RP: Welcome home.
Date: 29 July, 1998
Characters: Fenrir Greyback & pack werewolves
Location: Undisclosed
Status: Private
Summary: Fenrir's on the run, looking for his pack.
Completion: Complete
Fenrir loped through the woods. He ran on all fours, like a wolf. It was faster for him this way, much faster than running upright.
Freedom was intoxicatingly sweet, but he knew that he had to put distance between himself and the Aurors hunting him. And he needed to find his pack. He wondered how many of them were left free.
The birds scattered as he thundered through the brush, and he tried to pick up the scent of his pack. It had been so long, though. He’d been forced to leave them when he joined the Dark Lord after his second rising. And for what, he thought bitterly. Being treated like vermin, like filth? No. Not this time.
The Dark Lord was dead. Nothing would stop him now from taking what he deserved, what werewolves deserved. If he ran across the Potter boy, he’d strike him dead. No qualms about it. None of this garbage about leaving him for the Dark Lord.
He caught a familiar scent on the wind, and changed direction sharply, heading east. He’d only run a few miles when the wind was knocked out of him by something large landing on his back. No, no, no! He thought, fighting fiercely. He wouldn’t go down easy. He’d only just regained his freedom.
He flipped the attack onto his back and reared up, ready to strike when he recognized the struggling form beneath him.
“Thomas?” He asked in surprise.
“Fenrir,” the man rasped. “It’s good to see you after so long. I gather the mutts didn’t make it?”
Fenrir pulled Thomas to his feet and gave him a rough hug. He’d turned Thomas when he was a mere boy of 12, but they’d been together for 15 years and Thomas had the run of the pack when Fenrir was away. He was loyal, and the only one Fenrir could trust implicitly. “They got the mutts. No matter. I’ve been looking for you all over. You’ve switched hiding places again?”
“More than once,” Thomas said, and he began to walk further east, Fenrir beside him. “During the war, it was a mess. Dumbledore’s people were always in the woods, looking for safe hiding spots for Mudbloods. And the Snatchers were rooting them out, and looking for the Potter boy. We lost a few in the middle. John, Edward, Dana.” He sighed tiredly. “But we found this barn here. The Muggles who own it are long gone, and no one’s been by for months. Maybe years. It’s a good place for us to regroup.”
They had walked into a clearing and Fenrir turned to face the large dilapidated barn in front of him. It was definitely worse for wear, but it would provide adequate shelter for them. “Good work, Thomas,” he said. “Are the others here?”
“Yes,” the younger man replied, “but you should know. There aren’t many of us left. Those that didn’t die were captured or taken to St. Mungo’s. There’s only a handful of us now.”
Fenrir tensed, and then entered the barn. His once plentiful pack had dwindled to five. Six, counting himself. The men turned as they heard his approach and stood immediately, coming over to greet him. Fenrir shook hands and hugged them, but in his mind he was already rebuilding. It would take time; time he didn’t have.
Thomas touched his arm, which shook him out of his reverie. “I have a surprise for you. Come upstairs,” he said, his hand outstretched. Fenrir took it, feeling familiar callouses under his fingers. He rubbed them and felt Thomas shudder. He smirked to himself, knowing that he could still push his buttons.
He followed Thomas up to the loft. There were many partitions made of bedsheets and Fenrir could see makeshift bunks in between them. At the very back, Thomas stopped and then withdrew the bedsheet. A small girl sat in front of a table, drawing something with a red crayon. Her hair, though slightly messy, was in pigtails.
“Annabelle,” Fenrir whispered, and turned to Thomas. “I found her for you,” Thomas said, obviously proud. “I could smell you all over her. The Muggles had no idea what to do with her.”
“You did the right thing,” Fenrir said, turning back to Annabelle. “Oh Thomas, this is marvellous. We’ll need to find the others of course, but if they all turned as well as dear Annabelle here, we might have our numbers back before long.”
He turned and looked at Thomas. “Come to me tonight. I want to spend some time with my girl.”
“Yes, Fenrir,” Thomas said, pausing to kiss him hard on the mouth before leaving. It had been a long time since he’d had a good hard shag, Fenrir thought, watching Thomas walk away. He was definitely looking forward to it.
He stared after him for a while until the scratching sound of crayon on paper brought him back to the present. Fenrir turned back to Annabelle, and crouched down and holding his arms out to her. “Hello Annabelle. Daddy’s home.”
Characters: Fenrir Greyback & pack werewolves
Location: Undisclosed
Status: Private
Summary: Fenrir's on the run, looking for his pack.
Completion: Complete
Fenrir loped through the woods. He ran on all fours, like a wolf. It was faster for him this way, much faster than running upright.
Freedom was intoxicatingly sweet, but he knew that he had to put distance between himself and the Aurors hunting him. And he needed to find his pack. He wondered how many of them were left free.
The birds scattered as he thundered through the brush, and he tried to pick up the scent of his pack. It had been so long, though. He’d been forced to leave them when he joined the Dark Lord after his second rising. And for what, he thought bitterly. Being treated like vermin, like filth? No. Not this time.
The Dark Lord was dead. Nothing would stop him now from taking what he deserved, what werewolves deserved. If he ran across the Potter boy, he’d strike him dead. No qualms about it. None of this garbage about leaving him for the Dark Lord.
He caught a familiar scent on the wind, and changed direction sharply, heading east. He’d only run a few miles when the wind was knocked out of him by something large landing on his back. No, no, no! He thought, fighting fiercely. He wouldn’t go down easy. He’d only just regained his freedom.
He flipped the attack onto his back and reared up, ready to strike when he recognized the struggling form beneath him.
“Thomas?” He asked in surprise.
“Fenrir,” the man rasped. “It’s good to see you after so long. I gather the mutts didn’t make it?”
Fenrir pulled Thomas to his feet and gave him a rough hug. He’d turned Thomas when he was a mere boy of 12, but they’d been together for 15 years and Thomas had the run of the pack when Fenrir was away. He was loyal, and the only one Fenrir could trust implicitly. “They got the mutts. No matter. I’ve been looking for you all over. You’ve switched hiding places again?”
“More than once,” Thomas said, and he began to walk further east, Fenrir beside him. “During the war, it was a mess. Dumbledore’s people were always in the woods, looking for safe hiding spots for Mudbloods. And the Snatchers were rooting them out, and looking for the Potter boy. We lost a few in the middle. John, Edward, Dana.” He sighed tiredly. “But we found this barn here. The Muggles who own it are long gone, and no one’s been by for months. Maybe years. It’s a good place for us to regroup.”
They had walked into a clearing and Fenrir turned to face the large dilapidated barn in front of him. It was definitely worse for wear, but it would provide adequate shelter for them. “Good work, Thomas,” he said. “Are the others here?”
“Yes,” the younger man replied, “but you should know. There aren’t many of us left. Those that didn’t die were captured or taken to St. Mungo’s. There’s only a handful of us now.”
Fenrir tensed, and then entered the barn. His once plentiful pack had dwindled to five. Six, counting himself. The men turned as they heard his approach and stood immediately, coming over to greet him. Fenrir shook hands and hugged them, but in his mind he was already rebuilding. It would take time; time he didn’t have.
Thomas touched his arm, which shook him out of his reverie. “I have a surprise for you. Come upstairs,” he said, his hand outstretched. Fenrir took it, feeling familiar callouses under his fingers. He rubbed them and felt Thomas shudder. He smirked to himself, knowing that he could still push his buttons.
He followed Thomas up to the loft. There were many partitions made of bedsheets and Fenrir could see makeshift bunks in between them. At the very back, Thomas stopped and then withdrew the bedsheet. A small girl sat in front of a table, drawing something with a red crayon. Her hair, though slightly messy, was in pigtails.
“Annabelle,” Fenrir whispered, and turned to Thomas. “I found her for you,” Thomas said, obviously proud. “I could smell you all over her. The Muggles had no idea what to do with her.”
“You did the right thing,” Fenrir said, turning back to Annabelle. “Oh Thomas, this is marvellous. We’ll need to find the others of course, but if they all turned as well as dear Annabelle here, we might have our numbers back before long.”
He turned and looked at Thomas. “Come to me tonight. I want to spend some time with my girl.”
“Yes, Fenrir,” Thomas said, pausing to kiss him hard on the mouth before leaving. It had been a long time since he’d had a good hard shag, Fenrir thought, watching Thomas walk away. He was definitely looking forward to it.
He stared after him for a while until the scratching sound of crayon on paper brought him back to the present. Fenrir turned back to Annabelle, and crouched down and holding his arms out to her. “Hello Annabelle. Daddy’s home.”