The werewolf community was in chaos.
Old Jack had gone missing.
He usually went to sit beneath the large tree every day, but today, he never appeared.
Zoffy had returned to spend Christmas with Old Jack.
Instead, he found that the house had been attacked. Ais and Taro had narrowly escaped because they weren't home at the time.
Zoffy immediately mobilized the werewolf capture teams to begin the search.
Almost the entire werewolf community was shaken.
Old Jack was a councillor they deeply respected.
Now he had vanished—and signs of a struggle had been found inside his home.
Taro's face was deathly pale. She recognized one of the magical traces—it was the same one left by the attack on her before.
The Aurors also received the news.
They couldn't get in.
Several people were being received inside Silverhand Manor.
Jack, Seven, Ais, and Taro.
All of Old Jack's school-aged grandchildren were here. John stepped out of the study.
He patted the youngest, Taro, on the head, a flicker of cold light passing through his eyes.
"It seems the warning from a few days ago wasn't enough to make certain idiots restrain themselves."
Jack, the oldest of the four, asked, "Grandpa will be all right… won't he?"
"Of course," John nodded without hesitation. "That's my promise to you."
With his words, the weight pressing on their hearts finally eased.
In the werewolf community, no one doubted the words of the respected Lord Johnny Silverhand.
Kim stepped up beside John. "We've found them."
John replied coolly, "Identities."
"Wizards, and… werewolves."
John turned his gaze slightly, his brow furrowing.
"Werewolves?"
"Yes. One of them used to belong to the werewolf community."
"Used to?" John's voice sharpened. "One of Fenrir Greyback's men?"
John was a little surprised. The first thing he had done after opening his shop in Knockturn Alley was cripple Fenrir Greyback.
He hadn't expected that the scattered werewolves would dare return here.
"Looks like someone's backing them," John sneered. "Then we'll wipe them out together."
Back then, the Shafiq family's fate hadn't taught them restraint—foolish behavior. This time, they had gone even further and reached into John's territory.
The warning he'd given the Rosiers clearly hadn't been enough to intimidate those still loyal to the Dark Lord.
"Have some sweets. Old Jack will be alright. Christmas isn't about worrying, or rather, you all should be worrying over your teeth."
John snapped his fingers, and a pile of candy appeared in front of the four children.
…
Old Jack had been kidnapped.
He was bound, and when he woke, he found himself in a room with only a single door.
A man stood before him, looking him over with arrogant scrutiny.
"A foolish move, Karl," Old Jack said, recognizing him at once.
To be precise, this wasn't just someone he knew—this man had even attended gatherings at Silverhand Manor.
Karl Carrow.
Of the Carrow family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
The only remaining member of the family who hadn't been sent to Azkaban.
Old Jack lifted his head. "You betrayed Lord Silverhand."
"Betrayed?" Karl sneered. "From the beginning, I was never loyal to him. Haha! The only one worthy of my loyalty is the Dark Lord."
He drew his wand, pointing it at Old Jack as a cruel grin spread across his face. "A filthy werewolf, dreaming of equality with wizards? Crucio."
A red curse struck Old Jack, making his fists clench as his entire body convulsed, unable to break free.
A few short seconds felt like centuries.
The color drained from Old Jack's face. When it ended, he gasped for air.
"The Dark Lord will return. Before that happens, vermin like you need to be wiped out."
Karl burst into laughter. "Johnny Silverhand thinks he controls everything, but it's all meaningless. As long as the werewolf community sees Johnny Silverhand's hypocrisy, they'll abandon him."
"Bullshit!" Old Jack shouted hoarsely. "Lord Silverhand has never deceived us."
"Is that so?" Karl said darkly. "He uses the rise of werewolf status to consolidate his own power. Only fools like you would let yourselves be herded and kept by him."
Seeming to revel in the pleasure of tormenting others, Karl cast the Cruciatus Curse again.
Old Jack nearly lost consciousness, only to be forced awake.
Karl laughed wickedly. "An old friend of yours wants to see you again."
The door behind him opened, and a scar-faced werewolf stepped inside.
The moment Old Jack saw him, his pupils shrank sharply.
"Old Jack, it seems you've gained quite a lot under Johnny Silverhand's protection," the scarred werewolf snarled. "Once I kill you, all of it will be mine."
"Impossible. Even if you kill me, you won't gain the werewolf community," Old Jack rasped, barely able to breathe as he forced the words out. "Mark."
"You're wrong," Mark chuckled darkly. "Werewolves need a leader. Your death will reignite their hatred toward wizards."
Fenrir had once fostered hatred of wizards by biting wizard children, and Mark was a product of that method.
If Johnny Silverhand failed to make an effective decision in response to Old Jack's death, it could spark dissatisfaction among parts of the werewolf community.
At the same time, it would further inflame the already existing rift between werewolves and wizards.
Old Jack's expression hardened.
Karl said, "Looks like you understand now. Those werewolves will throw themselves into the arms of the one who promises them freedom—the Dark Lord."
"And I will personally kill you, then turn myself in at the Ministry," Karl said with manic fervor. "As a pure-blood heir, I'll only be imprisoned, while the werewolves will splinter."
If a wizard killed the leader of the werewolves and walked away unscathed, the werewolf community would inevitably develop deep resentment toward the Ministry.
That would ignite conflict between magical society and the werewolf community, eventually leading to the werewolves being driven out.
In that instant, Old Jack thought of many things. Karl Carrow was the last surviving Carrow still at large.
If anything happened to him, the other pure-blood families would surely intervene.
Pure-bloods were bound together through marriage; tug one thread and the whole web moved.
The Ministry wouldn't dare act against the Carrows lightly.
It was an unsolvable scheme.
It would fracture the werewolf community and, at the same time, throw the Ministry into internal chaos.
The pure-blood families would be dragged into it as well.
That was why Karl could act with such impunity.
Old Jack's face turned ashen. He hadn't expected that his death would plunge the werewolves—who had only just begun to recover—back into the abyss.
He broke down and shouted, "Then why don't you just kill me already!"
"Shh—" Karl grinned. "Only enough pain can push emotions to their peak."
The meaning was simple: someone killed by the Killing Curse, and someone tortured to death by the Cruciatus Curse—the latter was far more effective at stirring hatred and fury.
Hearing that, Old Jack struggled wildly.
He wished he had already died—at least then the werewolf community might have been spared.
Karl bared his teeth as he stood up, wand pointed at Old Jack.
Just as he was about to act, an uninvited guest arrived.
"A very impressive scheme."
A calm voice sounded from behind.
"Who—" Karl spun around sharply. A tall, slender figure was walking toward them at an unhurried pace.
A silver mask.
Karl laughed, brazen and unrestrained. "As expected of the second king of the magical world. So you figured it out."
"But so what?" Karl showed not the slightest fear, sneering viciously. "Do you really dare kill me? Behind me isn't just the Carrow family—there are countless other pure-bloods."
"Kill me, and you'll be cutting ties with them all. Are you really willing to give up your status as the second king?"
Secure in his backing, Karl was utterly arrogant.
He failed to notice the look in John's eyes—the look one gave a fool.
John said casually, "Oh? You seem very confident in your identity."
Karl was, of course, confident.
The Shafiq family had once provoked Johnny Silverhand as well, and in the end, they had merely been exiled.
Aside from Karl himself, every other member of the Carrow family was already in Azkaban.
Among pure-blood families, there was an unspoken rule—they would protect the last surviving member of a family.
And besides, werewolves were not even considered people in the magical world.
Would killing a magical creature really count as a crime worthy of Azkaban?
Karl said nothing, but all of it was written plainly across his face.
If the culprit were captured and then released, the werewolf community would be completely disillusioned with John.
No matter the outcome, the werewolf community would fracture.
"Haha! Now you see, huh?" Karl smiled with confidence and even took two steps forward. "Do you dare kill me? Bahaha! No! If you wanted to, you wouldn't be here talking. Come on! Bahaha! I dare you to kill me!"
"Granted."
John lifted his hand and pressed down through the air. A violent force slammed into Karl, sending his body flying.
Mark moved to act—but a flash of green light took him away.
The one who struck was The Star Disciple's Finger Eater. Everyone outside had already been dealt with.
Gus Fring volunteered eagerly and stepped forward. "Respected Lord Silverhand, if you're willing to pay me enough Galleons, I don't mind being wanted by the pure-blood families."
John glanced at Gus and gave a light laugh. "Five thousand Galleons."
"Deal." Gus's eyes lit up.
They had none of the fear Karl imagined toward pure-bloods or the Ministry.
With a sharp tug, John pulled Karl back in front of him.
Karl looked up and met a pair of vertical pupils.
John regarded him with pity and said, "Did you really think I still need to watch anyone else's face now?"
Too foolish.
Did he truly believe pure-bloods could trouble Johnny Silverhand?
Grinning, Gus walked over, drew his wand, and pointed it at Karl's head.
"I'm actually a pacifist. Reducto."
Karl's head burst like a smashed watermelon.
After finishing, Gus clapped his hands together. "All right, time for me to run for my life."
"Who said you were running?" John asked.
Gus froze, instantly wary. "Prison time costs extra."
John smiled, recalling the memories he had just taken from Karl.
"Five thousand Galleons wasn't the price for killing."
"It was for…"
"Reckoning."
Some pure-blood families were still clinging to the absurd notion of "pure-blood supremacy," still unwilling to let go of Voldemort.
In that case, they would be dealt with directly.
Starting with the Carrow family!
________
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