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Jumping over twisting roots and stumbling over uneven forest ground, Lyall Lupin makes his hurried escape through the eerie terrain of Wistman’s Wood. He lost his partner and two promising recruits about a mile back. They're mangled throats and shocked faces fill his vision and make it difficult to see the way before him and he trips more than he runs.
A howl rends the misty night and Lyall stumbles along even faster. He never was cut out for this kind of field work. This wands-a-blazing, hunter-esk style of stalking down dark magical creatures in their own territory. Its not a practical, nor a particularly wise practice to go trouncing about unknown places that may, or may not, be filled to the brim with things that will kill you as soon as look at you.
Lyall had advised against it in the first place. He wanted to scout suspicious locations during the day, set magical wards and traps, then lie in wait at night. It may be a slower approach, but it was a whole lot safer, and less foolhardy too.
But no. His senior partner steamrolled right over his ideas and told him to suck it up in front of the trainees. Told him to stop acting like a bloody coward as if Lyall hadn’t already proven his mettle. As if he hadn't stepped in where others refused and taken up a career known for its numerous dangers and fatalities. His partner spake as though Lyall had never hunted a werewolf before. Which, by everyone else's telling, is what Lyall is explicitly known for.
Lyall Lupin, the Great Hunter ….its not what he wanted for himself at all.
He was supposed to be the topmost expert of Welsh boggarts for Merlin's bloody sake! Boggarts! But unrest has been on the rise for the past two years, and when the ministry called Lyall had answered.
He regrets nothing more except-
“Hey there, Lyall.”
The hunter nearly careens into a tree at the sound of Greyback’s rough, and unfortunately familiar, voice. The adrenaline raging through the hunter's veins does him no favors as he oversteps the root in front of him and falls flat on his face. Panicked, for this is not so dissimilar of how his comrades fell, Lyall scrambles gracelessly to his feet. His wand slides in the grimy sweat of his palms, but he doesn't let it slip free. He'll need it before the night is through.
“Didn't mean to startle you.” The werewolf smiles at Lyall. There's blood in his teeth.
It's been almost six months since the hunter last saw the dark creature who kidnapped his son, and in that time Greyback's appearance has changed somewhat. The werewolf is still by and large monstrous and terrifying to behold, but looks less mangy and flea covered than usual. His normally wild hair has been greased back in a mock semblance of civility, and his ratty coat is replaced by the one his partner (until recently) wore.
Greyback notices what Lyall's looking at and his smile widens into a sharp-toothed smirk.
“Greyback.” The hunter greets, doing his best to keep his voice level. “I honestly didn't expect to find you here.”
“And I didn't expect you to be so careless.” Fenrir leans up against a nearby tree, his pose casual, like their having a normal conversation and there isn't blood on his face. “Who were your friends? Sloppy bunch.”
Lyall doesn't take the bait, “How did you find me? Wistman's isn't exactly your scene and we were supposed to be tagging Gytrashs. This feels mighty deliberate on your part.”
Greyback's sharp eyes narrow slightly, they glint in the eerie light. “Gee, I don't know, Lyall. How do you think I, a bloody werewolf, found you, a weaker species wandering in the woods?”
The wizard raises his eyebrows, but says nothing.
Fenrir taps the side of his nose with a dirty finger. “I found you the old fashioned way.” The werewolf audibly breathes in the air surrounding them. “You smell good, Lyall. Like Remus.”
Lyall's breath catches, but his stance doesn't waiver in the slightest. He knows what Greyback is about, has seen what becomes of the wizards who let the werewolf goad them into hasty action. Lyall lost three of them not twenty minutes ago.
“How is little Remus doing by the way?” The werewolf asks, smirking when the hunter visibly flinches. “Got him trussed up nicely in a cage?”
Lyall grinds his teeth, but doesn't shout. He can't afford to lose himself here. “I would never do that to my own child. I'm not a monster like you.”
“Lying to yourself, really now.” Greyback seems unaffected by the hunter’s insult. He starts picking dirt, and Merlin knows what, out of his sharp yellow nails. “You don't let him out, don't let him play with the other children. You promise to protect him, and when the moon is full you abandon Remus to transform all on his own.”
Guilt tries to creep up on Lyall and whisper that the werewolf is right. He does stifle Remus, control every aspect of his son's life. Everytime the boy gets close to making friends, or gets asked after by the neighbors, Lyall packs up his family and moves. He knows that Remus is lonely. The boy hardly eats anything at all these days, no matter how hard his mother tries to prepare appealing meals. Remus doesn't smile anymore. He hasn't since…
Hold on..
“How would you-” Lyall's face turns ashen, then red. “You've been casing my house!?!”
“When I happen to be in the neighborhood. I heard him screaming, Lyall.” Greyback isn't smiling anymore. “You trapped a werewolf alone in a warded room with nowhere to run. You’re a sick man, sicker than I’ve given you credit for.”
Lyall grits his teeth and forces himself to keep staring at the werewolf.
Its hard to stay focused on the obvious threat before him with memories of Remus' last transformation crashing through Lyall's mind. The garbled screams of his son echoed off the walls of their home that night, silencing charms not withstanding. In the morning Lyall and his wife, Hope, had entered the wreckage that once resembled a child's bedroom to find their little boy cowering under what was left of the dresser. Remus was covered in blood and bruises and wouldn't come when they called out to him. He'd been inconsolable and cried nonstop for two days afterward.
Lyall hates it. He hates how withdrawn and sad Remus is. Hates how quiet and anxious his wife has become. Lyall even hates himself now, for the terrible events that transpired the night the ministry interrogated Greyback. He hates how shut in his son must live, but its necessary to keep Remus and his wife safe.
Remus can't be registered. Hope cannot lose her only child. And so, Lyall has to do what is best for his family.
Lyall steels his heart and glowers at his opponent. “I do what I have to.”
It’s the truth.
“Tell me, wizard,” Greyback spits the latter word like a curse, “when did it become standard practice for the ministry's lackeys to cage and torture innocent pups?”
Anger, hot and scathing, fills Lyall to the brim and its all he can do to keep the pulsing red from overtaking his vision.
“How dare you! You filthy, murdering wolf!” Lyall's temper shoots out of his mouth like acid. “How dare you accuse me of such things! This is all-”
“My fault?” Greyback growls, he is no longer propped up against the tree. “Its my fault you abuse little Remus? That you dare shackle up my pup like some mangy dog?”
Lyall wants to vomit.
“He- he's not yours!”
“Isn't he?!” Greyback’s sharp eyed sneer is cutting. “You can believe whatever lies help you sleep at night, but he’s different now. Improved. Better even. Because of me.”
The beastly man has grown impatient, he pushes himself off the tree he was propped against and begins to walk toward the wizard. Greyback’s knowing grin sends shivers up Lyall's rigid spine. His wand trembles along with the rest of his arm. All false pretenses between them have vanished. All that is left is their animosity for each other and the gruesome fight that is about to ensue.
“Remus is my son!” Lyall shouts, edging away from the vile creature. “I'll find a cure if it’s the last thing I do.”
Lyall's heart is beating in his ears as he assesses his situation. His odds aren't looking too good. He is alone and compromised in the middle of a dark forest with the most savage werewolf alive bearing down on him. If he can just lead Fenrir back to his camp he would have a fighting chance, maybe even manage to kill the disgusting brute.
“A cure?! Don’t make me laugh! Who's going to help the infamous Lyall Lupin, the Great Hunter, find a cure for a bunch of filthy dark creatures, hmm?” Greyback spreads his arms in a mocking gesture. “St. Mungos? You know what they do to our kind. What they'll do to my pup!”
“He's not yours!” Lyall snarls angrily.
The sheer, unmitigated nerve of Fenrir bloody Greyback! The stinking werewolf stole Remus, hurt him, bit him! He has no more right to the child than Lyall does to the throne of England for Merlin's sake!
In his haste to back away from the deranged murderer, Lyall takes one step too far back and looses his footing on one of the few rocks in Wistman’s wood. The terrible shock of surprise in Lyall's chest hurts far worse than the gnarled root he smacks the side of his head into on his way down to the forest floor. In mere seconds Lyall is laid out on a platter for the werewolf. Fenrir doesn’t hesitate to lunge for the vulnerable wizard.
A stupid mistake, really.
Lyall takes great pleasure in watching the bloodthirsty fool smash his face against the boundary ward the hunter had cast over his team's camp previously that evening (despite his partner's grumbling). With a startled “wha-?!” the werewolf crashes to the ground in front of Lyall.
Cursing and blustering the brute sits up, a trail of blood pouring from his nose.
Lyall taps the side of his head that’s injured, “We match, dog.”
There's a moment of stunned silence and then, surprisingly, Greyback begins to laugh. The werewolf’s rasping bark grates on the hunter's ears and he regrets saying anything.
“There's never a dull moment with you, is there Lyall?” Greyback inches forward on his hands and knees, coming right up to the barrier separating them. “We make quite the pair, you and I. You insult me and mine: I attack your son. I take Remus for a year: you steal him back. You and your pack of hunters invade my territory…”
The werewolf pauses, meeting the other male's eyes with his own murderous ones, “..I kill them all.”
Faster than Lyall can react, Greyback’s clawed hand reaches out and grasps the tip of the hunter’s left boot- the only part of the hunter's body uncovered by the wards -and yanks. Hard.
The hunter yelps in pain as his left leg is drug roughly against the ground, and subsequently pulled to the other side of the boundary line. The werewolf immediately latches onto the hunter's exposed calve with his other hand, digging his nails into Lyall's flesh for better leverage. Screaming at the terrible burn of his flesh being torn into, Lyall desperately fights back against Greyback's vicelike grip. He manages to kick the werewolf square in the jaw with his other boot, only to have the dark creature snatch that leg out of the air and start pulling on it as well.
Blinking back angry tears of frustration, Lyall opens his mouth, “Confring-”
Greyback violently slams the hunter's legs down on a gnarled root, making the man cry out and the dangerous spell die on his lips. Brutal spikes of pain lance up Lyall's legs and into his spine causing him to choke on his breaths. Unable to keep his wand within the weak grip of his sweaty palm, Lyall feels the worn wood slip from between his fingers, leaving him defenseless.
After that, it’s a losing battle for the wizard.
Little by little, Greyback drags the smaller man out from behind the safety of the boundary wards. Lyall doesn't go quietly, and the werewolf doesn't succeed without sustaining many injuries…
…but he does have the wizard trapped, pinned under his body, and entirely at his non-existent mercy.
“I- ..win, hunter.” Greyback’s chest heaves with the effort Lyall made him exert. “You.. lose.”
Lyall couldn't help the bitter tears flowing down his scraped cheeks. He can't stand the thought that he would be leaving Hope without a husband, and Remus without a father.
There was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Do it then.” Lyall's voice cracks in the cool night air. “Get it over with.”
The werewolf seems to find this amusing. He laughs. “What did I say? Never a dull moment with you! You think I'm going to kill you now?”
Lyall didn't see the point in further entertaining the beast on top of him. “Shut up, and get on with it.”
“I'm not going to kill you, Lyall.” Greyback tutted, griping the hunter's face in a filthy hand and squeezing. “It's too much fun to keep hurting a pompus ass with as much to lose as you do. Besides, my pup wouldn't like that at all.”
“He's n-not,” Lyall gasps, “yours.”
“That's where you’re wrong, Lyall.” The werewolf’s voice turns as cold as a frigid winter night. “So very wrong.”
Greyback grasps the hem of his coat and pulls it aside, revealing the bare skin underneath. In seconds Lyall's eyes are riveted to the small, crescent shaped scars peppering the brute's collar bones. There are at least a dozen of the thin scars, and the sight of them alarms Lyall in a way his imminent death never could. They were obviously made by teeth. Small teeth, like those belonging to a child; unmistakably human. They also looked to be about a year old.
Lyall's head felt light, breathing was difficult. “Remus. He- he bit you.”
Greyback's expression was almost soft, “Vindictive little bugger isn't he? My wolf claimed him that night, and he went and claimed me right back.”
Lyall Lupin, the Great Hunter, was a fool.
The first night after Lyall and Hope had finally gotten their son back Remus tried to bite his mother. The full moon was weeks away, and while there was no danger that Hope would be turned, Lyall had been horror struck. Hope, overjoyed to have her child back safe and sound, was rocking Remus to sleep like she used to before he'd been kidnapped. The boy had curled up happily in his mother’s lap and finally seemed at peace since he'd been brought home. Hope was running her hand through Remus' hair when the boy had drowsily taken her wrist in his mouth.
His wife gasped, and Lyall wasted no time in ripping Remus from Hope's arms. He'd shouted at his son for his wolf-like behavior. Lyall then locked Remus in his room for the first time with the stern admonishment, “Remus, no biting.”
Remus never tried to bite his mother again, but the day after his next transformation Remus attempted to bite his father. He'd been wounded badly the night before, his adolescent wolf not taking the confined space lightly, and he was crying. Lyall picked Remus up to comfort him, and the boy began mouth desperately at his robes… ..right where they covered his collar bones.
Lyall had done as he did before, locking Remus in once more and scolding him. “Remus, we do not bite each other.”
As Lyall Lupin stares at Fenrir Greyback’s scars a horrible realization comes to him. Not just the simple fact that he is an utter fool, but that the magical community- no, the entire wizarding world understood next to nothing about werewolves.
The ignorant hunter had been denying his son the right to claim Lyall and Hope as his parents for the past six months. He'd as good as rejected Remus' wolf, who will now forever be a part of his son, and left the boy with the only parental connection available to him. The only one who hadn't rejected him.
Fenrir bloody Greyback.
The werewolf must recognize the agonized misery of understanding in Lyall's eyes because the vile creature atop the hunter smiles nastily and laughs his awful laugh in the downed man's face. “I'm not going to kill you.”
Lyall believes him this time.
“I won't kill you cuz the little one is attached. He still loves you, Merlin knows why, with what you do to him.” Greyback shoves the hunter's head into the dirt and finally releases his face. “It won't save you for much longer because the little bugger loves me just as much.”
Greyback stands, towering over the wizard's shaking form. He holds up a beautifully crafted piece of wood.
Lyall's wand.
And snaps it in two.
“See you at our next custody battle, Lyall.”
Greyback then turns on his heel, Lyall's dead partner's coat swishing dramatically about his legs, and walks away.
Lyall Lupin watches the werewolf go, vowing to kill the wretched beast someday, and to do right by his son. Hope was not going to like what he was going to share with her when he finally got home...
...but Remus just might.