0297 The Golden Flames

The atmosphere was thick with a pressure so profound, it could be likened to the crushing depths of the Mariana Trench. Greyback, suspended in the air, found himself immobilized, his body rigid as if he were an ancient insect on the cusp of being forever enshrined in amber's golden tomb.

"No progress at all—" The voice that resonated through the charged air was laced with a palpable disappointment, a tone that seemed to reverberate with the very pulse of the earth. And then, as if in response, the world itself trembled, a subtle yet unmistakable shudder that coursed through the land.

On the ground, the pebbles, once still and silent, began an eerie dance, rising from the earth as if summoned by some arcane force. Greyback, with the burden of Remus Lupin upon his shoulders, the pack of werewolves, and even a few centaurs bound by invisible restraints, all found themselves subject to this otherworldly pull, their bodies flying towards the sky in defiance of Newton's law.

The night, cold and unforgiving, watched as the mist of the Forbidden Forest, a ghostly specter that had strayed beyond its borders, was torn apart. Amidst this chaos, the air became alive with the dance of fine blue lightning bolts, their ethereal glow turning the levitating stones to nothing but dust.

"Do you have any last words, Greyback?" Bryan looked down at the despairing Greyback and asked softly.

"The Dark Lord won't spare you, Watson!" Greyback's desperate and tragic scream rose again, "I'll wait for you in hell!!!"

And then, as if the heavens themselves had decreed it, the slaughter began. Golden flames descended from the sky, a deluge of divine wrath that sought to purify the world of its sins. Amidst the waves, thunder roared silently, and beasts born from flame let out their silent cries of destruction, their fiery breath engulfing the werewolves in an instant.

The world was reduced to a singular sound— the dying howls of the werewolves.

One werewolf, his form entangled with a serpent of fire, made a desperate bid for freedom, bursting through the wall of flames in a frantic attempt to reach the sanctuary of the Forbidden Forest. But his escape was short-lived; a colossal golden hand, an extension of the inferno's wrath, emerged from the fiery sea of fire, seizing his head with an unyielding grip and mercilessly dragged him back into the heart of the destruction.

The sea of fire consumed the werewolves, their demise a spectacle beneath the golden night sky, where the Grim Reaper seemed to dance in jubilation.

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the centaurs, who harbored deep hatred towards the werewolves, could no longer bear witness to the carnage. With heads bowed in a rare display of humility, they turned away, their hearts heavy with an emotion they could not name.

"Are you being sentimental?" The wind, playful and irreverent, tousled Bryan's soft grey hair as he asked the question with a gentle smile,

"From now on, you probably won't find many compatriots within the borders of Magical-Britain, Remus."

"No—" Remus's reply was a breath, a sigh that carried the weight of resignation. His eyes, filled with a complex tapestry of emotions, took in the sight of the werewolves' final dance amidst the flames, the silver metallic sheen of their half-melted forms, and Greyback, was defiant even in the face of death, his curses venomous.

The once-slumbering village of Hogsmeade stirred to life, its tranquility shattered as lights flickered on in a symphony of awakening. The residents, sensing the disturbance, surged up the hill in a wave of concern and curiosity. However, the officials from the Ministry of Magic, informed by the Dementors and apparating into the village, arrived even faster.

Cornelius Fudge, Amelia Bones, Dolores Umbridge, Rufus Scrimgeour, and most of Aurors descended the hillside with haste, their movements a blur as they raced towards the unfolding scene.

From a distance, Scrimgeour, the stalwart head of the Auror Office, unleashed a spell towards the inferno. The magic swelled, fueled by the gale, transforming into a torrent of water that cascaded over the flames. Yet, for all its might, it did little more than birth clouds of white steam that rose and dissipated into the night.

"That's Fiendfyre, Minister!" Scrimgeour stared intently at the figure gradually descending to the edge of the fire, his voice solemn.

"Oh my, it's… it's Fiendfyre." Fudge's exclamation was one of realization, his potly form moving with a speed that belied his stature as he led the Aurors towards the scene.

"You… Bryan Watson. You can't.... Who exactly are you harming?" Fudge's voice was tinged with disbelief.

The turbulent sea of fire kept all the newcomers from the Ministry at a distance of three hundred feet. Fudge shouted across the distance in despair,

"You can't do this, Bryan, it's against the law!"

The members of the Ministry of Magic seemed to see a roaring volcano, with A sea of fire raging before them, its flames dancing violently. The air was filled with the sound of faintly tearing roars, a cacophony that seemed to resonate with the very depths of their souls, instilling a paralyzing hesitation in their hearts. Amidst this chaos, only one figure stood resolute, an exception to the prevailing fear: Rufus Scrimgeour.

The others could do nothing but stand frozen, petrified witnesses to the unfolding spectacle of what they perceived as malevolent magic. Yet, as the Head of the Auror Office, Scrimgeour was bound by duty and honor; he could not simply spectate evil unfold before his eyes..

"Put away your wicked magic, young man!"

With a determined stride, Scrimgeour advanced, facing the overwhelming pressure head-on. He raised his wand, a symbol of his unwavering resolve, and directed his command at Bryan with a shout that echoed through the wilderness.

But just as he prepared to act, Bryan turned his head, his gaze cold and piercing. In that fleeting moment, the formidable pressure emanating from him halted Scrimgeour's breath. It was as if, in a trance, he saw a colossal dragon, its fierce head lowered, gazing down upon him, rendering his own existence as insignificant as dust.

"Wait—" Tonks interjected, staring at Bryan in disbelief.

She looked at Bryan, her mind struggling to reconcile the image of her low-key, modest, and humble old classmate with the reality before her. He dared to conjure the Fiendfyre, a dark magic spell of devastating power, in the presence of the Minister of Magic and other high-ranking officials. 

Kingsley, standing beside her with his wealth of experience, sensed the gravity of the situation. He grasped his superior's arm, his voice solemn and urgent.

"Take a closer look—" Kingsley said, his astonishment evident. "Those beings ensnared by the Fiendfyre, if my eyes do not deceive me, they are werewolves!"

'Werewolves?' The word rippled through the crowd, a wave of shock and realization.

Every gaze turned toward the raging inferno, where amidst the flames, a figure emerged, its form half-consumed, resembling a spectral apparition more than flesh and blood.

"That's right, it's him!" Amelia Bones exclaimed, her thin frame belying the sharpness of her eyes. "I can't be mistaken, it's Fenrir Greyback, the notorious leader of werewolves!"

She stared intently at the figure within the sea of fire, recognizing the visage of Fenrir Greyback, the infamous leader of the werewolves. His notoriety was well-known throughout the British wizarding world, and the core members of the Ministry of Magic could not mistake the werewolf leader who had brought them immense pressure and shame.

"But what is happening here?" Fudge, drenched in sweat and the picture of helplessness, stammered. "Bryan, he… Shouldn't he be at Hogwarts? And werewolves? But the Fiendfyre…"

"You're correct, Minister—" Umbridge, Fudge's capable assistant and Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, squeaked in a high-pitched tone, as if a little girl had suddenly discovered a mouse on her bed.

"I don't believe any of us recall granting Bryan Watson permission to wield the Fiendfyre spell. Oh, unless, of course, he received authorization from another source!"

"Dumbledore has no authority to permit the use of such dreadful magic!" 

Fudge's mind was particularly sharp at this moment, and he immediately understood Umbridge's implication, and said angrily.

Ms. Bones cast a sidelong glance at Umbridge, her lips pursed in disapproval, yet she remained silent. Her expression mirrored that of Professor McGonagall when catching young wizards in the midst of mischief.

As time passed, the screams within the Fiendfyre dwindled, fading into silence. The earth, scorched and desolate, bore no trace of the werewolves that had perished; only their blackened outlines remained etched upon the crystallized ground.

Hooo—

With a sigh, Bryan waved his wand. In the blink of an eye, the Fiendfyre, which had threatened to consume the heavens themselves, vanished as if it were nothing but a fleeting dream. Wisps of smoke curled upward from the sunken pit, reaching for the darkened sky above.

The Ministry employees, wands drawn and aimed at Bryan, watched in stunned silence. Yet he paid them no heed, his demeanor calm and composed as he approached the centaurs who were rushing toward him.

"We came for the tribe members abducted by Greyback, Mr. Watson—" the centaurs began, their fierce temperaments subdued.

After witnessing the events that had transpired, they found themselves compelled to lower their proud heads to the wizards they so often disdained. Firenze, too, bowed humbly, his voice soft and respectful.

"Hmm—" Bryan acknowledged with a slight nod.

At his gesture, the centaurs who lay beside Remus began to levitate, drifting toward their kin.

"Tonight, you have made great efforts to save the young wizards and staff of Hogwarts. For your assistance, we owe you our gratitude."

Bane's brow furrowed deeply, a testament to the turmoil churning within his mind. He contemplated voicing his doubts, his gaze fixed intently on Bryan, the wizard whose actions had defied the centaurs' understanding of magic and its wielders. Yet before he could voice his thoughts, Ronan, with a dismissive snort, silenced him. The elder centaur's skepticism was palpable, a silent warning against questioning the enigmatic wizard's motives.

Firenze, who was quick-witted, pieced together the night's events with remarkable intelligence. His mind raced with the realization that a wizard— had used Transfiguration to abduct one of their compatriots without harming the centaurs.

"We are the ones who should be grateful, Mr. Watson," Firenze intoned with a newfound reverence. "Without your intervention, our tribe members would have faced a grim fate indeed."

His words hung in the air, a solemn acknowledgment of the debt owed to Bryan. Firenze realized that this formidable human wizard was not the same as Dumbledore, and he cautiously added, "The centaurs will not forget your benevolence. Should an opportunity arise, we aspire to reciprocate this kindness."

Indeed, quite reasonable.

"It's just a small thing." Bryan smiled slightly, "Don't worry about it."

Firenze cast a wary glance at the Ministry officials, their wands and gazes pointedly directed at Bryan. "We prefer solitude, away from wizards and the Ministry's machinations, Mr. Watson," he stated in a hushed tone, a subtle hint of the centaurs's perennial distrust. "Thus, we shall take our leave. You, however, are welcome to traverse the Forbidden Forest at your leisure."

With Bryan's permission, Firenze, alongside Ronan and Bane, retreated into the shadowy embrace of the Forbidden Forest. Their figures melded with the darkness, disappearing as swiftly as they had appeared.

Meanwhile, upon the hill, the villagers of Hogsmeade had amassed, their numbers nearly complete. The crowd buzzed with activity, flashes of light occasionally appeared as they sought to capture the night's extraordinary events.

Amidst the chaos, Fudge felt the weight of expectation bearing down upon him. The Ministry of Magic, under the scrutiny of so many eyes, was compelled to take some action.

"Bryan, what is the meaning of all this?" Fudge demanded, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and urgency.

"Excuse me," Bryan interjected, his attention drawn to the prone figure of Remus, who lay unconscious upon the scorched earth. His request was polite yet firm, "Would someone kindly escort this unfortunate man to St. Mungo's? His injuries are severe, and he might not last until we finish discussing the incident."

"Who is this person? A villager from Hogsmeade?" Ms. Bones inquired, her glasses catching the moonlight as she peered intently at Bryan, seeking answers.

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