Lupin felt helpless in the face of Old Jack's attitude. As a fellow werewolf, he had once been friends with Old Jack.
In his most difficult times, it was Old Jack who had given him a place to stay and clothes to wear.
He was filled with gratitude toward the old man. Old Jack wasn't a victim of Fenrir Greyback—his decision to stay in the werewolf community was purely to help the young werewolves there.
Now, the werewolf community had improved. It was no longer the seething, wizard-hating place it once was.
That was precisely why Lupin wanted to protect it all the more. If Voldemort ever came here, the werewolves would likely suffer again.
More and more werewolves were gathering in the community, forming a force that could no longer be ignored.
Johnny Silverhand was full of mystery. No one knew whether he, like Voldemort, harbored dangerous ambitions.
As the Second King, it was impossible not to be wary of him.
…
The day after being kicked out, Lupin returned once more to the werewolf community.
The Order of the Phoenix had sent him a message—this was his last chance.
After today, he would be joining the others to retrieve Harry.
The Dementor attack incident had made the Order more alert than ever. As the one destined to defeat Voldemort, Harry's safety was of paramount importance.
This was Lupin's promise to Dumbledore, and also a promise he had made—as a Marauder—to James and Lily.
Both he and Sirius were prepared to lay down their lives for Harry at any moment.
Old Jack had just finished supervising Tyra's homework when he heard a knock at the door and stepped out.
His previously smiling face instantly vanished.
He was about to start cursing when he saw Lupin speak with utmost sincerity, "Old Jack, could you give me just a few minutes? After this, I won't bother you again."
The words at the tip of his tongue were swallowed back. Old Jack glanced inside at Tyra's sleepy little head, then stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Old Jack eyed him warily. "Go on, what are you scheming this time?"
"Old Jack, I want to know why you're so resistant," Lupin said bitterly. "I told you, the Dark Lord has returned. Dumbledore can guarantee your safety."
"Dumbledore," Old Jack said impatiently, "he's not going to give my children fair treatment."
Lupin: "But Johnny Silverhand is a dangerous man. You should know he's a dark wizard—he's killed a lot of people."
"Shut up!" Old Jack exploded with fury, but in order to make Lupin give up once and for all, he decided to show him something.
He walked forward.
Lupin looked momentarily confused, but Old Jack jerked his chin, signaling him to follow.
The two figures walked through the werewolf community, one in front, one behind.
The moonlight stretched their shadows long on the ground, and Lupin was thankful it wasn't a full moon tonight—otherwise, the whole community would probably be empty.
They stopped under a tree, where Old Jack came to a halt.
Lupin looked over and saw that the tree was covered in deep claw marks and dents—scars left behind by werewolves fighting each other.
Fenrir used to enjoy forcing two werewolves to battle, like raising poisonous creatures to kill one another, all in order to cultivate stronger werewolves.
But now, beneath that blood-soaked tree stood a group of people.
Among them were the old and the young, some with scarred faces, others with missing limbs.
They were all werewolves. The younger ones were kept at home, while these older ones were outside playing chess.
"Damn it, I lost again."
"Haha, are you even trying?"
"Back in the day, we were all just surviving in the wild. Where did you learn wizard chess?"
"Heh, I studied it when I was a kid. After I got bitten, I never touched it again. If it weren't for Lord Silverhand, I'd never have dreamed of sitting down to play chess in this life."
"Hahaha! True!"
The speaker was a middle-aged werewolf with a face full of scars.
Lupin recognized him—he'd once been one of Fenrir's men, a brawler whose body bore the marks of countless frenzied rampages.
Across from him sat another middle-aged werewolf with a receding hairline, who sighed deeply, "Yeah, this kind of life… I never even dreamed of it. Back then, I just wanted to stay alive. I never dared to hope for a real life."
As werewolves at the bottom rung of the wizarding society, the others around him nodded in agreement. They used to struggle to find even the most basic jobs—and if they were hired, once their identity as werewolves was discovered, they'd be immediately fired.
Sometimes, it would take months or even years just to get another chance.
An ordinary life—was a dream far out of reach for werewolves.
Time and again, they were pushed out, driven away with malice.
Some exiled themselves to the wilderness, returning to the forests. Others, filled with resentment toward wizarding society, joined Fenrir.
They had no other path forward—not even schools were open to them.
This, Lupin understood all too well.
He had fared poorly in society, yet among werewolves, he had done the best.
At the very least, after becoming a werewolf, he still had the chance to receive a complete education.
He had excelled at Hogwarts and even became a Gryffindor prefect.
But so what?
Once out in society, he remained the most unwanted.
Even someone more mediocre than him, full of flaws, could live more comfortably and find a job with ease.
After Voldemort's fall, Lupin wandered for a long time, needing to ensure that he wouldn't harm anyone during his transformations.
"Hahah! But things are better now. Thanks to Lord Silverhand, I can earn a living in the field I love."
The scarred werewolf, once shrouded in gloom, now beamed with joy and gratitude.
He was now a professional Wizard's Chess player. Last year, he entered a tournament and achieved a decent result. The prize money wasn't much, but it was enough to cover his expenses—and he could even save enough each month to buy a bottle of Wolfsbane Potion.
"Well, yes. It's like we are living in a fucking dream.. haah.. Lord Silverhand gave me a brand-new life. Here in the community, I no longer suffer from strange looks."
The balding werewolf echoed his heartfelt gratitude, and those around them began to chime in.
"I wandered for seven years. Only in Knockturn Alley did I avoid prejudice—and there, I earned my first paycheck." A werewolf with sunken cheeks shed tears.
"Hahaha! Look at this motherfucker! Crying like that! You are making us all sentimental. I love reading. I found a job in a bookstore. For the first time, they didn't assume I'd tear all the books to shreds." A young man with wire-rimmed glasses spoke with emotion.
"Me too.. I've known my partner for ten years. If not for the Little Wizards Foundation founded by Lord Silverhand, we'd never have had the chance to bring a child into this world. Life's too hard—I didn't want my child to suffer the same way." The couple exchanged smiles, eyes full of deep affection.
More and more people were participating in the talk. There are families who have adopted a young werewolf, and parents who have come because their children have turned into werewolves.
There are young people who should be full of youthful spirit but instead have a pale and miserable look, and girls who should have found love but are cursed.
They are all people who have regained their lives under the care of the werewolf community or Johnny Silverhand.
Before the Silverhand banner was raised, they only wanted to survive, and some even didn't want to live.
But now, they all feel full of hope, as if they have come into the world for the first time, receiving kindness.
Lupin was silent.
Old Jack said calmly, "See? The dangerous wizard you speak of is our savior. He may not have the upright and great image of Dumbledore, but he has indeed changed our destiny."
"Dumbledore stands on a pedestal. Perhaps he holds no prejudice against werewolves, but he's never tried to change our lives."
"Lord Silverhand is a real one. He drives away those with ill intentions."
"He built schools for us, gave werewolves the chance to receive an education."
"He encourages werewolf entrepreneurship. The Little Wizard Foundation will always provide one free bottle of Wolfsbane Potion to every young werewolf."
"All of this—it's real, right before our eyes."
Old Jack looked at Lupin, his expression carrying the wisdom of age. "Remus, the whole world might betray Lord Silverhand—but we cannot. Werewolves cannot betray him. Even if the Dark Lord comes to kill us, we still wouldn't do it."
This was a declaration—not just as an elder, but as a friend.
Old Jack was not lacking in wisdom. Even without formal schooling, he had remarkable foresight.
He had lived through Voldemort's era—it had been a difficult time.
There was a time he too had imagined that maybe Voldemort would change the plight of werewolves.
But he had been wrong. Voldemort didn't want to change them—he wanted to turn them into killing machines.
Voldemort wouldn't do it. Dumbledore wouldn't either.
They stood too high above to ever see the werewolves at the bottom.
"We already have our own savior. We don't need anyone else to create one for us."
And so, Old Jack said at last, "Remus, once we've seen the sunlight, felt its warm embrace, tasted milk—we are unwilling to return to that dark, sunless valley. Even if it means death, so be it."
His words were simple.
Yet they struck like thunder.
In Lupin's mind, a voice echoed: Remus, put away your arrogance. They don't need to be saved.
They are already in the light.
___________
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