Civilization and Savagery

Kreacher was already waiting at the door, so he opened the door directly.

Regulus also walked over.

Lucius was standing on the steps, wearing a traveling robe. It was black, made of fine material, suitable for walking. It was inlaid with gold threads. It looked complicated from a close look. From a distance, it had the outline of a peacock, which was a little flamboyant.

But I am going to see Werewolf later, which represents Malfoy family, and more importantly, Voldemort. I can't put on a show, so it makes sense to put some effort into dressing up. Snake-headed Staff in my hand tapped lightly on the threshold.

He had an upright figure, nodded his head, and said with a smile, "Good morning, Regulus."

"Good morning, Lucius."

Regulus turned sideways and led him into the porch.

Lucius is a decent person. Even though he comes here, he still has to say hello to Orion.

Regulus led him into Drawing Room.

Orion was sitting on the main sofa, holding <The Daily Prophet> in his hand. There was a cup of unfinished tea on the small round table in front of him. Seeing Lucius come in, he raised his eyes. "Lucius."

Lucius was very polite and bowed slightly. "Mr. Black."

Orion nodded, didn't say much, and looked back at the paper.

Lucius stood and waited for a moment. Seeing that Orion had no intention of explaining anything, he glanced at Regulus.

Regulus said, "Father, we are setting off."

Orion hummed and said nothing else.

Lucius saluted Orion again, and then followed Regulus out of Drawing Room.

The two people walked out of the 12 Grimmauld Place door and stood on the porch steps.

The iron fence at the door was stained with morning dew, and there were no people on the street.

Before departure, Lucius briefly explained the situation.

"North of Yorkshire, there is an abandoned mining village in a valley surrounded by hills. Greyback has been there with thirty or forty Werewolf for more than half a year."

Lucius took out a small bag from the inner pocket of the robe. It was palm-sized, dark brown leather, and the seal was closed with silver thread.

He weighed it and said, "Everything is ready, including food, daily necessities, and potions to ease the pain of transformation. They are all in there." "They know someone is coming today," Lucius put the small bag back into his inner pocket, and continued, "We'll see what the specific attitude is when we get there." After saying this, he stopped talking and glanced at Regulus, who nodded.

Lucius raised his hand and put it on his shoulder.

Snap.

The porch is empty.

The landing point was a Wasteland, and did not directly Apparition enter the camp.

"Walk in," Lucius let go of his hand, straightened his robe, and a hint of undisguised disgust flashed across his face. "Leave some buffer for both sides." He raised his chin in the direction of the valley. "Things like Werewolf are barbaric and have no rules. If you Apparition directly enter their nest, it will be like stepping on their tails. I will attack you first."

Regulus nodded and just walked a few steps, he didn't care.

However, the arrangement of Lucius is interesting. This is the attitude of normal wizards towards Werewolf.

On the other hand, I look down upon them and think they are barbaric, dirty and untouchable.

On the one hand, he remained cautious enough not to give the other party a chance to misjudge.

I don't think it's true, but I'm afraid it's true too.

Lucius's approach is quite regulated. I despise it. The procedures that should be followed must be followed step by step. If you can't do it, don't do it. The Voldemort camp deals with these Werewolf gangs in this way. Count, keep and use them, but never get close to them. You have to endure nausea every time you come into contact with them. Werewolf is not a wizard. You don't follow the wizard's rules. If you want them to listen to you, you can't let them feel that you despise them. Even if you do despise them, you can't make it too obvious.

The environment is much more desolate than in the south. In the north of Yorkshire, February is much colder than in London.

The heather is withered and yellow, covering the ground and rustling when stepped on. The hills are bare, without trees, and even shrubs are sparse.

The wind poured in from the mouth of the valley, whistling loudly and blowing the hem of the robe to the back of the legs.

The soil underfoot is dry and hard and has no elasticity when stepped on.

The two people walked into the valley. The further inside, the more desolate the surrounding scenery became.

The heather turned from withered yellow to grayish brown, and in some places the entire turf was turned up, exposing the gravel and dried mud underneath. Several low shrubs in the distance were broken, and the fractures looked like they were torn apart.

Further inside, there were fragments of bones on the ground, chewed clean, scattered in the grass, of different sizes, and it was hard to tell what they were. The smell in the air also became unpleasant, with a very light fishy smell, which was blown away by the wind and then gathered back together. The smell became heavier the further in. Regulus spread out Magic Perception.

In the valley ahead, dozens of life forms Magic Fluctuation are scattered everywhere.

The texture is very rough, completely different from the wizard's.

The wizard's Magic Power, no matter how violent it is, is still orderly and controlled by consciousness, like it has been woven, with lines of spells and traces carved by will.

These are not.

Each of these Magic Power is restless instinctively, without direction or restraint.

Naked, unprocessed, primitive, inhuman, bloody, and with a chill under the moonlight.

After further careful analysis, he could roughly distinguish two types.

It's a mess, Magic Power is still unstable.

Magic Power There are two things fighting inside, one is human and the other is animal, they are tearing at each other, and no one can suppress the other.

This is the most uncomfortable kind, Magic Fluctuation is twisting, painful, struggling, and feels like a mess of signals that constantly jumps in frequency.

This person has just been transformed. He has not yet accepted his fate and is still resisting his transformation into Werewolf.

Another kind of smoothness has been stabilized.

The animal side has already gained the upper hand, while the human side has shrunk underneath and stopped making trouble, or in other words, it has been assimilated.

Human nature and animal nature no longer tear apart, but begin to merge. The boundaries are blurred, and there is a strange harmony in perception.

This has been transformed for a long time. I have long accepted it, no longer resist it, and even become obsessed with the things brought about by the animal nature.

Both types of lives are inhumane, but the kind that is smooth, at least does not twist itself.

After walking a hundred or ten meters, there were people watching on both sides.

There is one behind the bushes on the hill on the left, and one further on the right. If you don't get close, just follow them, dotting them from a distance.

The eyes are unfriendly, sizing up the prey and following their footsteps.

Regulus felt no worries at all.

Magic Power is not as strong as Hogwarts, an ordinary fifth grader. It is weak enough to be ignored.

Lucius was walking beside him, and Staff was in his hand.

Regulus caught a glimpse of him adjusting his posture.

In front of Grimmauld Place, in front of him, Lucius was reserved, relaxed, and even a little intimate. The Malfoy-like reserve was deliberately suppressed by him.

Now all those things are back, and even more so than usual.

The chin is slightly raised, the shoulders are lifted, Staff is held in the hand, and every step is a bit condescending.

In front of Werewolf, what he wanted was this posture. He had to let these guys know who was higher and who was lower from the first sight.

The pace is still calm, as elegant as walking on the red carpet, but Regulus can feel that Magic Power of Lucius is in an active and excited state, ready to Spellcasting at any time.

He was alert, vigilant, and prepared for sudden Attacks.

Regulus saw it and said nothing.

The two of them walked into the valley along the shapeless path without saying a word.

Behind them, Werewolf began to follow, hanging from a distance, in twos and threes.

When we reached the mouth of a valley, we were sandwiched between stone walls, the terrain narrowed, there were more bones on the ground, and the smell was stronger.

Three figures stood in the middle of the road. They were dressed in shabby clothes and had scars on their faces. Their eyes were unfriendly, but they were not hostile. They were just waiting.

Regulus looked it over.

This is the mature Werewolf, who has long accepted his identity, and Magic Power no longer tears apart, but blends into one.

In addition to the unique moonlight chill and bloodthirsty agitation of Werewolf, there is also an indescribably strong smell of blood, which is the trace left by the killing. After killing many times, the smell is accustomed to killing.

The screams and blood of the prey splashed on the fur and seeped into Magic Power, becoming the background color.

Lucius took out a Silver Badge from the inner pocket of the robe and handed it over.

The mark Voldemort is engraved on it, and the snake coming out of the skull's mouth glows with a faint green light.

The first one took it and looked at it, then at Lucius, then turned his attention to Regulus and stared at it.

A wizard kid, with gray eyes, short, Magic Power dull, dry and thin, without identification, and without any mark to indicate that he is from Voldemort.

Regulus met his gaze without any change in his expression.

This time, he came with him to attend the meeting, and he didn't report anything in advance.

Lucius's Staff crossed over and moved the first one to the side unceremoniously.

His tone was cold and reserved, as if the Werewolf in front of him was a House-elf: "Get out of the way."

The one at the head gritted his teeth and let out a low growl from his throat. He did not move his feet and pushed his body forward, staring at Lucius. Lucius raised Staff and pointed the tip of the stick directly at Werewolf's chest. The distance was very close.

"People from Malfoy family are here to see Fenrir·Greyback. Are you blocking here to stop Dark Lord's message for him?" The man let out a very low roar again, his eyes full of malice. He looked back and forth at Lucius and Regulus, but he still backed away, and the two next to him also gave way.

Lucius took back Staff and nodded gracefully to Regulus.

When passing by the three Werewolf, Lucius didn't look at them, but Regulus looked at Lucius one more time.

The two entered the valley.

Further into the valley entrance is an abandoned mining village.

There are twenty or thirty stone houses scattered in the valley. Most of the roofs have collapsed. The stone walls are covered with dead moss, which has shrunk into a brown-gray hard shell. Weeds cling to the corners of the walls, dry and yellow.

Some of the windows had no frames, Black Hole holes opening outwards.

There is an open space in the middle of the village, where the remains of the bonfire are still there. A circle of blackened stones surrounds a pile of ashes. There are some random things piled next to it, such as wood, rags, and debris that cannot be seen from the original.

The ground is hard, but it feels sticky when you step on it, like something left in the soil after being soaked for a long time.

I don't see poverty. Being poor is another matter. Being poor requires a lot of care.

It's really wild here.

A group of people who didn't care where they lived got together and settled in any place that could protect them from the wind.

The smell in the air is at its peak here.

The fishy smell, mixed with the stench, and the smell of feces was everywhere, in the corners and beside the stones, like what wild animals use to mark their territory.

There are other smells, including rot, moisture, fur, secretions, all mixed together and entering the nose.

Werewolf are scattered everywhere, squatting in the ruins, sitting on broken walls, and walking back and forth in the open space.

Most of them were dressed in tatters, had sallow complexions, and had deep and shallow scars on their bodies.

Some scars have healed into white marks, while others still look new, with red tender flesh and scabs.

Their eyes glanced towards the visitor.

Regulus spread out perception again.

Magic Power of dozens of life forms are mixed together, each with that kind of duality.

In human form, animalistic elements also seep into Magic Power, with varying proportions.

Some of the human nature is still dominant. The Magic Power pattern retains the traces of the wizard's weaving. He is educated, has used a wand, and knows the structure of the spell. Some of the animal nature has almost covered the human nature. Magic Power is naked and rough. There is no longer any wizard's weaving, only instinct and impulse remain.

He compared those looks.

Some eyes are dull and hollow. They don't look at others as they look at others, and they don't look at themselves as they look at others.

There was one, squatting behind the broken wall. He was not too old, in his early twenties, maybe thirty. He was looking towards Regulus, and something else flashed in his eyes.

It seemed like he wanted to ask for help, and seemed to recognize who he was, but he quickly shrank back and lowered his head.

These are those who have not yet been transformed. They are not completely dead yet, and can still occasionally emerge from that layer of bestiality.

Those who have been transformed for a long time have completely different eyes, sharp, savage, and aggressive. They look at people as a predator looks at food. This is the true face of the Werewolf world, a side that Wizarding World no one wants to take a closer look at.

Far away from civilization, far away from Ministry of Magic's set of black and white rules, far away from Diagon Alley's lights and hot tea.

There are only a group of people who have been squeezed out of Magic society into Wasteland, and another group of people who no longer want to return to that society.

They gather together in an abandoned mining village, waiting for something to define the rest of their lives.

Maybe it's Voldemort's instructions, maybe it's the next full moon, maybe it's the next batch of new members being bitten.

Just like this group of things, they were bitten, changed, pushed out by society, and finally gathered in a place like this, living as half humans and half beasts.

It was his first time to be in such close contact with so many Werewolf.

The theories I discussed with Dumbledore outside Shrieking Shack now have real objects to compare with.

Regulus has some ideas in mind.

With so much material in front of us, we can't go back empty-handed. It doesn't make sense if we don't get something.

But no matter how you put it, these Werewolf are all the assets of Voldemort. There is no reason for it. It is really difficult to do it directly and it is unjustifiable.

But it doesn't matter, he can make them crazy.

Just look at the brains of these Werewolfs, Light Magics, and implant something into them. Not many of them can withstand it.

When the time comes, they will be the ones who are crazy, and it has nothing to do with him.

The corner of his mouth moved and he put the thought away.

Don't worry, let Lucius do the work first.