The Pureblood Coup

Sheherazade: Your feelings are exactly right. Greyback is totally on the verge of losing control.


Continuation of....


Chapter Eleven: Young Lust


And now nobody in the vicinity was laughing. The air around the circle was stiffening, becoming palpably deafening. Undoubtedly, it was the lull just before the storm.

Greyback shrieked, “Give me my wand! Give it me at once, Snape!” Greyback could certainly sense he was in danger and he was frightened.

Snape just shook his head with a wry smile.

The werewolf got to his feet, and ambled through the circle, which instantly closed in. But suddenly Yaxley was invading his space, right up against Greyback’s face, nose to nose. He wanted to stand up to himself, confront Greyback, the one who had made him look like a loser in front of so many. Before so many distinguished people the reputation he’d worked so hard for was besmirched!

“Filthy! Cheating! Thief!,” seethed Yaxley, giving a bellowing taunt to every word. “And I can smell the stench of werewolf on you, Greyback!”

At these words, several, some instinctively so immersed in the bigotry of their culture, spat on the floor and then proceeded with the back of their hands’ to wipe their mouths’ with revulsion.

And because Greyback had no wand, he punched the man hard, a walloping press to the center of the pancreas. Yaxley, who had an unusually strong pain threshold, what with being a Death Eater, only keeled over slightly, gasping for air but simultaneously managed to wrestle Greyback to the ground, whilst yanking his wand out.

But the hint at the wolf characteristics was fully exuding on Greyback’s demeanor now. He seemed to morph into a super-human strength, and he threw Yaxley off him, who went flying into the air and landed with a soft bounce, as Wizards are immune from getting hurt at being dropped or thrown short distances, no matter how hard they land.

Greyback leapt up in terror, and seeing the circle closing around him, he actually dropped on all fours. His teeth were bared, and he snarled letting out a low growl. Wands were raised, and some people were breaking up the circle, too cowardly to help fight the werewolf, even if he wasn’t in his actual form that could only be witness to on a full moon.

Scabior offered with determined conciliation, yelling, (as he did have a secret cordial relationship with him, yet he wasn’t tactless enough to admit it here), “Greyback, this is Scabior, your favourite bloke. Stop this spectacle or you’ll be getting a severe censorship from me, the bloody Chief Snatcher, Greyback!”

But two seconds past and Greyback had not registered the warning from Scabior. He literally leapt from the stone carpeted floor, and landed, with a mighty pounce on the smooth glass of the roulette table. He really, truly looked and acted like a wild animal now. He snarled like a dog, showing all his brown pointed teeth, baring and grinding them viciously.

Yaxley with his wand raised made a few steps towards the Roulette table, but Dolohov was too quick. He grabbed his friend by the back of the elbows and triceps, restraining him with his arms over Yaxley’s chest from the back.

Yaxley, himself still blinded with rage, complained, “Let me get him! Duel that thing! He embarrassed me. I’ll show him Pure-blood might is worth tens times his shit!”

Greyback seemed to paw the ground and then lifted one sinewed arm, and absentmindedly started licking his long yellow-coloured fingernails, sucking bits of grime off them.

Everyone was watching in a horrific, indecisive gaze in these crucial couple of seconds. Before anyone could think, Greyback had leapt from the table and soared over the heads of some of the circle. As this happened spell lights ricocheted and collided with each other, but none of them hit the renegade monster. He now prowled behind the circle, where his electrified eyes spotted Rookwood and Theodore Nott playing Wizard Chess.

Like an animal for it’s prey he meandered slightly behind them, trotting an unpredictable path in which more spells missed him by inches. Instinctively he was sly and planned to sneak up on them. Evidently it was working for the erotic violent music boomed so loud and the voices of dozens still mixed from the other end of the huge billiard room, combined with their concentration. Therefore they were completely oblivious to the cries of panicked, "Watch out!"

“Now the Pure-bloods Gambit…Knight to C-4 and this move…Yes, overtakes the enemy’s Queen through a ruse. The ruse makes use of-,“ explained Rookwood patiently, as his Knight smashed what was Theodore’s Queen in two.

Suddenly there was a shattering crash, and the little table in a lonely corner of the Billiard room where Rookwood and Theodore had been playing was rudely interrupted. The table flipped over, the two sand-filled hour glasses used to time their turns, lay broken in shards upon the floor. The little chess pieces ran scattering for cover.

Theodore darted slightly to the side, and salvaged getting his jaw bit by inches. Clearly, the youthful, stringy weedy-looking Theodore Nott had been Greyback’s target. He does love to bite them young, he certainly did not want the elder Rookwood’s blood.

People screamed. And more people ran from the scene. But now the entire billiard room was watching, some from several yards away.

“I could do for a snack,” announced Greyback loudly.

Theodore tried to escape from Greyback’s line of vision, but then Greyback’s crazy eyes spotted him again, and a light filled them. But before Greyback could attempt another bite, the stooped stature of Augustus Rookwood thumped his staff against the floor. His staff banged gouges into the floor so that they resembled craters or potholes. This was his casting the Defodio spell thus making Greyback lose balance from the tiny earthquake tremors occurring again and again.

And then suddenly Bellatrix, who was in the room came bounding forward. The bravest person in the room, she stood above Greyback, who was now huddling in the fetal position. “Incarcerous,” she said righteously.

The crowd waited with bated breath for what Bellatrix Lestrange, would do next now that the Werewolf was finally inert. “You are nothing but a pawn for the Dark Lord. A scavenger for him. Seeking all your rotten gold. You are disloyal – wasted werewolf, you exist for mere profit and servitude.”

Greyback squirmed under his bonds and retaliated, “Let me go! Let me go! Release me woman! The Dark Lord wants me to live. I swear!”

“I know he does,” said Bellatrix sweetly. “And don’t you dare speak to a Pure-blood Witch with disrespect. Never again!….Dirty mouth, trying to taint us with his sickness!”

And Bellatrix, not afraid of being bitten, stomped on Greyback’s mouth, forcefully with the sole of her shoe. Some people clapped in response, delighted at the entertainment.

“Now let me think what to do,” simpered Bellatrix. And as she supposedly contemplated his fate, she downed the last of the firewhiskey in her hand. Then out came a chocolate cockroach cluster at the end of the bottle. She squeezed it between thumb and forefinger, until she drank all it’s juice and with a final smile, popped the cockroach cluster and chewed it, leisurely Greyback watching intently all the while, feeling ever more intimidated.

As soon as Bellatrix was done, without the slightest thought she raised her wand high over her head, arching her wrist down at Greyback, “Cruc-“

She was cut short, by of all people Narcissa, screaming bloody murder, “BELLA! Get off. He is mine!”

Bellatrix turned her head back, to see Narcissa standing in back of her, still clad in the erotic dressrobes. “Cissy?,” she said quizzically, stepping away from Greyback’s prostrate form.

But Narcissa did not even look around at her sister. Instead she saw a gleaming dragon-headed dagger some forty feet away or so. “Accio dagger!” Narcissa said clearly and she was not the least bit demure.

The dagger came propelling forward, and Narcissa caught it by the tips of her bejeweled fingers, her slender wrist sliding it through her hand.

Narcissa got down on her knees in front of the matted hair and sweaty form of Fenrir Greyback. She raised the small dagger, aiming it for the werewolf’s chest, “For your obscene humor. You shall never speak ill of me again! I shall run you through with this knife!”

Greyback looked terribly frightened, but he did not plead mercy. Rather his eyes were empty and calm, devoid of any compasssion at all, even when it came to himself.

And then Narcissa cut the air, striking down like an anvil for Greyback’s chest.

“Mother! No! Don’t….Don’t do it!”

It was Narcissa’s son, Draco in the crowd. Narcissa stopped in mid-air, but did not cease to relinquish her intent, the dagger dangling by her wrist in the air, poised for its destination.

Draco was gripping in his hands, the Hawthorn Wand, or what was now really the Elder Wand and he looked terrified. And suddenly Greyback’s head was spinning round and round, and becoming distorted changing into a hideous something. A few seconds later, and Greyback’s head was transformed into a bird with a red face, orange rimmed beady eyes, and the further adornment of a feather sticking out the crown of his head like an eccentric pointed hat. He looked truly ridiculous, clad in Death Eater Ceremonial Robes and with the head of an authentic-looking vulture!

Everybody was now turning their heads back and forth between Greyback and Draco with shock. “What?! He insulted my mother!” exclaimed Draco to the crowd, fierce devotion in his heart. For Draco had heard bits of the conversation between Narcissa and Fenrir whilst Snatchers were carving the muggle bodies. But that was only half the story as to why Draco reacted like that, the other half (though he would never admit it), was that he did not want to see his mother kill somebody.

Because Draco’s Transfiguration was incomplete, Fenrir could still speak and think like a human (plus Greyback could never be an animagus). Through his sharp-curved beak Greyback spoke, his beady vulture eyes’s as dark yellow as muck, “Yep, the boy is speaking sense! I called her…his of course. I mean look at the sight of her! And him bedddin’ her and all…,” and Fenrir spoke of Narcissa having sex with Voldemort, with casual clarity as if everyone knew. He did not know it was a secret and it was quite puzzling regarding how Greyback had even heard of it himself.

Bellatrix at this reminder now glowered at her sister dangerously. Draco, meanwhile had gulped at hearing the reality of the awful truth again and tears were hiding behind his gray eyes. At these words, the crowd started whispering indiscernable phrases, clearly trying to pull the pieces together. Some of them looked like they had already guessed correctly that it was the Dark Lord, yet they would not dare speak publicly of this.

And with the wisdom of a royal queen, Narcissa commanded icily, “Silence!” And she whirled her wand at Greyback simultaneously casting her form of a Silencio charm. Greyback’s hands went to his throat like he was choking but no sound issued. Narcissa wanted to keep him quiet and prevent her fear that he would boldly declare any moment now in plain English exactly what she was being ordered to do for Draco’s sake. And before she really was vile enough to attempt the murder of him simply because he somehow found out she was forced to do it with Voldemort after the Festival of the Pure-bloods, and she didn’t want the news spread.

Greyback was still sitting like an idiot up on the stone floor. Dolohov came over and shoved Greyback down again, as roughly and deliberately as he could. “That’s for disgracing the fucking uniform,” said Antonin Dolohov darkly. “Shouldn’t be wearing…I’ve half a mind to tear you in two….” And then Dolohov towered over the werewolf and punched him in the balls, “ for muggle dueling Yaxley before!”

And then Greyback tottered over and clutched his groin, wordlessly, his lips moving as if to moan in pain, yet of course he still could not make speech under Narcissa’s silencing charm.

Then Rookwood came over, his face pockmarked and stooped as he leaned on his wooden staff. Rookwood took the tankard Greyback had been drinking awhile ago and poured it on him, sloshing all over Greyback's body, soaking his robes. “Go lick your loins, werewolf.”

Then several guests did the finishing remarks, muttering under their breath with careless neglect as if Greyback was garbage. They repeated “beast” and “werewolf”, creating a synergistic effect. They spat on the tied up werewolf, and then walking by carelessly, Greyback was now a completely subuded pathetic creature, finally defeated.



Note: I did not make Greyback act beastly withot reason. It is pointed at in canon that even in human form he acted this way in HBP book. During the aftermath of Snape killing Dumbledore Greyback was seen running around the grounds on all fours and we know he bit Bill even though he wasn’t transformed at the time. And Narcissa is not so pitiable here is she? I think she would be like this, so vengeful and dangerous whenever someone threatens herself or her Draco or Lucius. She would have plunged the knife if it wasn’t for Draco. Maybe it would have killed Greyback (no loss there though). This chapter probably blew you away with all the intrigue and drama. I feel like it’s getting sad for some reason, they are all in such horrific situations.