, nodded eagerly. "We'll write to you, Fleur! We promise!" she said with a bright smile, giving her a tight hug.
Gabrielle waved them off, her energy contagious even in the bittersweet moment. "Au revoir! À bientôt!" she called, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.
Tonks threw an arm around Susan's shoulders and gave her a playful nudge. "You better write us letters, kiddo. I'm counting on you for all the gossip, okay? We've got a lot to catch up on." She grinned widely, flicking a lock of purple hair behind her ear.
"Yeah, I'll keep you updated on all the Hogwarts drama," Susan joked, giggling softly. She turned back to Fleur and Gabrielle. "See you soon!"
As the families gathered at the portkey location, ready for the journey back, Sirius shot a last parting remark in the direction of his old friend, Andromeda. "Ah, kids today. Always so sentimental. You know, I'm almost starting to believe that Hogwarts friendships are built to last. What do you think, 'Meda? Should I get a commemorative plaque made?"
Andromeda's lips twitched into a smile, though she tried to hide it. "If you're lucky, Sirius, you won't have to start a collection of them. One is more than enough for the both of us."
Ted Tonks, who had been pretending to fiddle with a button on his coat to avoid the tears in his eyes, sighed dramatically and threw his hands up in mock defeat. "Honestly, you'd think after all this time, I'd be used to the whole goodbye thing. But no—always a tear jerker with this lot."
Charlus clapped him on the back with a smile, his eyes twinkling. "It's the price we pay for friendships, Ted. A little heartache every now and then, but it's worth it."
With a final wave and a chorus of goodbyes, the families activated the portkey. The familiar tug of magic surged through their bodies as they were whisked away from the snowy French courtyard and back to the busy streets of Britain.
As they landed back in Britain, the familiar sights of London greeted them. The stark contrast from the peaceful French Alps to the bustling British landscape felt like a jolt, but the warmth of their shared memories lingered. The laughter of the children—Harry, Neville, Susan, Gabrielle—echoed in their minds, and the bonds they had strengthened during their time together would endure no matter the distance.
At home, as the children settled into their routines, they often found themselves reminiscing about their snowy adventures in France. They spoke of the laughter they shared over skiing lessons, the snowball fights that lasted well into the evening, and the quiet moments under the stars. Letters were exchanged frequently, each family eager to hear from the other, and Fleur and Gabrielle's updates from France arrived with the promise of more adventures to come.
The holiday, though brief, had not only given them a much-needed respite but also reminded them of the importance of friendship, family, and unity—values that would carry them through the challenges that awaited.
—
The dimly lit bar had the feel of a place where secrets were swallowed as quickly as the firewhisky. The old, weathered wooden beams above Remus Lupin seemed to sag with the weight of years of history, and the low hum of conversation from the few scattered patrons created an almost oppressive atmosphere. Remus sat at a corner table, a solitary figure nursing his glass, staring into the amber liquid as though it could offer some kind of absolution. His brow was furrowed, and his face carried the weariness of someone who had lost the will to try, let alone believe in anything good.
Sirius's words echoed through his mind with painful clarity. "Own up to your mistakes, Remus. Or don't come back." The finality in his old friend's voice had struck Remus harder than he'd care to admit. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed that Harry was safe, well cared for. But he'd been wrong, horribly wrong. Harry had been abandoned, left to suffer with the Dursleys, and Remus had played a part in that neglect. The guilt gnawed at him, relentless. So here he was, sitting in this forsaken bar, seeking solace at the bottom of a glass.
The door creaked open with an almost dramatic timing, a gust of cold wind sweeping through the room. A man entered, his presence commanding attention even in the quiet gloom of the bar. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. His magical eye spun in every direction, never pausing, always alert, while his other eye fixed on Remus with an intensity that could cut through stone.
"Mind if I join you, Lupin?" Moody's voice was rough, worn down by years of battle but still carrying a certain weight to it, a voice that demanded respect.
Remus looked up, startled for a moment but too weary to put on a front. His mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile. "Go ahead, Alastor. Not sure I'm the best company tonight though."
Moody took a seat across from him, his magical eye continuing to scan the room, its constant whirring a reminder that danger could be anywhere, even here. He didn't even acknowledge the bartender as he ordered his drink. "I've seen worse," Moody said as he settled in, finally facing Remus. "I heard you've been having a rough time."
"Rough time doesn't even cover it," Remus muttered, swirling his firewhisky and watching the liquid slosh around, a reflection of the mess inside him. "Made a lot of bad choices. Trusted the wrong people. And now... now I've lost everything."
Moody's gaze, both normal and magical, bore into him, sharp and unrelenting. "You're not the only one who's made mistakes, Lupin. But sitting here drinking yourself stupid ain't gonna do you any good."
Remus bristled at the truth in those words. His fingers tightened around his glass. "What else is there, Alastor? Sirius... Sirius doesn't want anything to do with me. The Order's falling apart. And Harry—Merlin, I failed him."
Alastor took a long swig of his own drink before setting it down on the table with a deliberate thud. "You failed, yeah. But there's a way to fix it. A way to make things right."
Remus's eyebrows furrowed. "A way to make things right?" He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "How? How can I make things right when I've proven I can't be trusted?"
Moody leaned in slightly, his magical eye whirling as if considering the best angle to look at Remus from. "There's an organization you might have heard about. The Black Dragon Legion. They don't play by the same rules as the Order. They act when others hesitate. And they need people with your particular set of skills."
Remus's gaze flickered with skepticism, though something in him stirred at the mention of the Legion. "The Legion? What do they want with someone like me?"
Alastor's voice was low but steady. "They need fighters, but they also need someone who can think. Someone who knows how to move in the shadows. The Legion doesn't care about your past mistakes—they care about what you can do now."
Remus leaned back in his chair, a deep sigh escaping him as he tried to process what he was hearing. "And why would they trust me? After everything?"
Mad-Eye gave a slow, almost imperceptible shrug. "Everyone deserves a second chance, Lupin. Everyone. Sitting here wallowing in guilt isn't going to get you anywhere. But standing up and doing something about it... that could get you somewhere. The Legion's offering you a way back. Redemption. You can't fix what's been done, but you can make sure it doesn't happen again."
Remus stared at his drink, the words sinking in slowly. Redemption... the word felt foreign to him, like something he'd read about in books but never truly understood. Could he really find it? Could he make amends for everything he'd done—or failed to do?
After a long silence, Remus looked up at Alastor, his eyes meeting the older man's steady gaze. "What do I have to do?"
Moody gave him a rare, fleeting smile, one that showed the ghost of a man who had seen too much but was still willing to try. "First, finish your drink. Then, we'll talk about your future."
—
Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye twitched as it locked onto Remus, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "You remember that werewolf... the one who bit you when you were a boy? The one who made your life a living hell?"
Remus's hand froze midway to his glass. The mention of Greyback was like a jolt of lightning to his spine. The memories rushed back—sharp, painful, and more vivid than he cared to admit. He hadn't thought about the monster in years, yet the name alone made his blood run cold.
"Greyback," Remus murmured, his tone low, almost as if saying the name aloud would summon the darkness from which it came.
Moody leaned in, his scarred face unreadable, but his voice carried the weight of years of experience, of battles fought and won, and ones lost. "He's dead, Lupin. Killed recently, and I know the details. Regina Lupa did it."
The words struck Remus like a thunderclap. He blinked, slowly processing the news. "Regina Lupa? The Alpha of the packs in Italy and the Balkans?" Remus's brow furrowed, though confusion still clouded his mind. "Why would she—"
Moody cut him off with a gruff snort. "You think this is about some sort of justice, or revenge? Nah. Regina Lupa's not in this game for sentimentality. She killed Greyback because she needed to. To protect the balance among the werewolf packs. The Black Dragon Legion's involved in all this, too, by the way. She's in their inner circle."
Remus's mind reeled. He'd heard of the Black Dragon Legion—their reputation was as shadowy as it was dangerous. But Regina Lupa, an Alpha of werewolves, as part of that group? That didn't sit well with him. It didn't make sense. Wasn't she supposed to be a leader among werewolves, a force of nature? Why would she throw in her lot with a band of mercenaries, vigilantes who operated outside the law?
"Regina Lupa," Remus repeated, rolling the name over his tongue like it didn't quite fit. "She killed Greyback? What for? What does the Legion want with him dead?"
Moody's eye glinted dangerously, his voice hardening. "Greyback was a dangerous beast—an unstable one. He was breeding werewolves to expand his own twisted little army, no morals, no rules, just chaos. Lupa had to take him down before he threw the packs into complete disarray. It wasn't about personal vengeance. It was about control. Balance."
Remus's hand tightened around his glass, the cold sting of firewhisky creeping through his veins. Greyback had been a monster, that much was true. But hearing that his death came not from the hands of a crusading hero but as a strategic move in a power game, a chess piece removed for a bigger plan, left Remus with a bitter aftertaste.
"Should I be glad he's dead?" Remus mused aloud, the corner of his mouth curling up in a rueful smile. "Most people would be. But it's hard to feel relief when someone's been dead in your head for so long."
Moody's magical eye shifted, narrowing with a flicker of something that might have been impatience. "What are you? A bloody philosopher now, Lupin? You ought to be dancing a jig, thinking about that monster finally getting his comeuppance. Instead, you're sitting there like you've just been handed a pile of wet socks."
Remus took a deep breath, the flames from the firewhisky burning away the sting of old wounds, though they weren't completely gone. He glanced up at Mad-Eye, his eyes suddenly sharp with something more than just fatigue. "I'm not who I used to be, Alastor. And I don't know if I'll ever be 'glad' about something like Greyback's death. He's been a part of my nightmares for so long that it's strange to think of him as anything but a shadow on the wall. I'll never get back what he took from me."
Moody leaned back, folding his arms, his stance a mixture of wariness and curiosity. "Not everything's about you, Lupin. Get over yourself." There was a sardonic edge to his voice, the way only someone who'd seen too much could speak. "The point is that the Legion's gaining power, and you might just be a part of it if you pull your head out of your arse."
Remus gave him a dry look, then took another sip of his drink, as though stalling for time. "What do you mean? What do they want with me?"
Moody let out a gruff chuckle. "Don't play coy, Lupin. You know what they want. They need someone who can handle themselves in a bloody fight. Someone with experience in dealing with darkness. Greyback was a threat, but there's more coming. Much more. And they're not waiting for the Ministry or the Order to make up their minds. They'll act. The question is—are you going to join the fight, or are you going to keep being the damn wolf that's been caged?"
Remus's gaze dropped, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass as he thought about the path ahead. He didn't want to get involved. He didn't want to join another cause or organization, especially one as dangerous and secretive as the Black Dragon Legion. But there was something in Moody's words, something sharp and unrelenting, that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"You're asking me to join the Legion?" Remus's voice was quieter now, the weight of his past settling on his shoulders.
Moody's one good eye locked on him with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. "No, I'm telling you. You don't get a choice. Regina Lupa wants someone who understands the packs. Who knows how to control the wildness. And you've got that, Lupin. You know how to handle yourself in the dark. And that's exactly what this Legion needs. People who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty."
Remus felt a flicker of something, a spark of the man he'd been before his lycanthropy had made him into a ghost of himself. The fire inside him—so long dormant—shifted in his chest. Could he really be part of something again? A force that didn't care about laws or the Ministry? A group that was more than just survival?
Finally, after a long pause, Remus met Mad-Eye's unflinching gaze. His voice was quiet, but resolute. "I'll do it."
Moody's lips curled into a tight, almost imperceptible smile, though there was no warmth in it. "Good. You'll fit right in."
As Remus stood and turned toward the door, the weight of his decision settled over him. He wasn't sure what he was walking into. But as the door swung open, leaving the bar's dim lights behind, he knew one thing for certain: the rest of his life—whatever it was going to be—was about to change forever.
—
Mad-Eye's magical eye swiveled slowly in its socket, its unblinking gaze fixed on Remus with an unnerving intensity. It was the kind of look that made you feel like your secrets were laid bare, every thought exposed, every flaw examined. Remus shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tracing the edge of his glass as he avoided the eye's piercing stare.
"I'm leaving for the Carpathian Mountains," Moody growled, his voice a gravelly rumble that barely rose above a whisper. His mouth barely moved, but the words hit with the force of a battering ram. "And you're coming with me."
Remus blinked, his mind stalling as the words sank in. The Carpathians? His stomach tightened. The place that haunted his past, a land where wolves ran wild and unchecked. Where they ran wild. Where Greyback's pack had made its home. A pack Remus had once tried—and failed—to infiltrate. That had left scars on his soul deeper than any physical injury ever could.
He managed a hollow chuckle, his voice tinged with disbelief. "The Carpathian Mountains, huh?" He let the words hang in the air for a moment, his thoughts spiraling. "What, you figured I needed a little mountain retreat? Thought I'd take up skiing?"
Moody's magical eye whirred, clicking as it adjusted to focus on Remus, then swiveled back toward the door. "Don't be a fool, Lupin. This ain't a vacation." His voice dropped, more venom lacing his words. "Regina Lupa's got a plan. She needs someone who knows those bastards. You. And trust me, if you think I'm offering you a holiday in the mountains, you're mistaken."
Remus closed his eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath. Regina Lupa. That name sent a shiver down his spine. The Black Dragon Legion. A group whose methods were as ruthless as the wolves they hunted, who dabbled in magic dark enough to make most wizards flinch. It was enough to make him question his sanity for even considering it.
"You're asking me to go back there?" His voice was tight, controlled, but underneath, the raw edge of old wounds bled through. "The last time I was involved with Greyback's pack, it didn't end well. I wasn't exactly cut out for their world. Why would I be now? A glorified bloodhound?"
Moody leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing to slits. His good eye gleamed with something like amusement—or maybe it was disdain. Hard to tell with Moody. "Lupin, you've got skills. The kind that don't come around every day. You're not gonna be a hunting dog, you're gonna be the bloody hunter." He reached into his coat and pulled out a thick, crumpled map, slamming it on the table in front of Remus. "The last of Greyback's lot are still out there. Stragglers. Rogues who think they can do whatever they damn well please." He jabbed a finger at the map. "Those stragglers are making trouble. They're dangerous, Remus. They need to be put down. And you're the one who can track them."
Remus eyed the map, feeling the old wariness twist inside him. Put down. As if it were a simple task, a simple job. But he knew better than anyone how those wolves fought. How he fought. Every encounter had a cost. A cost that weighed on him like a leaden cloak. He ran a hand over his face, the familiar feeling of dread gnawing at his insides.
He let out a bitter laugh, more like a growl. "Right. So now I'm a bloody wolf-hunter for the Black Dragon Legion. Never thought I'd see the day."
Moody didn't even flinch at the sarcasm. His voice was as dry and hard as a stone. "You've got the skills, Lupin. More importantly, you've got the experience. You know what these bastards are capable of." He leaned back, folding his arms, the heavy weight of his presence settling like a storm cloud. "Regina trusts you, whether you like it or not. You think I like working with her? Think I want to be involved with that bloody Legion? No. But right now, we've got a common enemy. And I need you."
Remus leaned forward, the sharpness in his eyes betraying his calm exterior. "The last time I was in their pack, it didn't end well, Alastor. It was a bloody nightmare. Why would I go back? You think that just because I've had some time to stew in my own misery, I'm somehow fit to walk back into that hellhole and pretend it didn't happen?"
Moody grunted. "I don't give a rat's arse what you think of Greyback's lot or your past failures. You've changed, Remus. We've changed. You've got more allies than you ever did before. You've got people who've got your back. And you've got a whole different set of skills now." His magical eye rolled slightly, as if he were considering something beyond Remus's comprehension. "No one's asking you to be a hero. I'm asking you to do what you do best—find these bastards, deal with them, and move on."
Remus stared at him, the weight of the decision pressing against his chest like a ton of bricks. He had no desire to return to the Carpathians, no desire to confront the ghosts of his past. But he knew—he knew—he couldn't just walk away. Not now, not when the stakes were higher than ever.
"And what's the plan, Alastor?" Remus asked, the steel creeping back into his voice. "What do you need from me? And don't give me that cryptic shit about the Legion—I don't trust anyone associated with them."
Moody's eyes flashed. "Regina's got her own angle, and you don't need to like it, but she's not some power-hungry fool. She's got a purpose, a balance she's trying to maintain. These rogue wolves are throwing that out of whack. We need to finish what we started, Remus. Those bastards don't deserve to keep breathing."
The quiet sincerity in Moody's voice struck Remus harder than he expected. He hated agreeing with anything Moody said, but in this case… well, he couldn't argue with the logic. These wolves—Greyback's old pack—were still a threat. A real threat. And Regina was right. They needed to be dealt with.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his mind turned over the possibilities, the risks, the unknowns. The storm was coming, and Remus couldn't escape it.
"Alright," he said, voice low but resolute. "I'll do it. But make no mistake, Alastor. I'm not doing this for you. Not for your bloody Legion. I'm doing it for Harry and Sirius: my pack. To keep them safe."
Moody smirked, his lips curling in something like approval. "Wouldn't expect anything less, Lupin. You don't trust the Legion, but you'll still do the job. It's what you do."
Remus stood up, straightening his coat with a grim look in his eyes. He took a moment, glancing once more at the map, as though testing the weight of the decision. "Carpathians, huh?" He chuckled softly, his voice empty with the ghost of old pain. "Another bloody chapter in a lifetime of chaos."
Moody let out a low laugh, a sound that was almost a growl. "You're damn right it is, Lupin. And I'd rather have you by my side than any of those amateurs." He pushed the map back into his coat with a sharp motion. "Let's go. The mountains are waiting, and so are the wolves."
Remus shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the dread settling in his gut. "Always the optimist, aren't you, Alastor?" he muttered.
"Optimism's for amateurs," Moody replied gruffly. "Let's go get these bastards."
---
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