Chapter Text
A dark-haired man clad in a black long-sleeved Muggle t-shirt sat hunched over his desk, a brown leather trench coat hooked over the back of his chair. He grimaced in distaste and ran one hand through his short tangled hair, while his right continued scrawling its way across the paper of the report he was irritatedly filling out. Letting out a heavy sigh, he set his fountain pen to one side and took a deep swallow of the cup of rapidly cooling coffee sitting by his left elbow. He startled upright as a shout rang through the bullpen, “Graves! Lopez!”
He lurched to his feet, swinging the coat onto his back as he stepped quickly away from his desk, paced by a coffee skinned woman from the desk facing his own, “Captain?” They came to a halt at the door of the Office for the Auror Captain in Charge of the Louisiana Area, and his five-foot nothing companion spoke in her whiskey roughened voice.
The Captain stared at them, his balding blonde hair in mild disarray, before focusing on Graves, “I’m told you have experience with the Loup-Garou Community?”
Graves ignored the disgusted look on his partner’s face, “I do Sir.”
The Captain hummed, “May I ask how?”
Graves sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, “MACUSA was founded in 1693 as you know Sir. What is less common knowledge is that House Fleascán assisted in the Founding.”
He hesitated and Lopez spoke up, “What? Grandfather never spoke of that.”
Graves grimaced, “He wouldn’t. House Fleascán were, at the time, aside from the youngest daughter, Loup-Garou. With a Lineage tracing all the way back to eight-forty-five, when Ylva Tunglsdottir was born shortly after the Viking Invasion of England led by Ragnar Lothbrok.” Graves shrugged, “She mated Athaulf Fleascán, and the Lineage can be traced down from there. They wandered Europe and the East for a time, before entering America sometime in the late fifteenth, early sixteenth century, swiftly becoming the most powerful pack in the country, even if only a handful were of the Blood.”
The Captain ignored Lopez’s sneer as he stared at Graves, “I don’t see how that relates to you. The House went extinct…”
Graves gave a wry smile, “House Fleascán has never passed the Family Name to the Bitten. Ours is a House held by Blood.” Lopez and the Captain stared at him, one with horror on her face, the other with dawning comprehension. “Estrella Citlali Fleascán was born fully human. She married Percival Gondolphus Graves, and it is from them that the Line of Graves continues to this day.” He grimaced, “I have respect within the Community because I can trace my Line back to a Pure-blooded Loup-Garou House. One descended from the Gift of Fenrir, not the Curse of Lycaon.” He gave the Captain a stare out of cold blue eyes, bare of even the faintest hint of amber, “May I ask why my Lineage is of import?”
The Captain grimaced, “We received word that the so-called Dark Lord Voldemort?” He gave a small shrug, “Ridiculous name. Anyway, he has apparently sent one of his own Loup-Garou to recruit from among the locals.”
Graves tensed, “Name?”
Lopez sneered, “What does it matter? They’re all Dark Creatures anyway. Kill them all and we have nothing to worry about.”
Graves shot her a disgusted look, as the Captain continued, “Fenrir Greyback I believe.” Graves let out a low growl, which he quickly stifled at the shocked look it triggered. The Captain frowned slightly, before focusing on Lopez, “The Loup-Garou may be Dark Creatures Lopez, but they are Citizens none the less. Which means we still owe them their Rights.” As Lopez reluctantly nodded, he turned back to Graves, “Wilhelm? You recognise the name?”
Graves nodded, “I do Sir.” He grimaced, his voice dropping in pitch until it was an ugly mockery of his usual tone, “My great great grandfather, and his great grandmother were siblings. He was born Gaheris Arthur Graves, but he cast that name aside after he managed to get himself Bitten by one of the then-Alphas of Britain. The Family disowned him after his predilections came to light.” Graves grimaced, “He is no Loup-Garou.”
Lopez sneered, “Of course he is!”
The Captain just watched as Graves continued to speak, his voice back to his normal tones, “No. He is a Werewolf. Nothing more.”
The Captain cocked his head to one side, “There is a difference?”
“Aye. The Werewolf are those converted to the Curse of Lycaon. They are never Born only Bitten. Loup-Garou are those born of the lines of Fenrir, Romulus or Remus, among others. Generally the only way one can be converted to their ranks is if they receive a Mating Bite. Otherwise they are more akin to Animagi than Weres.” He shot Lopez a glare at her snort, “They are not contagious, only a Mate can be turned.” He paused, “As far as I’m aware, the only exception is if one bearing the Curse of Lycaon is accepted into a Pack. If they’re willing, their Wolf slowly shifts, until they are indistinguishable from the Loup-Garou around them.” A small smile pulled at his lips, “That is not to say they aren’t dangerous, because they are, just that they are distinct from the creature my distant cousin has willingly become.”