Brand nodded. “Before his fall, he sent envoys to recruit us, trying to convince the centaurs to fight for him. Of course, we refused. That refusal led to conflict, and we were forced to scatter to avoid his followers. Recently, we’ve been discussing reuniting.”
“You think this werewolf leader might be tied to Voldemort?” Alex asked.
“It’s possible,” Brand replied. “The Dark Lord didn’t just target us. He also sought out werewolves, giants, and even trolls. The trolls, of course, were too dim-witted to understand his plans. But the werewolves…”
Alex nodded, realizing just how far the Dark Lord's influence had reached. Even non-human creatures like centaurs, werewolves, and trolls had been targets of his schemes. "As far as I know, aside from targeting us, his forces also attempted to ally with werewolves, giants, and even trolls. Of course, they failed with the trolls. Their limited intelligence made it impossible for them to grasp his plans," Brand Varden explained, his tone calm but grim.
"You’re saying the werewolf wizard might have been one of his agents, sent to rally the werewolves?" Alex asked, the pieces falling into place.
"Yes," Brand replied with a nod. "He likely succeeded. But now, with the Dark Lord gone and a group of werewolves under his command, he must find a new purpose."
"I understand. Thank you for clarifying," Alex said with genuine gratitude. ‘Death Eaters again’, Alex thought bitterly.’ These remnants of Voldemort’s followers were like a shadow that refused to fade. Brand’s theory seemed plausible—too plausible to ignore. Whoever this werewolf leader was, Alex couldn’t let him slip away.
As their conversation ended, Brand bid Alex farewell, leading the centaurs away into the forest. The younger centaurs, led by Firenze, paused to nod respectfully at Alex before following their elder. Their sense of honor was evident—they knew how to repay kindness, and they weren’t shy about showing it. Once the centaurs were gone, Alex looked at the gifts he had received. With a quick motion, he stored them neatly into the enchanted space ring he had recently crafted. Satisfied, he began planning his next move.
Although Alex now had a rough idea about the werewolves’ origins, he couldn’t shake his concern about the escaped leader. His top priority was identifying the man, tracking him down, and putting an end to whatever plans he had. For now, Alex had no idea if the werewolves had an established base in the Forbidden Forest or if there were more hiding nearby, waiting for the right moment to strike.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, Alex raised his hand and sent a crackling arc of electricity at one of the unconscious werewolves. "Aw!" The werewolf woke with a snarl, its sharp teeth bared in a furious howl. But before it could make another sound, the spirit-binding snake around its mouth constricted further, silencing it.
The werewolf thrashed wildly, trying to rise, but Alex calmly stepped on its chest, pinning it down with ease. Bound by both magic-suppressing handcuffs and the enchanted snake, the werewolf soon grew exhausted, its breath coming in labored gasps. Yet its bloodshot eyes remained fixed on Alex, filled with unbridled rage. "Can you understand me?" Alex asked, his voice cold as he pressed his foot down harder. The spirit-binding snake loosened just enough to allow the werewolf to speak.
“Human, die!” the werewolf snarled, its voice guttural and savage. It lunged, snapping its teeth toward Alex, only for the snake to tighten again, forcing its head back.
Alex shook his head in mock disappointment. Turning away, he pulled a large box from his space ring and glanced toward his house-elf. "Wimzy, there are supplies in here—tents, food, everything we need. Set up camp for the night. Get a fire going and prepare some food."
“Yes, Master!” Wimzy’s voice was filled with excitement as she scurried to the task. It was her first real assignment since becoming Alex’s house-elf, and she was determined to do well.
Alex watched briefly as Wimzy worked her magic with practiced ease. One hand unfolded the tent fabric while the other assembled the frame. In no time, she was multitasking like a seasoned professional. Satisfied, Alex turned his attention back to the werewolf. A giant, glowing hand made of magic lifted the creature’s head, forcing its mad, bloodshot eyes to meet Alex’s. "Let’s see what you’ve got buried in that head of yours," Alex muttered, activating Legilimency.
The werewolf’s mental defenses were almost nonexistent compared to those of a human wizard. Werewolves lacked the natural resistance to mind magic, making it easy to break in. But their minds were chaotic—a swirling mess of primal instincts and fragmented memories. Navigating through the chaos to find anything useful was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Fortunately, werewolves seemed to have excellent memory retention, even if their thoughts were disorganized. After nearly an hour of digging, Alex finally uncovered something worthwhile.
With a flick of his hand, Alex released the werewolf and let its limp body drop to the ground. Stretching his neck, he winced at the stiffness caused by the prolonged use of Legilimency. Nearby, Wimzy had not only finished setting up the tent but also prepared a pot of soup over the campfire. The rich aroma filled the clearing, making Alex’s stomach growl. "Good work, Wimzy," Alex said with a faint smile.
"Thank you, Master!" Wimzy beamed, clearly proud of herself.
Turning back to the werewolf, Alex reviewed the memories he had pulled. The name Fenrir Greyback stood out immediately. Greyback was no ordinary werewolf. He had long been the leader of a large werewolf community and was infamous for his extremist views. He reveled in spreading his curse, deliberately targeting children to infect them and turn them into soldiers for his twisted cause.
To Alex, Fenrir wasn’t just a werewolf—he was a terrorist. Fenrir seemed determined to escalate the tension between werewolves and wizards. He led his pack in attacks on wizarding communities, carried out acts of terrorism, and indoctrinated other werewolves—particularly those he had infected—to hate wizards and humans alike.
From the memories Alex had extracted, one particularly troublesome detail emerged: Fenrir’s activities weren’t confined to the UK, and his base of operations wasn’t even on British soil. During the latter part of the war, Fenrir had allied himself with the Death Eaters under Voldemort’s command. On their orders, he traveled extensively, rallying werewolves from across the continent. He managed to gather both native werewolves and those recently infected by lycanthropy.
Not long after his alliance with the Death Eaters, however, Voldemort fell. With their leader gone, the Death Eaters were forced underground. Despite their retreat, Fenrir continued his mission, using his influence to track and unite scattered werewolf kin. Native werewolves—those who had grown up in packs and were used to the life—were easier to control. Fenrir’s identity as one of them, combined with his formidable strength and human cunning, quickly brought many under his command. The werewolf Alex captured belonged to this group.
However, not everyone accepted Fenrir’s leadership. Many of those recently infected with lycanthropy—ordinary people who had been attacked and turned against their will—were repulsed by him. They saw themselves as victims rather than allies to the cause, and they rejected Fenrir’s ideology. In response, Fenrir launched a brutal purge. Those who refused to join him were either forced into submission or killed outright. These violent campaigns went unnoticed by most, as even the Ministry of Magic knew little about the werewolves.