Final Clash

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Peter tapped his foot against the ground as he clasped his fingers together. He could feel it, the stares he was getting, the judgement he was enduring from the remaining Betas. They were looking down on him, an Alpha! They didn't see him as worthy, they only saw a failure.

But none of them understood, this wasn't his fault.

When Fenrir had proposed the idea of taking the world for the Werewolves, many while agreeing had been wary. Wizards had not remained the predominant rulers of the Magical World without a reason. Dark Wizards, Goblins, Centaurs, Giant, Vampires, Werewolves and all other manners of Magical Creatures and Dark Forces had been defeated. Some might take longer than others, but the end result was always the same.

Wizards emerging victorious from the ashes and none of them could understand that this entire plan was a folly. If there was one thing that could unite the Magical World together it was a Werewolf rebellion, especially one of their size.

It had started off small, Deucalion laying the groundwork by first gathering Alphas from around the globe. His intentions had purely been a Pack composed purely of Alphas. However, Fenrir, a Werewolf of a size and strength none had encountered before came along and took over. Under his rule, the direction of their Pack changed and cautiously began absorbing Werewolf Packs into their own and also increasing their number by turning others.

Their numbers skyrocketed when somehow, Fenrir managed to gift them all with a serum that enabled the passage and transformation of the Lycanthropy Curse to be one hundred percent effective. An unprecedented incident and one that shook not only them to the core, but also the Magical World.

Unable to hide their growing numbers, they went on the offensive, launching a crippling strike in three directions. Europe, Scandinavia and Russia.

Russia was deemed to be too backwards and also too divided by its rivalling warlords to be capable of actually putting up a resistance. Fenrir and Ennis were making quick work of any force the Russian warlords that attempted to stop them.

Europe in turn was seen as too bureaucratic and too civilised to actually be able to mobilise a proper force in time to stop their advance before they reached the border of Western Europe. That assumption had been proven correct, but since then their advance had ground to a halt, small skirmishes breaking out upon the frontlines but with no real push being made. Not because they didn't want to but because they couldn't. The border between Western and Eastern Europe was now an impenetrable barrier, one that neither side could cross.

Then there was Scandinavia, the biggest problem to deal with. They were united and unlike their Muggle counterparts, still followed the old ways of the Vikings. They were strong and incredibly dangerous and Peter had seen firsthand just how difficult an opponent they were. Just pushing them out of Denmark had been a trying task that cost them heavily.

That front needed reinforcements which are where Britain came into the equation.

Peter had been given this task by Deucalion, it was a slap in the face and a showcase of just how little the former Alpha of Alphas viewed him. Britain was deemed to be weakened, barely able to put up a proper fight as a result of their Pyrrhic victory over the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Once Britain was conquered and made an official state of the Werewolf Kingdom, they would then bolster their ranks with additional troops before launching an invasion to France from the north. This pincer strike would weaken the border between Western and Eastern Europe, Europe itself having t divert troops to protect a new front. This in turn would allow the main force to push further west.

It would be a rolling victory with the Werewolves using the momentum they had gathered and stopping the Wizards from being able to mount a proper defence. This in turn would fill up new troops that could be dispatched to the Scandinavian Campaign or even the Russian front.

Werewolf victory would be secured with their forces too large to be stopped.

However, they had made a terrible miscalculation, those black-clad Wizards, spies and assassins. Just one at first, he hadn't been considered much of a threat and one Peter had thought had been dealt with. The second miscalculation was the trustworthiness of his young nephew, Derek, the traitor was no doubt working for the British Government and actively helping them.

'I'll kill him.' Peter thought to himself with clenched fists, eyes flashing a dangerous red that made the Betas look away in fear. 'But first I need to get away from here. Away from Britain, away from the Werewolves. I'm finished.'

There was no coming back, no redeeming himself from his crushing defeat at the hands of the British. Though there was perhaps a silver lining to all this, with Britain not under the control of the Werewolves the war effort would be that much more trying and difficult. Deucalion was likely to fail and that made Peter smirk.

'Perhaps Fenrir might even kill the blind rat for me.' Peter thought amusedly.

That was when there was an explosion ripping through the tense silence of the room, the building shaking dangerously. "What the hell was that?!" Someone shouted in panic, everyone looking around wildly.

As the buildings shaking grew more and more violent, the heat growing, time seemed to slow down as Peter felt a chill down his spine. Someone was watching him and Peter only had a moment to turn and saw a group of black-clad figures on the opposite building. His eyes widened as he recognised them, but he couldn't say or do anything as in that moment the ground beneath them gave out, all plummeting into the flames that rushed up to meet them.

-X- Line Break -X-

'It's done.' Harry thought with a sigh, looking upon the collapsing building, flames eating away at the rubble as panicked cries and screams filled the surroundings. Planting the explosives had been easy, but passing the few dozen people that remained in the building at this time had been hard.

It had been difficult to see their faces and know what was about to become of them. A few on the lower floors Harry had used the Confundus Charm, getting them to leave. However, that had been the extent of what he had been able to do. If too many people left it would risk alerting Peter to the possibility of something is about to happen.

Harry couldn't allow that to happen, not when he could escape and possibly return. People had believed Tom to be dead and look what had happened. He had believed Fenrir to be dead and look what happened. As much as it pained him, those who lost their lives had been a necessary sacrifice.

"Let's go," Harry murmured, the air between Dragon Squad been sombre as they watched fire engines and police cars appear on the scene. With a twist of their heels, each disappeared from the spot with a light pop.