The conservatory door banged open. Narcissa’s shoulders tensed, then eased. She didn’t look up from her papers—it was simply Andromeda, as ever, contemptuous of hinges.

  "Mother's having vapors again," Andi announced, plopping into the chair opposite her with a theatrical sigh. "Something about my fingernails being green."

  "Are they?" Narcissa peered over the rim of her teacup, savouring the subtle note of bergamot.

  "Completely." Andi held up her hands, examining the verdant discoloration with keen interest. "A fascinating reaction between Devil's Snare sap and morning dew. Perhaps worth reproducing for documentation. Looks rather wicked, too."

  "Right. For documentation," Narcissa repeated slowly, "not for horrifying Mother into turning prematurely white?"

  Though honestly, Bella has already driven her halfway there.

  "A happy coincidence?" Andi grinned, then noticed the journal beside Narcissa's saucer. "Still reading Father's dusty old reports? That’s the new one from the Gask Ridge expedition he was going on about, isn't it?"

  There was a queer lilt to her voice, though asking after it would only encourage Andi to become insufferably secretive and smug. Her “older” sister could be most childish.

  "Mmm." Narcissa returned her gaze to the article and turned a page. "A complete border fort was revealed in situ. Fascinating, really."

  She took another sip, eyes poring over a transcription of a wax tablet from the commander's office. It detailed the final days of occupation before the empire’s urgent retreat from the highlands.

  "Riveting, I'm sure." Andi reached over and plucked a biscuit from the tray. "Almost as thrilling as Mother's lecture on maintaining pristine cuticles for maximizing matrimonial success."

  Narcissa nearly snorted the tea out her nose.

  “What? She's never given you the fourth degree on your lacking cuticle care?”

  Narcissa sniffed. Primly, of course. “I’m afraid I have remained, tragically, well manicured.”

  She turned another page. “She mentioned your ‘cuticles’ specifically?”

  Andromeda kicked a leg over the arm of her chair, slouching in practised impropriety. The clarity of purpose in her insolence was admirable, in its own way. "Among other failings. Apparently, young men of good breeding are, sadly, oversensitive to such trivialities."

  She bit into the biscuit with gratuitous gusto. "Along with proper posture, musical accomplishment, and the ability to discuss literature at length without expressing any actual opinions."

  Narcissa's lips twitched. "Heaven forbid we have thoughts about what we read. What might follow? Forming opinions?"

  "Perish the thought,” Andi said, bits of biscuit threatening to escape. “We're meant to nod prettily and ask insightful questions to allow gentlemen to display their superior intellects."

  Narcissa’s nose scrunched as crumbs burst forth from her sister’s mouth—an ongoing affront to the most basic of decorum. "Speaking of which, she's planning something for the Rosier garden party."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yep.” Andi produced a juvenile popping sound as she mimicked the muggleborn slang that had been growing more common in recent years. “The kind of ‘something’ that involves strategic seating arrangements and meaningful glances across the refreshment table."

  Naturally. Andi’s not exactly showing initiative in hunting down a suitor on her own.

  Narcissa set down her teacup with deliberate care. "Young Evan has excellent prospects. I’d even dare say he isn’t entirely insufferable. A rarity, sister."

  "’Young Evan’ has the personality of a lemon, and similar appeal." Andi slumped in her chair. "But his family owns half of the orchards in the Midlands, so apparently I’m to be put on offer."

  "Lemons are useful for… fending off scurvy?"

  Andi arched her brow—a proper Black expression for once. "Should I be worried about scurvy?"

  "I'm simply suggesting that if one is given lemons, one might as well make lemonade."

  Andi’s jaw dropped.

  Oh, sister, did you think you were the only one who could bandy about muggle idioms?

  Narcissa’s lip quirked, though her voice carried a strange note to her own ears. "Particularly when other options have proven significantly... more constraining."

  “Or, perhaps I am simply developing practical sensibilities,” she went on quickly, not looking up from the journal.

  "Practical sensibilities." Andi repeated the words like they tasted unpleasant. "At seventeen? That's deeply concerning. You need to get out more. Explore. Live!"

  You and Bella have done just about all the ‘living’ the family can tolerate. At least one of us must do our duty and make the family proud.

  She turned another page, though her eyes were no longer moving.

  "Mother seems to think practical sensibilities are exactly what our family requires at present."

  "Mother thinks a lot of things. Most of them involving strategic alliances and advantageous bloodlines." She frowned, her nose scrunched as though something rotten had passed beneath. Then it transformed, disgust replaced by something else. "Oh, she sent me here to fetch you, by the way."

  Another turn of the page.

  “Hmm.”

  Andi plucked the remaining biscuit from Narcissa’s plate. It went unnoticed. “Apparently, you’ll need some time to properly prepare yourself.”

  She paused. The returned lilt in Andi’s voice was discomfiting.

  “Oh?”

  Placing the cup to her lips, she took a sip to mask her unease.

  “Yes, you’ll be off with Father to meet Peverell at the old Somerset Estate today. ‘In three hours,’ she said.” The toothy grin that spread across her sister’s face was most vexing. “Mind you, that was two hours ago.”

  Andi, you menace!

  Narcissa spat out her mouthful of tea.

  · · ·

  The Portkey spat her out like a mouthful of Sirius’ vile Stinksap taffy. Narcissa's heels skittered, arms windmilling, as she fought to avoid splaying across the cobblestones in an undignified heap. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, she willed the world to cease its infernal spinning.

  Narcissa Black, paragon of grace and poise, wobbling about like a foal taking its first steps.

  How mortifying.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Her moment of gracelessness had gone undetected. At the very least, her father and Lord Peverell did not do her the disservice of being seen to take notice.

  A small mercy.

  She pushed back at the heat that sought to rush to her cheeks. The ease with which the two men were smoothly descending rubbed salt in her wounded pride. She turned away from them to scowl down at her cumbersome boots.

  High heels, mother? I’m sure Peverell will be smitten by my tottering around ruins in haute couture.

  She exhaled slowly, then turned back in time to face the two men as they landed beside her. The self-control expected of a scion of House Black was on full display. Let her not be accused of impropriety or bringing shame to their vaunted house.

  The path before them had once been well-laid. Smooth limestone was set into a sampietrini pattern, though tufts of grass now pushed through the seams in some places. In others the stone remained remarkably untouched, its edges as sharp and clean as though they'd been laid just yesterday.

  The estate stood ahead, partially hidden by a wall of lush, overgrown hedgerows and a large marble fountain further down the path.

  She glanced at Lord Peverell. His brow was furrowed, eyes swiftly studying the allee with keen interest. Curiously, bizarre letters seemed to stream across a lens on his spectacles.

  Peculiar. It appears his 'reading' glasses require reading, how apropos.

  Narcissa's lips twitched.

  "Welcome to Black-upon-Avon, Lord Peverell. I'd offer you a warmer welcome if conditions permitted." Father turned on the charm, clapping him on the back soundly. "Instead, I'm afraid, I'll have to prevail upon you to unlock the door."

  "Please, spare me from the formalities, Minister of the Department of Culture and Heritage Black," Lord Peverell said, his tone and face holding together admirably, “Harry is fine.”

  Cheeky.

  Her father chortled. Chortled!

  It took him several moments to gather himself. Lord Peverell’s stoic veneer cracked as a boyish smirk stretched across his face.

  Back under control, her father responded. “Very well, Harry. I suppose we may dispense with the titles on this occasion. Shall we begin the investigation?”

  “Certainly.” The lord said, pulling out a crimson, velvet sack. "Let's see what my little birds can tell me."

  With that, several whirring shapes shot from the bag and flittered across the property. A faint smile crossed his face as he watched the light play off the small birds as they whizzed about.

  He seemed unguarded and genuinely pleased in his observation of them.

  “Are these the devices used in the Gask Ridge excavation, Lord Peverell?” She asked.

  The man turned to face her, his eyebrow arched ever so slightly. “Lord Peverell? I’m certain I am just Harry on this occasion.”

  She took his meaning. “I’m sure you’re correct, Harry.”

  He smiled, nodding. “Yes, miss Black, these are the very same. Though, I admit, I didn’t expect my dry site report to have been of much interest to a lady such as yourself.”

  She bristled, though his tone did suggest he’d not meant offense.

  “I assure you, I’m quite capable of following along, Harry.” She struggled valiantly to keep any pique from her voice. Based upon the apologetic expression crossing Harry’s face, he’d noticed her dissatisfaction.

  “I appear to have stepped in it. I’ve been made aware you were invited based upon your own merits,” he bowed his head slightly, then glanced over the rim of his glasses, emerald eyes shining. “My apologies if I suggested otherwise.”

  He’d apologized.

  Her mind stalled for a moment, then, before she could formulate a response, her father interjected, “Quite right! I daresay Narcissa is among the brightest minds Hogwarts has seen in a generation! As a matter of fact—”

  She stood in mortified silence, retreating into the sanctuary of her mind, as her father went on one of his soliloquies, enumerating her uncountable virtues.

  He continued his effusive praise as the three made their way down the path. The grounds gave off a feeling of timelessness and eerie stillness as they continued their approach. The silence and solemnity were only challenged by the trilling and colourful lights of Harry's fascinating little birds.

  Narcissa squinted as one of them slowed over the fountain. "It appears one of your birds is acting rather queerly." She pointed at the bird in question. It seemed to be moving in slow motion, its wing beats moving no more quickly than the beat of her own heart, as opposed to the invisible blur of the others.

  Harry followed her gesture and tilted his head, tapping the side of his glasses in a quick pattern. He whistled, and his flock darted back, encircling the fountain and slowly moving in, all of them slowing as they drew closer.

  "Well, what do we have here... A confluence in the wards? Maybe an entanglement?” The murmuring suggested his musings were intended to be rhetorical. He glanced to the flock circling him. ”Suppose this lot won’t be much use, then."

  With a puzzle before him, he unconsciously discarded the thin cloak of aristocratic decorum he’d been wearing uncomfortably.

  Far be it for her to criticise a Lord of the Wizengamot, however… Had he no concern with maintaining the expected gravitas of his station? The reports revealed a consummate professional. Perhaps this cavalier attitude was a part of the arcanist culture.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Many of them were, indeed, an odd sort, in her limited experience.

  Along the upper fountain bowl’s circumference, several carved faces sat, acting as waterspouts once upon a time. Now, one of them, a serpent with a flickering stone tongue, hissed loudly as they approached.

  Harry held his hand up, signalling them to stop, then listened for a moment before another string of sibilant hissing sent a shiver up Narcissa’s spine.

  A Parselmouth—Britain’s new knight in shining armour speaks the serpent’s tongue.

  How fascinating.

  Looking to her father, she saw his eyebrows had likewise ascended as he observed the man converse with the fountainhead. On closer inspection, the fountain supported a full menagerie. She saw a raven, a grim, a griffin, and many more.

  Some of them had their eyes closed, unconvincingly playing at sleep, though others were less shy, openly listening in on the conversation. Narcissa made unintended eye contact with a Sphinx head, they held each other’s gaze for a moment before it winked and went back to watching Harry.

  A pause in the conversation drew her attention back in time to see the snake nod it’s head twice before its expression pinched.

  Leaning closer to decipher exactly what was occurring, her eyebrows shot up as a torrent of water burst from the snake’s now open mouth. She whipped her wand up in time to deflect the dousing.

  “My apologies, Miss Black,” Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I didn’t fully grasp how backed up the fountain was.”

  Despite the rapid beating of her chest from the adrenaline, she’d be lying if she claimed his boyish expression lacked a certain charm. “Yes, well, it is of no great concern.”

  “Indeed! Narcissa is very accomplished with her wandword. She graduated top of her class, after all.” Cygnus looked at her with pride plain on his face.

  In response, heat quickly rose to her own.

  Oh Father, must you constantly embarrass me?

  “Is that so? That is quite an accomplishment.” He gave her a look that felt evaluating. “I imagine it will open many doors for you.”

  She waved the praise away. Harry nodded, then blessedly redirected the conversation.

  “Well, I have good news on accessing the estate,” he gestured to the snake head, “Cuthbert here has informed me that disentangling the wards should be as simple as convincing all these guardians to cooperate and refill the fountain.”

  Narcissa raised her eyebrow, then gave another scan of the arrayed heads. Once again, the Sphinx caught her eye, then smiled, all teeth.

  “Cygnus, Miss Black, care to see if you can persuade any of the Black Guardians to acquiesce to our request?” Harry gestured and Cygnus nodded assuredly before approaching the raven that had locked eyes with him.

  Alright, you can do this.

  She approached the waiting head, which was giving her an unsettling grin.

  Narcissa greeted the head with composure. “Greetings, Sphinx. I don’t suppose you’d be so kind as to aid in filling the basin?”

  “Hmmm. Suppose, suppose. I suppose I may,” It said with an agreeable smile, before flashing into a severe frown. “I suppose I may not.”

  Its easy smile then returned. “Let us leave it up to chance! A riddle! Answer my riddle, and I’ll fill the basin for you, young flower.”

  This insufferable menace. Where is a Ravenclaw when you need one?

  She smiled back and replied, “Of course. Please, share the riddle with me.”

  The creature beamed. “But of course! Ahem!”

  “What must be broken to be of any use?”

  Numerous answers paraded across Narcissa’s mind.

  The riddle was broad enough to allow for multiple answers. The task must then be not in finding any answer that fit, but in determining the riddle’s purpose.

  What to do?

  She glanced consideringly at the sphinx’s self-satisfied, smiling face. This irritating beast would take great satisfaction in watching her squirm, only to come up with an overly complicated answer that it could reject.

  The thought of this obnoxious creature smugly watching her overthink something so obvious… Simply unbearable.

  She tilted her chin up just so, regarding him coolly as she answered.

  "An egg, obviously."

  The sphinx’s smarmy face turned to stone for a moment, before quickly composing itself and responding in a pitying tone.

  “Oh? Is that your final answer?”

  Narcissa snorted. Elegantly, of course. She turned her head, not even making eye contact with the stone head.

  “Anything else is mere sophistry, something clearly beneath your… unrivalled intellect.”

  The sphinx coughed awkwardly at being so blatantly called out. She could see the look of feeling wronged on its face. It had been frozen in time, waiting centuries to give its riddle… for this?

  “I swear you Blacks used to be more fun,” the face pouted, bottom lip on full display.

  Narcissa quirked an eyebrow, gracing the sphinx with a final glance.

  “I’m sure. Well, spit it out.”

  The sphinx did just that, blowing a raspberry with a loud “Thhhhbbbtttt” before opening its mouth and contributing to the slowly filling fountain.

  “Tragic. The poor thing was looking for a bit of elevated repartee, unaware it was doomed from the start.”

  Narcissa turned to see Harry had approached, an understated look of mischief colouring the gravitas in his voice.

  She smirked.

  “Quite.”

  She glanced past him, noting her father was in discussions with the raven, the two haggling over some bit of house trivia. Beyond him, all the other heads now appeared to be in compliance, water flowing from their mouths.

  Narcissa couldn’t hide her incredulity. “How is it you solved the other challenges so quickly?”

  “Hmm, that? Oh, I cheated,” he supplied, his face flat. Deadpan?

  She responded on reflex.

  “Elaborate.”

  A moment of silence passed before she realized she’d just made a demand of a young a powerful lord. One her mother and father were not so subtly suggesting she woo.

  Colour rose to her cheeks.

  “I—I mean… That is to say—” She began, mortified, scrambling to salvage what dignity she might after this faux pas.

  Harry’s composed countenance cracked. A full, toothy smile broke out across his face, and a deep belly laugh burst out of him, uncontrolled.

  “Sophisticated and sharp she may be, but you didn’t raise your daughter to be meek and demure, eh, Cygnus?” Harry looked over her shoulder, his grin brilliant.

  So bright.

  The rosy hue on her cheeks intensified as her father responded.

  “Haha! Just so, Harry! All my girls are true daughters of House Black. Beautiful, Intelligent, but prone to speaking their minds.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see her father. It was not simply as cover to hide her embarrassment. Not at all.

  It turned out looking her father’s way was not a good idea, after all. The pride radiating from his expression only deepened her dilemma.

  Honestly!

  Her skin tingled.

  It was certainly not from a flush coming to her pale skin. She’d conquered that years ago.

  She looked down into the now filled basin of the fountain.

  · · ·

  Her reflection looked back up at her from within the basin.

  A flush covered her reflection’s face. But she’d conquered that years ago!

  Her skin tingled.

  “Do you feel that?” Her father asked.

  She did. It was a different tingle, like standing outside in the calm before a storm.

  “It’s just the unwinding of the wards.” Harry commented on the phenomenon with a lecturer’s tone. ”The fission is releasing built up energy into the atmosphere.”

  That sounds a bit worry—

  “Nothing to worry about.” He assured them. “Though it can be a humbling experience.”

  Time stretched as wave after wave of static electric pulses buzzed about them. Harry was taking notes on some text flickering across the lens of his glasses. Her father observed silently, a furrow to his brow as he gazed intently on the mansion in front of them. He seemed eager to reclaim the ancestral estate.

  Narcissa closed her eyes, letting her other senses heighten as she felt the energy vibrating beneath her skin. She could almost feel… something with each layer that was peeled off.

  Colours.

  Emotions.

  Scents.

  Song.

  It was like sitting in the eye of a synesthetic hurricane.

  She basked in the midst of something far beyond her. Something sublime. Beyond understanding.

  Transcendent.

  The scale dwarfed her.

  Her worries.

  Her fears.

  Her pride.

  True magic.

  And then the world went still.

  She opened her eyes. Nothing had changed, though everything had, of course.

  The three proceeded forward in silence. Unspoken, but agreed upon.

  She still felt unmoored. To anchor herself, she began cataloging the architecture as they approached the manor proper.

  The continued sampietrini pathway revealed the full grandeur of the Romanesque structure that dominated the clearing. Its pale limestone walls were untouched by time. Twin octagonal towers flanked the central keep, their conical slate roofs piercing the sky like twin sentinels. The courtyard facade featured a series of rounded arches, each doorway tall enough to admit giants, would that they were ever permitted onto Black Lands.

  Unlikely.

  Weathered copper eavestroughs lined the roof edge, while numerous narrow windows dotted the walls. Their leaded glass caught the sunlight in prismatic bursts, splaying a riot of colour across the canvas of the adjacent limestone.

  As they drew close, Narcissa’s gaze was drawn to the tympanum overlooking the central arch, where an Iona marble frieze depicted an imposing ancestor peering down imperiously. The marble figure tracked their movement, his gaze measuring. A pack of menacing Grim paced around his legs, emitting a low, rumbling growl.

  Seeing the estate in person truly drove home that Grimmauld Place was simply a townhouse.

  After passing through the manor’s verdigris bronze doors, the three found themselves inside a soaring vestibule. Defying the laws of space, the three-story building somehow housed a room capable of comfortably housing a clocktower.

  Harry whistled, the sound echoing through the chamber.

  Her father looked up with a furrowed brow, scratching his chin.

  “The records on the manor were quite scarce. Do you have any insights as to the purpose of this room, Harry?”

  She glanced over at him. Harry’s neck was craned up, eyes darting to and fro, as though he were tracking something.

  Mirroring him, she squinted… and saw nothing.

  “I believe I do, Cygnus.” A familiar lilt was in his tone, one she’d heard just this morning with Andi. “It appears as though you Blacks are not above a bit of peacocking. After all, your vestibule is housing one of the last colonies of Golden Snidgets in the British Isles.”

  She whipped her head back up, squinting harder, and barely caught several golden blurs streaking through the air.

  Her father began muttering. “Merlin’s beard. The Department of Magical Creatures is going to have Kneazles.”

  Harry grinned, offering a silver lining of sorts. “Look on the bright side, could’ve been for Occamy.”

  “Father, we could put in some Hebridian Blacks if the Snidgets are too much paperwork.”

  Her father choked.

  Looking back and forth between the two, Narcissa felt a warmth in her chest. This was so much better than enduring Lucius’ choreographed courting at family high tea and frigid decorum at chaperoned garden promenades.

  Narcissa stepped next to Harry. He turned and smiled down at her before the two of them turned back to watch as Cygnus muttered about statutes and permits.

  She allowed the faintest of smiles.

  Not at all disagreeable.

  · · ·

  Their footsteps echoed against the walls as they marched through the vast manor. It was well preserved. Magic had done its fine job holding back Father Time. Gilded frames of sleeping nobles from the era of Arthur and Merlin lined the corridor, standing a centuries-long vigil in their repose.

  Narcissa finally had enough and spoke softly. “So… Would you mind elaborating on what this ‘cheating’ entailed, Lord Peverell?”

  Harry glanced her way, then rubbed the back of his head, sheepishly closing his eyes as he answered with a smile.

  “Ah, that… Well, the snake put in a good word for me.”

  For a few moments, only the sounds of their footsteps filled the silence.

  Torn between irritation and bemusement, she graciously let it go.

  “I see.”

  Narcissa paused at a portrait. The noblewoman within slept, her chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic breaths, as though she could wake at any moment. Golden hair, braided in a fillet with delicate pearls, framed her serene features. A penannular brooch of green stone and gold filigree clasped a heavy woolen cloak at her throat, faint embroidery glinting along its fur lined hem.

  Narcissa studied the quiet motion of her breath, the illusion of life beneath the stillness.

  “If she could be awakened, I wonder what stories she might tell.”

  Harry paused beside her, leaning in rather close. To the portrait, that is. She could feel the warmth of him at her side as he studied it with some intensity.

  What he saw, she wasn’t sure.

  “Well, whatever she has to say, I imagine it’ll be in Brittonic or maybe Latin if she’s well educated.”

  Narcissa furrowed her brow, scanning for the signs Harry had noticed. Instead, her gaze was pulled by something else. The brooch’s outline depicted a very subtle nine-pointed star, with a far more noticeable tree within.

  An apple tree.

  Pointing to it, Narcissa spoke up.

  “I suspect she may have a tale or two of Morgan le Fay. She may even be one of the Nine Sister.”

  Harry’s eyebrows raised above his glasses, clearly caught off guard by the assertion. Following her finger he nodded along.

  “Well spotted, the enneagram escaped me. I daresay this could be Gliten; if the shimmering halo behind her head didn’t give it away, the beauty certainly does.”

  Narcissa hummed in consideration.

  “I say, Narcissa, what a striking resemblance!”

  Her father stepped to her other side, smiling warmly as he took in the portrait.

  “Indeed, fair maidens must run in the family.” Harry returned, his playfulness more genuine than forward. Her father obviously agreed.

  Heat once again began to rise to her traitorous cheeks.

  “Heh, just so! Every daughter is a flower in their father’s eyes, but in the case of my girls, it’s absolutely true! Haha!”

  Urck. Father!

  “Yes, well, be that as it may, shall we see what lies beyond these doors?”

  Narcissa turned and strode the final steps to the large oak double-doors at the end of the hall. Behind her, the men followed along, blathering cheerily to one another as men are wont.

  The manor had been completely absent protections, so Narcissa didn’t hesitate to push the doors open. They glided easily on their hinges, revealing a site that brought them all up short.

  “That’s a lot of books.”

  Apparently Harry was fond of understatement.

  Harry was finally home after a long day exploring the Black Estate with Cygnus and Narcissa. Quite contrary to the image Sirius had always given him of his family, he found he liked the pair. Cygnus was a true pureblood and a traditionalist, no doubt about that, but he was also quite the doting father. Much to Narcissa’s ambivalent discomfiture.

  Harry chuckled at the memory of her ears turning red in embarrassment as he sang his girl’s praises for the 12th time that day.

  She was rather cute.

  And wasn’t that a real turn-up for the books.

  Glancing out his window, Harry looked down upon the wild gardens of his recently claimed estate. A frolic of faeries flitted through their mushroom rings, their lights flickering in the dark. Harry smiled in contentment.

  Have to be sure not to inconvenience the tenants when I get around to sorting this gaff out.

  Harry leaned back in a luxurious, conjured chair in the otherwise makeshift study of his ramshackle manor. He was just finishing up collating notes from the day’s adventure when a particularly exhausted owl collapsed into an undignified pile of feathers on his window ledge.

  “Rough flight, eh? Chin up, let’s see if we can’t rustle up a spot of bacon for you before you go.”

  As Harry relieved the owl of its parcel, it let out what he assumed to be a hoot of confirmation. Or gratitude. Whinging?

  Hard to say with birds, really.

  “Have yourself a bit of a kip. You look right knackered.“

  Turning away, Harry unfolded the paper, only to be slapped in the face by the headline.

  ”WOLVES IN WIZARD'S ROBES—HOW MANY WALK AMONG US?”

  And right under that lovely bit of fearmongering was a picture of him, standing over a muzzled Fenrir Greyback and a pack of whimpering werewolves.

  Bugger.