Dogcatcher

Edward had been doing his homework. He knew who was whom. He had matched names with faces, and he was blending into the night. He was dressed in a black suit. Black slacks, a black sportscoat, a black shirt, black tie, and a black dress hat, with a black walking stick with a black crystal handle. The tie tack was a silver bullet without the gunpowder, and his hat was tilted down over his eyes. He had noticed some of the dark arts wizards stepping aside from him as he walked confidently down the alley as if he'd owned it and into the shop.

Borgin and Burkes at night was a dismal and evil place, and there was a certain part of his overly logical brain that was fascinated by the curiosities there. There were little nooks and crannies that seemed to have the same artifacts that he remembered were there when he was a boy. And that had been just a damned long time. There were some things even the smarter dark arts practioners didn't mess with. Those were the things that he was interested in.

He had bought a few of them. Murderous things. Evil things. And for him, needful things. And then on a whim, he bought a ring. His wife would have called the thing 'completely hideous.' It was a black and red bloodstone mounted in antique silver. It was a rather ugly looking ring, but he did see some fascinating filligree on the mounting. He didn't see any charms or hexes associated with it, and when he slid it on his right index finger, the stone was so large that even on his large thin hand, the stone went from the basiliar joint to the metacarpophelangeal. He laid the galleons on the counter for the ring and some other bizarre curiosities that had appeared rather homeless to him and waited while the woman behind the counter put his purchases into a black cloth bag for him.

He listened to a clock chime in the distance. It was about time for the dogs to come out of hiding for the night.

Naomi waited impatiently in Colby's front door. The man was giving his aunt instructions to watch over his four year old son. Naomi would have been more heart broken, had she not been so worried. They were already much too late- bad people were out, the sort of people who would love to kill a defect of the Death Eaters. Colby simply wasn't safe here- the pack was withdrawing to Carlyn's home, hoping to be safe there.

Only Naomi would have this much trouble filing for divorce.

Colby Junior, young CJ, was crying. Colby's sister was stern, pulling him away, but there was heartbreak in her eyes. Naomi looked down, ashamed to have been the cause of all of this. She checked her watch. They had to be gone soon. "Colby," came her soft reminder. Her packmate nodded, kissed his son, then his sister and turned away.

They stepped out into the dark but Naomi stopped him on the stoop. "I'm sorry," was all she managed to say. He shook his head and said, "Let's go. We just need to get to Satan's for it to be safe to apparate. It's a few houses past Borgin and Bourke's. Let's go."

And they hurried off into the night.

Edward walked to the doorway of the shop and opened the door and leaned lazily against it until he saw some young ones hurrying through Knockturn. He had seen that sort of fear so often that it was imbedded in his DNA , it seemed. He waited. And then in the dim light he could match the face. One was, to his delight, a Greyback.

He waited until the last possible moment and stepped out immediately in front of her. His 6'5" build towered over hers like a skyscraper. A dark, black skyscraper.

"You seem like you're in a hurry, young Greyback," he said in a calm tone that was almost too quiet. "And what would someone...like you..." he chose the words carefully "need to be running from?" Werewolves who changed almost at will didn't need to run from much of anyone. Well, under normal circumstances.

He was delighted to have found her. It was a start. Greybacks generally had a common goal--to make sure that the 'inferior humans' were reduced and/or eliminated. Werewolf slayers, no doubt, were part of what they had to decide on how to manage. She was a tad young to know who he was--unless her family had chosen not to leave her ignorant. He presumed nothing.

Naomi's gaze was averted, as was normal for anyone who regularly walked the streets of Knockturn Alley. To be new on the street meant big trouble. But the regulars had their own ways, and if you stared every passerby-er in the face, you were not going to last very long. chin tucked in, eyes looking up through eyelashes- this is how she and her loyal pack mate made their way.

They were close to their destination now, but not close enough to be at ease. She wanted to get out of here. This part of her life was fading away- she was ridding herself of darkness to make way for the new, make way for the light, if it could even exist within her. Knockturn was like a parasite on her goodness, and she needed to get out. She needed to escape.

She was so close to passing Borgin and Bourke's when she collided with a body. She stumbled back, one hand twisting around Colby's arm and the other fluttering to her pocket for her wand. Her head tipped upwards and she spotted a strange man. She took a step back, and another, clearing herself up some space.

She did not like this man's arrogant, smug tone, as though he had beat her when there had been no declared challenge. She blinked once and discreetly tightened her hold on Colby, who could control his transformations. Naomi could not change completely at will. "I'm a busy woman. Excuse us." She tried to push past.

"You're clueless, aren't you?" he said, feeling almost sorry for her. She truly was little more than a child. "Your father didn't do his job very well, then. You are missing a significant part of your heritage, then, indeed. You do clearly belong to Fenrir. Shame, that. Really. He really wasn't exactly much more paternal material than being the fertilizing agent. Certainly not a nurturer. Perhaps I should just, what's the phrase, cut to the chase?

"Your father has created quite a legacy for himself and for your family and all those who bear the lycanthropy curse. And perhaps for all time. It is not the curse that damns you. It is him and him alone. His demented thinking that led him to senselessly kill so many for simply being human.

"Be aware, if you are not, there are those who would kill you simply because you are Greyback. Not because you are cursed. Lycanthropy is now a rather accepted bit. But being a Greyback is not something to be proud of. Ask yourself--all those who followed him in Fenrir's pack from the old days are gone. Did you never ask why? Did you never ask what happened to them? If not, then, he might as well have told you a boldfaced lie as to have left you in the dark because by doing so, he fairly signed your death warrant out of his own will. He knew exactly what the consequences were for not telling you."

She was not allowed to pass. The man did nothing to stop her physically, but his words caused her to withdraw to a distance at which she could meet his eyes and search them for his intent and meaning. She did not like this man's feelings of self importance. She did not like the way he addressed her, or so boldly took two werewolves on. There was many things that would have prompted her to kill this man.

She suppressed these urges. She had turned a new leaf and had made promises to Elijah never to return, even in the most remote of ways. She took this man's words with the boldness of a Greyback. Did he think she had no idea the curse on her name? She had been a good girl in Hogwarts, but gossip and rumors and hatred followed her. She was worse than mudbloods to some. Did he think her a total fool? Did he think her completely ignorant.

He could complain all he wished of her father. She had not attachment to her father, but her loyalty to him was always strengthened when she met men such as this. Her father might have been foul, but he was a survivor. He lived, and so did his children. Fenrir would only be conquered on his own terms.

She smiled lightly. "Sorry to burst your bubble of over-confident pomp and circumstance," she said, gesturing to him. "But I'm not exactly Daddy's Little Girl. You're barking up the wrong tree."