The Beast of Knockturn Alley

The house of wolf

You should never walk into a house full of werewolves.

Werewolves can not be trusted. They're fearsome, soulless, evil beasts who only masquerade as humans for the majority of the lunar month. Upon transformation, they entirely lose their sense of right or wrong and can kill their family and friends when given the opportunity.

That's what everyone said.

Remus's heart pounded as he stood at the entrance of the large rustic Tudor-style house - home of a werewolf pack. Green vines climbed the red bricks and the brown timber which decorated the windows and the gables.

His hand hesitated on the crescent-moon shaped knocker. He agreed to this. It was a part of the deal.

'Don't be an embarrassment to Gryffindors, Remus,' he told himself.

It was time to be brave and meet the pack.

He tightened his grip on the knocker and lifted it, but the door opened at that moment and he was pulled inside.

"You can't catch me," a young shirtless boy shouted while holding the door handle and looking behind him.

He squealed, ran outside and was soon followed by an older shirtless boy who jumped over the stairs and pursued him.

Remus watched them as they chased each other in the yard and could feel a smile building on his face. He wished he had siblings.

"You must be Remus!" a pixie-sized woman was suddenly in front of him with her hands on her hips. "You like our knocker?"

Remus checked, and sure, he was still holding the crescent moon. He let go and tried to chuckle the embarrassment away.

"It's nice workmanship."

She leaned her head outside, yelled, "STAY OUT OF MY GARDEN!" at the laughing boys and closed the heavy door.

She was one of the shortest women he's ever met, not even reaching up to his armpits, but she seemed to make up for her small stature with the strength of her voice.

"They pull the carrots out too early and then I have to replant them," she explained and pushed the stupored Remus into the house in the direction of wherever the delicious aroma of baked chicken was coming from. "It's not good for the carrots."

A stocky but short, balding man stood behind the stove in the small kitchen and sampled whatever was in a pot with a spoon. Remus recognized him. It was Mort, the owner of Mort's Hard-Were Shop.

Mort turned around. His "Kiss my snout" apron must have been shop merchandise. "Do I know you?"

"That's Remus, Marta's running mate."

What did she mean by that?

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" Mort complained.

Remus didn't even get a chance to look around before more people walked in.

"I can't find my glasses," a frail, elderly man said while rummaging through the drawers. "It's that darn dog again."

"How much longer, mom?" said an older teen, a head taller than the woman, though still shorter than Remus, and walked up to the stove where several pots were on the burners. He dipped his finger into one and she smacked his hand.

He noticed Remus and narrowed his eyes on him.

She turned with a smile. "Remus, meet my eldest, Oliver. Ollie, it will be ready in five minutes. Get everyone here."

Oliver walked out and slightly leaned in as he was passing by Remus. Did he just sniff him?

"It's nice to meet you," Remus said weakly, wondering if this was some strange werewolf greeting. Would all of them start sniffing him? He did not like that idea.