Entry Two

A Strike for the Common Wolf

The moonless night fell over the Black forest. The evergreen trees ruffled with heavy wind, branches shaking off the relentless drops of rain that turned the ground into soft brown muck that splattered all over Buck’s torn trousers as he ran towards his settlement.

It was the sort of night he might have enjoyed, empty and full of sounds of nature, and wet enough so vampires would stay in their huts and swing their clenched fists towards the heavens, cursing them as they did the sun. It was a night fit for werewolves alright.

But there was something off tonight. Buck felt it in his restless mind and in his old bones. He felt it within, where the hungry spirit stifled and opened its silver eyes even though there was no moon to shuffle it awake.

It took him some time to recognize the feeling, and then some time to remember the stories from his childhood, the ones his grandma whispered in soft tones as he struggled against the chains, and then later the elders of the settlement when his name wasn’t Buck but something more fearsome.

He ran, tapped his trousers with his wand as to ward off the rain and the muck.

It wasn’t much, where he lived with his brethren, a dozen or so huts scrambled over the clearance with a large bonfire in the middle of it, benches and tables pushed together around it, and then, a distance away, a single large chair Greyback raised as his throne.

“Look at Buck run.” Greyback was grinning nastily, contempt dripping from his sharp teeth as he narrowed his eyes at Buck. He had one leg dangling from his throne’s side, dirty bare foot pointed up, toes wiggling. “Earning his name alright, ain’t our Buck.”

His retinue of bastards that sat around the table closest to the throne chuckled, all big and scarred, with nasty glints in their eyes that spoke of barely restrained violence.

Buck had to grasp his scrawny knees for a second, to catch some breath. “It’s the stone,” he managed. “Don’t you feel it? It’s the moonstone.”

“Moonstone, eh?” Greyback said, still grinning. His wet, heavy-lidded eyes narrowed. “You reckon?”

By now a decent crowd came to look at what the ruckus was all about, and Buck could hear surprised, excited murmurs they exchanged, all looking to see how Greyback would react.

Buck straightened, giving his full attention to that mockery of the throne. The Wizarding world had no kings, no need for thrones, yet Graybeck felt the need for one. Vanity of youth, he reckoned, a representation of his own grandness, no doubt, but he was their leader and there it was. Greyback was still young though. Still plenty of time to learn better.

“We must find it,” he said, talking to the crowd as much as to Greyback. He needed them all to listen if they were to pull it off, to change their cursed existence for better. “Muggles will converge on it soon enough. The Ministry will follow, heck, ICW might show up as well.”

The mention of muggles did little to improve Greyback’s mood, but the large gathering of wizards nearby he couldn’t ignore.

“Bunch of sissies,” Greyback spat. “What do we care for their affairs?”

“We don’t,” Buck quickly said. “But if we had a moonstone we might make them listen. We might get a say.” We might rejoin the society, he didn’t say, but still hoped the rest of the gathering had heard it.

Greyback jumped down from his throne, circled Buck as if he was a particularly tasty piece of meat, and then settled one of his big, strong arms on Buck’s shoulder where it rested heavily. There was strength enough in that hand to rip out his own, no doubt, yet he made himself still.

“Everyone will show, you say?” he asked, and followed it with a dangerous growl from the back of his throat. “A proper feast, that. Who am I to say no to it?”

Buck let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Part of him, the beasty one, wanted to jump at Greyback and to rip him apart. Part of him recognized the glint in Greyback’s eyes saying the same back at him.

“You think it might heal us?” he whispered so only the two of them could hear. “I think it might increase our powers. Make us turn at will. What do you say, Buck? Get some fight back in you, eh?”

Buck had fought hard half of his youth, and for what? Cursed, silver scars that ran down the length of his spine was all it had brought him, and the name of a feared werewolf that age melted like it did his own strength. It didn’t help him and it didn’t help any living werewolf. He might’ve put a few out of their misery at best.

“So long it gives us an edge with the wizards,” he said. What else was there to say? Greyback would do as Greyback wanted, as he had always done.

They were too late.

Greyback had gathered his sneering bastards, Buck, and a couple of old werewolves to search for it, some carrying wands, some torches, and following whatever direction made them all more restless. It was a good enough tactic, Buck had to admit and so he followed without a word.

But when the night was split open by a blinding flash, a crash, and the burning trees on the far side of the forest, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. There were very few of them who could apparate, and by the time they approached the scene enough to see, the crater was surrounded by muggle officials, cars, flashing cameras and a whole lot of yelling.

By the edge of the clearance, a tall figure stood frowning at it all, men around him passing him as if he was a large stone and they were a river. No one paid any attention to the man, but Buck knew they didn’t even see him. Couldn’t.

It was a wizard.

There was a splinter of luck, though. A single hope they could all hang on. The muggle news would spread this spectacle, and even the might of ICW couldn’t hope to erase it all, their own laws for once working against them. It was a lifeline Buck thought they could exploit if they played their cards right.

“Greyback?” Lorraine whispered to Greyback’s ear, breathing heavily, hands spread in claws, eyes wide and mad as she looked at the muggles surrounding the moonstone.

“We can take them,” another one threw in, rolling the wand in his fingers. “We can take them if we do it now.”

By the glint in Greyback’s eye, Buck could tell he was actually entertaining the idea, even though it was the worst possible thing they could do. It would have just reaffirmed the opinion the public held of them, and that wouldn’t do. Buck had spent long years on the sidelines, but not anymore. Not now.

“Look at that wizard,” he said, pushing Lorraine aside, coming close to Greyback. “He's just standing there, doing nothing. It’s because there’s nothing he can do. Let him see us, and do nothing. For now. We can always fight another day, when we gather more of our kind.”

Greyback didn’t look at him. He watched the muggles run around, and slowly scratched his stubble with his long dirty fingernails, the sound of it so loud as they all waited for him to make his mind.

“Gather everyone,” Buck went on. “Send a word, and they’ll answer. Let the wizards see us united and strong.”

The tall wizard made a circle on the other side of the crater, and slowly rose charms around it. Another moment passed and the wizards started apparating in, already building a tent of their own in the midst of muggle cars and trucks that were pushed farther away though they hardly noticed. Buck gave a soft sigh. It was enough for Greyback to shake his head, and order his men to stand back. It was enough for now.

Greyback turned to Lorraine. “Run back, will you? Tell the men to send word out, though they might already know.”

“A word?” Lorraine frowned, barring her teeth, mind still on violence. “What word?”

Greyback grinned. “Our time has come. But we must seize it.” He turned towards Buck. “And every werewolf must do their part, eh?”

It took Buck way longer to ward the muggles off of their bit of the clearance, the way the wizard had on the other side, but he managed a half decent job. It was a statement on its own, to have sort of headquarters nearby however poor it looked.

Even Greyback put his wand to use, conjuring tables and benches, ordering a few runners to fetch food and wine, and then settled at the top of the largest table, tapping his fingernails against the wooden surface, frowning hard at the gathering.

“Look at them watching,” Vyacheslav said with a sneer and heavy accent. He was one of the biggest and the most violent of Greyback’s bootlickers, but this one time he was right. The wizards have noticed them, and didn’t like it any judging by their looks. “As if we're a bunch of turds.”

“We should send someone over,” Buck said. “Make our case.”

“Case?” Vyacheslav asked, bristling at Buck, making his huge hands into fists. “Wizards do not care for words, only power. Only might. Only fury.”

“Sending someone over is a sort of power too,” Buck said, unable to hide distaste from his tone. He had to shake his head, make the effects of the stone go away.

“No.” Greyback had eyes only for the wizards’ camp. “Let them come”

Buck frowned. They wouldn’t, and Greyback had to know it. They’ll wait for the right moment, and swap the moonstone with some useless rock, and be away with it with none of them any wiser.

“You’ve always been a crafty bastard with a wand, Buck,” Greyback said, his wet eyes creasing with malice. “More a wizard than a werewolf, I’ve heard it said.”

I am a wizard, Buck wanted to say, but it wouldn’t bring him any joy in this company. He gripped his wand tighter instead, and took a deep breath in, waiting for the rest of Greyback’s idea.

“You’re barely one of us, are you?”

It was a bait, but one Buck had to take. “I came to you, didn’t I? The moment I realized what it was. This isn’t about me or about you. It’s about werewolves.”

“Precisely,” Greyback said with a sudden grin. “And so you won’t object to striking a blow for a common werewolf, eh?”

Buck, for the first time in decades, wished he still had his strength so he could challenge Greyback and take over this whole detail so they could make something out of it, so he could rip Vyacheslav’s head off and feed it to the sheep, so he could regain his name and point werewolves towards the brighter future.

But all he had was his wand, and his name. No friends, and no youth. And so he simply said, “Anything you want, Greyback.”

“There’s a Buck I know,” he said and clapped Buck on the back so hard he almost stumbled over the table. “The way I see it, all we have to do is make sure that stone remains here, eh? So let's make it stick. Let’s make it stick forever. There’s a charm, isn’t there, Buck?”

Buck’s throat went dry. There was a charm, at that. “They’ll kill me,” he said. “I won’t make five strides towards it, and they’ll kill me.”

Greyback leaned forward, and whispered, “Then pick your moment well, and make it stick.”

Before Buck could ask him what he meant, Greyback leaped up and gave Vyacheslav a father of all slaps that cracked like a whip through the night. Vyacheslav’s head bobbed at one side, and before he could straighten, Greyback slapped him again, on the other cheek, and then grabbed his ears, leaning his forehead on Vyacheslav’s.

“You mad yet, boy?” he asked him. “Make use of it! Turn it towards the real enemy.”

Vyacheslav’s eyes were wide with mindless fury, his huge chest heaving with it, his long arms trembling with rage, no sign of humanity anywhere in sight. He gave a low, rumbling growl and slowly turned towards the wizards, his jaw working itself to the task, his hands so rigid his knuckles cracked on their own.

It was enough to set off the younger lot, and Vyacheslav wasn’t alone in the very next moment. It was some sight, a row of werewolves bristling at muggles with Greyback laughing at their rear, and it was enough to set the wizards off in turn. Buck could see them shuffling in between muggles with urgency, making a perimeter, red robes suddenly everywhere. Even some muggles noticed something was off, but flashes in the night turned their faces blank.

So this was the plan. It was madness, Buck knew, but Greyback was right, and it wasn’t like Buck could bail now. He let more of his brethren pass by him until he was at the back of the crowd, where he started working on his appearance with his wand, turning himself as much as muggle as he knew how.

Once ready, he sneaked by the side and crouched low in the bushes by the end of the clearance, waiting for his moment.

The tall wizard that had been the first on the scene was the first to arrive, flanked with twitchy wizards that eyed the werewolf crowd with feelings ranging from distaste to fear. Some hatred too, Buck was sad to notice.

Around them, the rain was slowly turning the clearance to a bog.

The tall wizard tapped his throat with his wand, and said, his voice booming loud, “You are not permitted to be here. Stand back or we’ll arrest you.”

“Not permitted to stroll through our home?” Greyback asked. “This is the Black forest, wizard. Read your own treaties, your own laws.”

One of the young werewolves stepped forward, and the tall wizard raised his wand on instinct, but it was enough for the rest to follow the suit.

In the tense moment all was still, many wands brandished, some with a flourish but most with a tense rigidness that spelled violence. Everyone knew it was best to be still, to let the moment pass. But Greyback stood relaxed, pointing that not-caring a shit grin at wizards as if they could take them.

It was an act, Buck knew, but one of his bristling young werewolves didn’t and in a stupidity he leaped forward, only to meet the barrage of deadly spells and he dropped dead like a sack of potatoes.

Marc, his name was. A german noone who was bitten very young and never got over the anger because of it. Who carried his feelings on his sleeve and waited for the moment to take it out on the world. Unfortunately this was not the moment and he paid for it dearly.

Marc laid dead between the werewolves and the aurors like a sign, but Buck could not tell what of. It seemed more like a death of diplomacy than the young werewolf. Just a point Greyback wanted to make for everyone to see.

“So this is what it's going to be like, eh?” Greyback said with a shake of a head. He peered down at Marc, then at aurors, and then up at heavens. “Always it’s the aurors killing the innocent."

Buck moved when the shouting peaked. Marc was dead and there was nothing to do about that, but his task was still a go, and Buck moved forward with a purpose, mingling with muggles as if he belonged, not strolling directly towards the stone, but in circles, each bringing him closer to it, each making his mind a little less his own.

Something was shifting in his stomach, hungry, empty, and cold, but he pushed it all down.

Up close, the moonstone was worse.

It sat in the center of the crater, half-buried in scorched earth, pale and veined with silver that pulsed faintly, as though it breathed. The air around it was fuzzy with rain bouncing from it, turning into hissing mist, and Buck’s teeth ached the way they used to before a full moon.

He swallowed and raised his wand.

The charm Greyback wanted was old, a binding meant for paintings or maps or family trees, things not meant to be moved once claimed. Buck had learned it in fragments, from men who were long dead, back when he still thought that a mighty werewolf could make a difference. Back when he didn’t understand what hate does to a man.

Make it stick forever, Greyback had said.

He stepped closer, boots sinking into wet ash, and began the incantation under his breath. The words tasted metallic on his tongue. Did he bite his tongue? It didn’t matter; the magic started its due course and could not be stopped now.

The stone reacted at once.

Silver light flared, sharp and sudden, and Buck staggered as the magic pushed back against him. His vision blurred. For a heartbeat he thought he heard howling, distant but real the way the moon was real.

A shout rang out. “—there! By the crater!”

Buck turned too late.

An auror stood at the edge of the charmed area, wand already raised, eyes wide with alarm rather than hatred. He was young, Buck realized distantly, barely past training, red robes still too clean for real work.

“Drop the wand!” the auror yelled.

Buck opened his mouth to answer, to explain, to lie, to beg, anything, but with the moonstone so close his mind was in shambles, and he couldn’t find the words.

The spell snapped. Part of Buck knew that the green auror did it more out of fear than real menace, most likely forgetting the training with all of the surged emotions crowding the clearance, but the spell was deadly, and that was the end of any conversation he might have attempted.

Magic tore loose from Buck’s wand, wild and powerful, slamming towards the auror like a thrown blade. There was a flash, silver and red colliding, and then the man was on the ground, unmoving, his wand skittering uselessly into the mud.

For a moment, Buck couldn’t quite understand what had happened.

Buck stared at the body, horror washing cold through him. “No,” he whispered. “No, no—”

Then Greyback laughed. Down the werewolf part of the clearance, the shuffle was still going on, the tall wizard and Greyback still roaring threats and rights and laws at one another, as their backups barely restrained themselves, but now the part of the ICW and ministry forces were looking towards the crater. Towards Buck

He did the only thing he could. He bolted towards the nearest treeline, shooting a spell behind himself blindly, not caring for neither wizards nor muggles, not when they had his murder in mind.

Spells flew. Someone screamed. The magic around the crater buckled as werewolves surged forward and aurors responded in kind, panic and fury tangling together until there was no separating them.

But the thing was, werewolves could never really stand against the might of the ministry let alone the ICW, and soon enough, Buck wasn’t the only one running back to their settlement. They all were. Lorraine was dragging Marc behind her as Vyacheslav and Greyback covered the retreat with a silvery shield after silvery shield.

Buck had no idea if it was their skill or the ministry’s restraint that made them all make back to the heart of the Black forest, but there they were, breathing hard, dirty with rain and mud, and scrambling to raise more shields in case the aurors were following.

Many more werewolves were waiting for them than lived in the settlement, and Buck reckoned Lorraine’s word had already reached some of their kind, and those that could apparate came to offer support or to perhaps wrestle power away from the Greyback.

Greyback sauntered towards his throne, long limbs swaying as if he had no care in the world, a wide grin plastered over his face. There were a lot of folk around that couldn’t stand him, that loathed his philosophy and his way of doing things, but he soaked it all, as if it was love and not the other thing.

He didn’t yet learn that hate was the one thing that doesn’t run out.

One of the older werewolves that came frowned at him, frowned harder at Marc’s dead body, and asked in a deep, throaty voice, “What is happening here, Greyback?”

Greyback dropped into his chair with a loud sigh. “We tried our hand at diplomacy, but wizards responded as they always do.” He waved his hand carelessly at Marc’s dead body. “We made it count, though. Didn’t we, Buck?”

“I made it stick, as you said,” Buck said, but then he remembered the dead auror and swallowed hard. He felt many eyes on him, judging most likely, thinking him the monster he was.

“He’s avenged young Marc,” Greyback said instead. “The wizard drew at him and cursed to kill, but Buck was faster, eh?” His pointy teeth flashed at Buck. “Gave us a chance.”

The murmurs spreading around were not the ones Buck expected, and he suddenly wanted to yell at them. To make them see that they were doomed now, that he was nothing more than a monster to them all.

But the problem was, he now saw, that the monsters were in the majority here.

The answer was simple, really. He cleared his throat. “I need to turn myself in. It gives you a chance to make this fiasco mean something, especially now that the stone isn’t going anywhere.”

Buck was relieved to see the old werewolf that spoke earlier slowly nod. He was relieved to see someone else had a sense still, what with that bloody stone turning them all to beasts.

“Let them take me away, and you can chalk it away as a single werewolf going mad.”

Some positive murmurs, but everyone was still waiting for Greyback to make his mind up so they could do the same.

“We get me a trial, and we make the world watch, and that’s a victory in my book.”

Greyback leaned back into his throne, and tilted his head at him. “There’ll be no trial. Not for the werewolf.”

“Then make sure the world watches as they murder me. They’ll be busy now with containing muggles, but sooner or later they’ll send a squad here to make the case.”

Greyback narrowed his eyes. “Still acting a buck, eh?”

“It’s what we’ll always be in their eyes,” Buck said, standing straight, his chin high up. It was all he could do. Make it count. Make a decision so the others wouldn’t have to. So the Greyback wouldn’t turn it all into more problems for their kind. “Let me turn myself in. A strike for a common werewolf.”

Greyback's mouth turned sour, and Buck thought he could feel the crowd turning towards his way of thinking, and could see the good sense in it. But what he had forgotten was the pride of the werewolf that thought he needed a throne in the world that had no kings.

“Very well,” Greyback said at last. “But on our terms, eh? If they want to arrest you, let them come in number. Let them utter their lies in our home for everyone to hear.”

Buck opened his mouth to press the advantage, but the words would not come out. Vyacheslav had creeped behind him while he was busy watching Greyback, and must have silenced him with a spell. The big werewolf put his huge hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezed hard while he seized Buck’s wrist with his other, stopping Buck from casting a countercharm.

Lorraine stepped in front of him, blocking his view, and slowly but surely ushering him away from the center of the gathering and the attention.

“Meanwhile,” Greyback went on. “I want us to prepare for the worst. The wizards have proved to us that they aren’t to be trusted.

They came, just as Buck had said, in numbers, and the weak charms raised in hurry around the settlement shuddered once before disintegrating into thin ash. Buck could see at once that there would be no rush actions, not from this crowd the authorities had gathered, experienced, grim faces slowly stepping forward without a wand at sight.

But Greyback didn’t see it or he didn’t want to see it, laying back limp into his throne, picking up his teeth with his nails, watching them as if all was according to the plan.

Buck stepped forward, his palms out, showing he had no wands at the ready.

The tall wizard gave him a solemn nod. “You are the one called Buck?”

Buck nodded, wondering how he knew his name to occupy his thoughts, to calm his nerves. “I am.”

The tall man ushered a few men towards him who approached carefully, no need for any words. But Greyback didn’t share the notion.

“Hang on, now,” he said. Lorraine stepped forward, barring her teeth at the wizards and dropping Marc’s dead body in front of them. “You can have Buck if I can have the wizard who did Marc here.”

The terrible feeling shifted in Buck’s belly, and this time it had nothing to do with neither the moon nor the stone.

“It was self-defence,” the tall wizard said levelly. “Besides, the only reason we are not taking the lot of you is because we’re aware of the influence the artifact is having on you.”

It was just the ignorant thing the wizards would say, Buck realized with horror, and as the werewolves all around him shifted on their feet, he realized how much he had underestimated Greyback.

This was all by design.

Vyacheslav pushed his way to the front, gripping the wand so tightly his knuckles turned white, eyes narrowed in furious slits. “They came to kill us all,” he roared, raising his trembling finger at them.

“Enough!” the tall wizard snapped, his wand cracking loudly. “As I said, we’re here for werewolf Buck alone, and—”

Greyback stood slowly, spreading his hands wide.“You see?” he said softly. “This is why it never works. You come for one of us, and you expect the rest to watch.”

It appeared he was talking to the wizards, but Buck knew it was meant for the werewolves. Even Buck felt something akin to shame.

“Stand back,” the wizard said, finally raising his wand. “I won’t ask you again.”

Greyback wouldn’t. He turned his wide grin towards Buck, and he suddenly knew what he had to do to stop it. Before the courage could abandon him, Buck leaped at Greyback, wand forgotten, claws up, and with a mighty snarl.

One of the aurors sent a stunning charm at him, but once again, stupidly predictable, it was enough to set the violence off. The spell missed Buck, but Greyback backhanded him almost lazily ripping his cheek apart, taking a few of his teeth with it. He stumbled back, caught a slippery root with his foot, tumbled, and then his back exploded with pain as he caught a stray spell as well.

He tried to get up.

A curse slammed into his leg, deadening it instantly. Another grazed his shoulder, burning cold through flesh and bone. Someone grabbed him from behind—an auror, breath ragged, trying to drag him free, but his brethren would not let it happen, not now, and they dragged the wizard away snarling, biting, dying but killing as well.

This was not how it was supposed to happen, Buck thought, dragging himself towards the edge of violence, into a treeline, where he could live to fight another day. There might still be a chance if only he could take Greyback, and maybe turn them both in.

A heavy foot crunched his hand, dirty, bare foot unmovable as a tree.

“I can feel strength seeping out of you Buck,” Greyback said, kneeling by his side. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure your name lives on. Not Buck, the other one, the one world should have never forgotten.”

Around them, the chaos went on, the screams, the fires, dying friends and enemies, and in the midst of it all Greyback smiling at Buck with none of that nasty glint nor not caring a shit grin.

Lorraine and Vyacheslav loomed above the two of them like great towers casting them into shadows, but their faces weren’t right. Lorraine was frowning slightly, her face softer than Buck had ever seen it, eyes creased into pitying slits as she looked down on him

Vyacheslav had his sinewy huge arms crossed over his chest, face as grim as the incoming moon, brows drawn together in emotion Buck didn’t think him capable of.

“You made the moonstone stick. You killed the first wizard. You made all of this happen, and for that, I honor you.”

Buck coughed out some blood, strained for words, tried to lift himself up, but Greyback was right, there was no strength left in him. In the end, all he managed were a few words. “They’ll hate us forever.”

“No, Buck,” Greyback said with a sad shake of his head. “After all this, we will hate them forever. You’ve shown us the way, eh? Now, we won’t stop until all of humanity howls as one at the great moon above.”

There was a feverish glint to Greyback’s eyes now, a glint so different than one Buck was used to that it made him wonder if he had ever known him at all.

“My namesake from old wizarding wars had the right idea, you know? Bite em all.”

Corners of Buck’s vision were growing darker by the second, but he had to give it one last go. “They’ll kill us all.”

Greyback gave a grave nod. “Perhaps. Or we turn them all. Either way, the curse we lived through will be gone.”

And that utterance made Buck sag for one last time. He gave it a good fight, he thought, but what for? His cursed existence and scars that never healed. He looked above at the moonless night, and his tears joined the rain flowing down his face.

It was a night fit for werewolves alright.

 

Spoiler: oink

This emergency is riding on the strong motives of hate, rather spelled out.

It's yet another macguffin that's there not to influence the plot but just to make it happen, which is common enough I guess, and I don't hate it, just pointing it out. Just something to get everyone together.

I think if you're about to write hate that you need more words to make it stick stronger with readership, and to split violence scenes with more talking, more diplomacy, more preparing for what's obviously coming. This way, from the moment at the crater, there's just violence after violence, with rather scenes in between that imo should've been way longer to properly set it up, and maybe even make muggles matter more.

Because of this, it seems a bit contrived, and I think a couple words more would take that away. I think you realized this and tried to make the point stick with some repetition which I liked, but it's not the real substitution for the build-up. And also this you could build up Greyback, make him more manic, more asshole, only for it all to be an act, or at least halfway.

For a story without any canon characters, except half of Greyback, I suppose, it reads rather well. It could go for a lot of longer if it weren't from Buck's POV.