Hogwarts' Golden Glory

"I'll tear him to pieces," Greyback growled. "Tear him to pieces before he can even speak."

“Moody won’t let you near,” Voldemort said. “And from what I’ve observed, that Malfoy kid… is not simple. His magical fluctuations are strange, not traditional wizarding magic, but something older, more… pure. It’s like he’s been in contact with something primordial.”

He recalled a year ago at Hogwarts. He had possessed Quirrell's body, intending to secretly search for the Philosopher's Stone, but sensed several auras within the castle that made him wary: Dumbledore, of course, was a given, but there was another—hidden in the History of Magic classroom, seemingly ordinary, yet unfathomably profound. That professor who called himself "Old," Voldemort still couldn't fathom his depths.

And now, there's another one: Kane Malfoy.

"The situation has changed, Fenrir." Voldemort turned to the werewolf leader, his crimson eyes devoid of emotion, only cold calculation. "A year ago, my only opponent was Dumbledore. A year later, I face Dumbledore, Grindelwald—yes, I know that's him—and this rising Malfoy boy. I'm not confident I can handle three opponents of this caliber at the same time."

These words sent a chill down Graybury's spine. He had never heard his master admit to "not being sure."

"So...we must speed things up." Voldemort pointed to the altar. "An army of mutated werewolves is the only way out. An army that is not controlled by the moon, that obeys me completely, and that possesses great magical resistance and physical strength. With it, I will have leverage—either to force them to refrain from making any rash moves, or...to defeat them one by one before they unite."

"But the experiment failed..." Graybuck said softly.

"Because the method was wrong." Voldemort took a small crystal bottle from his robes. Inside was a viscous, liquid obsidian-like substance. "I tried to forcibly modify it using dark magic, but the werewolf bloodline was too violent to withstand. So, I changed my approach—"

He handed the crystal bottle to Greyback: "This is something I obtained from an ancient vampire clan. 'Seed of Bloodline.' It doesn't forcibly alter bloodlines, but rather... grafts them. It grafts the vampire's control over blood, affinity for moonlight, and eternal life force onto the werewolf bloodline. The result isn't a pure werewolf, nor a vampire, but some kind of... hybrid. More stable, more controllable, and retains the werewolf's fighting prowess."

Greyback took the crystal bottle, his hands trembling. He could feel the evil, ancient power surging within it. "Will this... work?"

"A test is needed," Voldemort said. "You, Fenrir. You'll be the first."

The werewolf leader looked up abruptly, his yellow eyes filled with shock: "Me?!"

"You are the most powerful werewolf. If your body can handle it, so can the others." Voldemort's tone left no room for argument. "And only in this way can I ensure your loyalty. After all, an Alpha werewolf with new powers would be troublesome if left unchecked."

This is a threat, a blatant threat. Either accept conversion, prove your loyalty, and gain power; or... die here.

Graybury looked at the crystal bottle in his hand. The black liquid inside seemed to have a life of its own, slowly swirling like a sleeping eye.

He could feel the longing—a longing for power, a longing to break free of the curse, a longing to make the werewolves truly stand up.

But there was also fear. A fear that went deep into the bones.

He recalled the horrific state of those who failed the experiments: their bodies bursting open from the inside, flesh and bones shattering everywhere; or worse, turning into a writhing, inhuman mass of flesh, howling for days and nights before finally dying.

"Master, I..." he tried to find an excuse.

"Tonight, the eve of the full moon," Voldemort interrupted him. "Drink it when the moonlight is at its brightest. I will personally protect you—to make sure the process goes smoothly, or... to make sure there are no mishaps."

Greyback knew there was no turning back. He gripped the crystal bottle tightly; its surface was icy cold.

"...Yes, Master."

"Very good." Voldemort turned his back to him. "Now, go and prepare. Strengthen the camp's defenses, especially on the night of the full moon. I don't want any... interference."

Graybuck bowed and left the cabin. The door closed silently behind him.

Standing outside the door, the werewolf chieftain looked at the crystal bottle in his hand, then at the camp—the simple wooden huts, the tribesmen moving restlessly in the night, and the low howls that could not be suppressed as the full moon approached.

He suddenly felt a deep weariness.

He followed Voldemort to make werewolves stronger and no longer oppressed by wizards.

But now, he has become a test subject, and his people have become expendable resources. And all of this is for the sake of a dark wizard's ambition.

The sound of patrol footsteps approached in the distance. Graybury quickly put away the crystal bottle, straightened his back, and put the majestic mask of the Alpha Werewolf back on his face.

But deep down, the seed of fear had already been planted:

What if... what if Kane Malfoy could really bring about another possibility?

The thought flashed through his mind, but he forcibly suppressed it. It was too dangerous; he couldn't think about it.

He turned and walked toward his cabin, his steps still steady and powerful, but only he knew that every step felt like walking on thin ice.

Inside the cabin, Voldemort stood before the altar, his pale fingers tracing the rim of the blood bowl.

"Kane Malfoy..." he muttered to himself, a complex light flashing in his crimson eyes. "Lucius's son. Interesting... very interesting."

He recalled Lucius Malfoy's recent reports—those vague, probing letters. The cunning Death Eater was watching, weighing his options, like all pure-blood families, trying to see which side had the upper hand.

Perhaps... it's time to put some pressure on Lucius.

Voldemort's lips curled into a cold smile. He pulled a black feather from his robes—a raven feather, magically treated and capable of carrying information.

“Tell Lucius Malfoy,” he whispered to Feather, “that his eldest son is in Morag, with Mad-Eye Moody, trying to take over the werewolf tribe. Ask him—as a father, as a Death Eater, as the head of House Malfoy—what he plans to do.”

The feathers turned into black smoke, seeped out from the crack in the door, and disappeared into the night.

Voldemort walked back to the altar and looked at his reflection in the bowl of blood.

Tom Riddle, formerly known as Voldemort, is now the most feared dark wizard in the wizarding world.

But for the first time, he sensed that times were changing. Old rules were loosening, and new forces were rising.

Dumbledore represents the past, the old world he despised, filled with hypocritical morality.

And Kane Malfoy… represents something new that he doesn't understand. Not light, not darkness, but a third color.

Voldemort hated things he didn't understand.

Therefore, you either need to take control of it.

Either destroy it.