The journey back to the Ministry was eerily quiet. The Aurors moved with the solemn efficiency of those who had seen too much, their minds preoccupied with the aftermath of the battle. The captured werewolves, bound by magical restraints, snarled and snapped, but their defiance was futile. Among them, Fenrir Greyback, though weakened, still radiated a palpable menace.
Rufus Scrimgeour led the group, his face a mask of stern resolve. But beneath the surface, his thoughts churned. The victory they had achieved tonight felt hollow. They had subdued Fenrir Greyback, one of the most feared werewolves in the wizarding world, but Rufus knew it wasn’t enough. The beast was still alive, still breathing, and that fact gnawed at him with a deep, unsettling frustration.
As they trudged through the dark forest, Rufus replayed the battle in his mind. He regretted not killing Greyback when he had the chance. A Stunner to bring him down instead of a Killing Curse—a decision that now felt like a mistake.
Rufus knew what the future might hold. The Dementors, those shadowy guardians of Azkaban, had a sinister tendency to shift their loyalties to the side that offered more despair. The thought of them allying with Voldemort, abandoning their posts at Azkaban, was a terrifying possibility—one that loomed over him like a gathering storm.
His eyes flicked over to the other Aurors. Remus Lupin walked a few paces behind, his expression unreadable but his presence as solid and reassuring as ever. Moody, ever-vigilant, was keeping a sharp watch on their surroundings, his magical eye spinning ceaselessly. They were good Aurors, men of principle. They would report everything to Dumbledore, the "old goat," as Rufus bitterly thought of him. And then there were Pius Thicknesse and Yaxley, both keeping their own counsel, no doubt with ties to Lucius Malfoy and the old pureblood families. Rufus knew he couldn’t afford any mistakes—not now, not with so many eyes watching.
Killing Greyback here and now would be satisfying, would rid the world of a monstrous threat. But the consequences of such an action, in the presence of witnesses loyal to Dumbledore or connected to powerful pureblood circles, were too risky. It would tarnish his reputation, perhaps even cost him the chance to achieve his true goal.
Once Rufus became Minister of Magic, Azkaban would be made escape-proof again. He would ensure that no one, not even the most powerful of Dark Wizards, would ever breach its walls. But until then, he would have to play the part of the righteous Auror, upholding the law, even when it felt inadequate.
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As they neared the edge of the forest, Rufus signaled for a halt. “We’ll need additional Aurors to escort the prisoners back to the Ministry,” he said, his voice brusque. “Greyback’s pack is dangerous, and I don’t want any surprises. Moody, send a message to Headquarters—request backup. Junior Aurors will do as well. I want this done by the book.”
Moody nodded, and a silvery Patronus in the shape of a wolf shot from his wand, disappearing into the night to deliver the message. The Aurors stood in a tense silence, waiting for reinforcements to arrive.
The news of Greyback’s capture spread quickly, reaching various corners of the wizarding world. Some received it with relief, others with trepidation, knowing that a figure as dangerous as Greyback would not be easily contained. But the most immediate reaction was within the Ministry itself.
Rufus released a statement to the Daily Prophet, informing them of the successful operation and the capture of Fenrir Greyback. He added that a press conference would be held tomorrow morning, where the press could ask any questions regarding the arrest. The announcement was met with surprise among the other Aurors. Rufus was not one to seek the limelight—such matters were typically handled by his assistants. His sudden decision to hold a press conference raised more than a few eyebrows.
As they waited for the reinforcements to arrive, Rufus allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection. Tomorrow, everything would change. The press conference would not just be about Greyback’s capture; it would be the beginning of his campaign for Minister of Magic. He would announce his candidacy, lay out his plans to restore order and security to the wizarding world. Azkaban would be the cornerstone of his platform—its unbreachable walls a symbol of his resolve.
He glanced at the captured werewolves, their feral eyes glaring at him with hatred. Tomorrow, he would begin the process of ensuring they never saw the light of day again. He would rise to power, and nothing—not Dumbledore, not the Death Eaters, not even the Ministry’s own bureaucracy—would stand in his way.
Rufus squared his shoulders, the weight of his decision settling firmly on his mind. Tomorrow, it all begins.