Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Lupin remained standing on the side of the platform, neither kneeling nor offering any obvious resistance.

His expression remained calm, but Tobias saw him shake his head slightly—an almost imperceptible gesture, but the meaning was clear: wait.

Just then, Graybury made a move.

He leaped from the platform, landing as lightly as a cat.

He walked toward the nearest kneeling werewolf—a middle-aged werewolf called "Scarface," with a huge burn scar on his left cheek.

"You, Scarface." Greyback extended his claws and gently placed them on the other's shoulder. "Are you willing to pledge your loyalty to your master?"

"Yes! Yes!" Scarface's voice trembled with excitement.

"Prove it to me," Graybury said, his crimson eyes fixed on him. "Attack that one."

He pointed to the outer edge of the crowd—an old werewolf huddled in a corner, one of the most stubborn conservatives who had always opposed Graybuck's tyranny.

Scarface was stunned: "Old Walker? He...he didn't do anything..."

"This is a test," Graybury's voice turned cold. "Loyalty requires action, not empty words."

Scarface struggled for a few seconds, but under Graybury's gaze, he gave in.

He stood up, walked toward old Walker, and stretched out his claws.

Old Walker didn't flinch, but looked at Scarface with his cloudy eyes: "Kid, don't..."

The scarred man's claws swung down.

But just as they were about to touch old Walker, a voice rang out from the edge of the camp:

"stop."

The sound wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly.

Everyone turned their heads.

Two people were standing at the gap in the fence on the east side of the camp.

On the left is Alastor Moody, wand in hand, his fake eye spinning wildly, his real eye fixed on Greyback, his gaze like tempered steel.

On the right was a black-haired boy who looked no more than thirteen years old; his gray eyes were eerily calm in the moonlight.

A strange bird perched on his shoulder—dark gold feathers, silver eyes, its wings outstretched, radiating a soft yet undeniable light.

The air froze for three seconds.

All eyes were fixed on the two men and the bird. Moonlight filtered through the clouds, casting clear shadows around Kane and Moody, and illuminating Igor's outstretched wings—their dark golden feathers now radiated a warm golden glow, a stark contrast to the cold darkness surrounding Voldemort and Greyback.

"Alastor Moody," Voldemort hissed, his crimson eyes narrowing. "You really came. And with a...little kid."

Greyback let out a deep growl, his dark red fur bristling slightly. His gaze was fixed on Kane: "Malfoy brat. Are you here to die?"

Kane ignored the provocation. He took three steps forward and stopped at the boundary between the edge of the camp and the central clearing, precisely where the moonlight was brightest. This distance was neither too close to appear provocative, nor too far for everyone to see him clearly.

"I am here to offer a choice." His voice was steady and clearly audible in the silent camp. "Voldemort gave you one path—to exchange eternal enslavement for false power. I give you another path: to exchange your loyalty for true freedom."

A brief silence followed by an explosion of chaos.

"What is he saying?!"

Who is that child?

"Freedom? Can he give us freedom?"

Greyback roared, his voice almost visibly shaking the air: "Shut up! He's here to divide us! Kill him!"

Several loyal werewolves immediately charged forward, but Moody simply raised his wand—no spell was cast, but the three werewolves at the front suddenly seemed to have crashed into an invisible wall and fell heavily to the ground.

"Let the young man finish speaking, Graybury," Moody's voice was like sandpaper. "After all, didn't you just have Scarface 'prove his loyalty'? It's good for everyone to hear different voices."

Voldemort raised his hand, stopping Greyback from taking any further action.

His bloodshot eyes were fixed on Kane, as if assessing, or perhaps recalling: "Kane Malfoy. Lucius's eldest son. You ruined my plans a year ago, and now you're interfering in my affairs again… Does your father know you're so audacious?"

"Tonight we'll only talk about the future of werewolves." Kane ignored Voldemort's probing and took out three crystal vials from his specially made belt. The liquid in the vials shimmered with a silvery-purple luster in the moonlight, looking much gentler, yet also much more beautiful, than the black liquid Greyback had drunk.

"Tobias." Kane looked at the crowd.

Tobias shuddered. He could feel everyone's eyes instantly focusing on him, including Graybury's cold, murderous gaze. But he took a deep breath and stepped out from the crowd.

"You know this traitor?" Graybury hissed.

“I know someone who wants to live but doesn’t want to become a monster,” Kane corrected, handing a test tube to Tobias. “It’s a choice. Drink it, or go back.”

Tobias's hands trembled. He could feel Greyback's murderous intent like a tangible blade against his back, and he could feel the suspicious, curious, and fearful gazes of his tribesmen around him. But when he looked into Kane's eyes—those grey eyes, calm as a winter lake—something made him decide.

He took the test tube, pulled out the cork, tilted his head back, and drank it all.

The medicine tasted strange: like a mixture of mint and moonlight, with a hint of metallic coolness. The moment it flowed down his throat, he felt a warm current spread from his stomach, quickly reaching every part of his body.

Then, the gravitational pull of the full moon reached its peak.

Tobias's body began to change—his bones stretched, his muscles expanded, and fur sprouted from under his skin. It was a transformation, but completely different from before.

There was no pain, no frantic urge to tear everything apart. His consciousness was like standing on the shore watching the tide, clearly perceiving the changes in his body, yet not being overwhelmed. He saw his hands turn into claws, but he could control them from swinging them indiscriminately; he heard a low growl coming from his throat, but it sounded more like an expression of emotion than a howl of losing control.

The transformation was complete. He stood in the moonlight, a robust gray wolf, but his eyes—those eyes were clear amber, filled with lucid reason.

"How are you feeling?" Kane asked.

Tobias tried to speak. His throat produced muffled syllables, which then struggled to form words: "Clear...conscious. I can...think."

A gasp erupted from the crowd. Several werewolves even took a few steps forward, trying to get a better look.

"This is just the beginning." Kane took out two more test tubes and looked at the crowd. "Who else wants to try? Remember—it's voluntary, not mandatory."