I put down your Dog!

I was going to fight a werewolf, and this was another milestone in this life.

I had all my plans ready to rock and rumble and bounce and tumble, but I remembered something.

Shouldn't I bring a few silver bullets for posterity's sake?

Do the Harry Potter werewolves even get hurt with silver bullets?

I could just make a few bullets silver tipped, but I had absolutely no idea if silver hurt the werewolves in this universe.

This was getting awkward, as I stood over the counter at a Tea House, and suddenly remembered about silver bullets when I thought about Darjeeling Tea tasting delicious in a silver-lined cup with some Digestive cookies and a hot, freshly baked croissant.

Anyway!

Now I stood at the counter, at nine in the morning, with a few people waiting for me to order and move on, and I remembered about the goddamn silver bullets!

Just when I was about to order my Milk tea, a man behind me in the queue yelled, "Just get your tea and bugger off, mate."

I grumbled at his loud voice, ordered my tea, and waited for the cuppa, all the while looking at the Internet in the smartphone about whether Harry Potter wolves were weak to Silver.

Aaaannd....

I appears, Apparently NOT.

.

.

.

Much Ado about Nothing, I guess!

There was some text about silver and dittany sealing the werewolf bite, but the metal itself posed no threat to the werewolf.

I decided to not dilly dally any longer, and gulped my warm tea with a renewed vigour.

I found the small cabin, where Barty had made his hideout, and where apparently Greyback should be.

I needed to tag Barty first, and waited patiently. Today was about eighth day after a New Moon, and there was no risk of Greyback being anything dangerous. I didn't want to spook the guy, and had my cloak on before I even appeared here.

I waited till it was lunch time, and Barty waited for his elf to show up. He came out of the cabin, and headed towards the shrub, where I stood. I knew Greyback could smell the elf's rags, and decided to bring those rags to mislead him.

I found Barty approach me, and he was relaxed, as he saw a wooden basket full of sandwiches, drinks, tissues, hand towels, a small opaque vial of some potion, and a rag laid down on the ground.

Realization must have dawned on him, as I saw him try to reach for his wand, but I cast an Imperio under my cloak.

My cloak even silences my own voice, and my footsteps, my breathing, my heartbeat, my eyelids fluttering and even my nose flaring. It silences every bit of sound exiting my body, even the joints cracking as I stretch my back, after the long wait.

I made Barty hold the opaque vial, which has the Draught of Living Death, and made him sit down behind the woods. I cast a Tergeo spell on me, to erase my odour, and use the hair from imperioused Barty to drink the Polyjuice Potion.

I then got naked under the cloak, wore Barty's clothes, and used@ legilimency on him to read his body movements, the sit rep, and confirmation on my target, and if there are any codewords or phrases to identify myself.

After getting all information, I did a quick go through of Barty's memories with Greyback, and when I extracted every piece of information from his mind, I made him drink from the vial, which rendered him catatonic, and he was laid resting against the tree.

I put some of his spit and sweat from his hair and armpits over my body, and put my cloak over his body and the elf rag, in an instant to make the switch.

I can mimic his sneer, his facial expressions, and even his voice. But I don't need to keep the act for long.

I just need Fenrir to not run away, when I attack him.

After the elaborate Inception-style ruse, I walk back to the Cabin, munching on a sandwich, carrying the basket, and a 'resting-bitch' face.

"What took you so long?" The Chief Guest of the event snarled as I apparently ditch the elf quickly, and bring food back to the cabin.

"The elf refused to leave, until I showed her I eat the sandwiches she makes. She threatened to tell mother I was lying about visiting a friend. I had to be polite to drive her off." I sneered back.

I think I can work theatre after I am done with this.

I heard a gnarling, and set the basket down, and took a fruit from the basket.

I always knew the phrase assassins use, that you attack like a snake, when your prey least expects you to. I never knew how much profound that statement was until I had my first kill.

Killing or fighting had a rhythm. Not musical and ordered, but a chaotic one. There is pattern here, apart from how random and chaotic it could be. And yet, there is this rhythm, where you feel like you are playing turn-based combat against your opponent.

And if you master this rhythm, you catch your opponent off-guard and land a decisive blow on them. If not, then you at least set the pace of the confrontation, that suits you, and gives you an advantage, while your enemy is left to react to your moves and play passively and on a defensive.

And that is why, when I had taken a bite from the Apple, I waited for the crunch sound, as I could feel my heartbeat accelerate. I could see Greyback become Alert, as he felt instinctively, something was wrong.

I brought the Desert Eagle into my free hand, shot a torso shot at the growling Greyback, who tried to apparate away.

But alas! I had activated a portable ward to prohibit exactly that. The torso shot had been aimed at his chest and at the pendant, which was apparently a portkey to take Greyback to Voldemort.

The magnum round enchanted with the runes packed a thundering punch, as Greyback was thrown against the wall, and out of his chair from the momentum.

I capitalised on it and aimed four shots at all his joints. A bleeding and snarling werewolf was down for the count, and I saw the fight hadn't left his eyes.

I wanted to find a bit of his secrets and prolong his suffering, but my Agent 47 training memories kicked in, and I remembered the golden rule of assassination: NEVER MAKE IT PERSONAL.

I sighed deeply, and shot a round at his head splattering his chunks of brain at the wall. I fired another round just to be sure, as I didn't want a headless werewolf out for revenge, if such a thing was even possible.

I burnt the basket as I didn't want any evidence to lie around, which could be tracked back to me.

I waited till it was ashes, and even burnt the ashes down just to be sure.

I went outside the cabin and went to the shrubbery, where Crouch was laid down.

It was time to Stage a proper Murder: Serial Killer Style!!