Prologue


“Fenrir.”

Heidi smiled tremulously, barely holding back the tears of joy that threatened to run down her face. He was perfect. Michael, standing proudly beside his wife and newborn son, echoed her sentiments.

“Just look at him! Plump and fair like only a baby can be, but gorgeous! And see those little feet�”he’ll be a tall one like his daddy, he will. And the eyes!”

Heidi simply smiled at her husband; although she looked tired and haggard, joy was written on every inch of her pretty face. And Fenrir’s eyes were, indeed, something to be marveled. At first glance they seemed brown, but in the light they gleamed amber and gold, flecked with emerald green about large dark pupils. The baby looked up at his mother, embodying the very meaning of trust. Heidi hugged him close. He was perfect!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With the same blissful smile on her face, Heidi Grey awoke. She had been dreaming, again, about that wonderful day more than eleven glorious years ago�”the best day of her life. She lay in bed only a few minutes more; then, she remembered what today was!

Heidi scrambled out of bed and put on her slippers, struggling with her bathrobe as she trudged down the hall. Michael had left for work already; he had promised to Apparate to Platform 9 3/4 to say goodbye before the train left. But what surprised her was that Fenn was already awake.


Michael Grey had been right; Fenrir had grown up to be a great strapping boy. He was very sturdily built for an eleven-year-old, but his broad shoulders and deep chest complemented his tall frame. A mop of sandy brown hair hung quite handsomely about his amber, amber eyes, and a bright smile played about his lips. Her little boy… off to school!

“Morning, Mum!” cried Fenn with childish innocence that belayed his mature appearance. His eyes were shining, and his smile was so huge that it threatened to split his face.

“Are you sure you packed everything?” asked Heidi mildly. Of course, she knew very well that he had�”his trunk had been ready weeks ago, and she had been forced to wash laundry daily so Fenn wouldn’t have to rewear underwear. Never had she seen her little boy so enthusiastic about anything! Heidi knew she would miss him, but going to Hogwarts was a huge milestone in every wizard in Britain’s life.

Without deigning to answer, Fenn buttered a piece of toast liberally before cramming it into his mouth. Heidi watched in amusement as the bread vanished, save for a smattering of crumbs on the table and on Fenn’s cheeks. He’d scare the girls away with manners like those… but he was still young�”and good-looking enough to make up for it,

Wiping crumbs off his cheek with his sleeve, Fenn turned to his mother. “I’m ready to go, Mum!” he cried happily. Heidi smiled, eyes bright with unshed tears, as she took his arm.

“You know what, Fenn? I think you are.”

Becoming A Slytherin


Fenn awoke at the crack of dawn, wondering where in the world he was. Slowly, memories of the previous day began to form in his mind. Of his mother, struggling to hold back tears, and his father, eyes shining with paternal pride. He remembered the crowded train, his brand-new friends, and most of all, Hogwarts.

Headmaster Dippet had clapped politely along with the rest as Fenrir was sorted into Slytherin; and fat Professor Slughorn, in particular, had applauded loudly to welcome the boy into his own house. Fenn had been delighted. Both his parents had been in Ravenclaw, but he was certain that they would be as happy about his sorting as he was. Grinning from ear to ear, Fenn hopped out of bed and looked happily about his dormitory.

It was still very dark; as the Slytherin house was located in the dungeons, and there were no true windows to speak of in the dormitory. However, there was one enchanted window through which magical sunlight could enter. Now, at scarcely six o’clock AM, a glimmer of light was only just beginning to shine about the room.

Fenn walked to the center of the large, square room and looked around him. His three roommates--Albert Sylvan, Byron Ratha, and Augustus Rookwood--were all fast asleep in their four-poster beds, snoring quietly. The room was a rather plain one, with a cold stone floor and a single portrait of Salazar Slytherin adorning the walls. It was very sparce compared to Fenn’s own luxurious quarters at home, but the young boy loved it already.

After spending another moment admiring the darkened room, Fenn felt his way over to where his trunk lay at the foot of his bed. Shaking sandy hair out of his eyes, the young Slytherin groped through the trunk until he managed to extricate his robes, hat, and undergarments. Then, almost skipping in his eagerness to start the day, Fenn hurried into the shower.

By the time Fenn was finished with his long shower, two of his roommates had already awoken. Albert and Byron greeted him enthusiastically; the four Slytherin first years had already bonded strongly the previous day. Then, Fenn headed straight to Augustus’ bedside.

“Augustus!” Fenrir all but yelled into the other boy’s ear. Groaning, the scrawny blonde opened his eyes and turned to look at Fenrir.

“Fenn,” groaned Augustus tiredly, pawing sleep out of his beady black eyes. “G’morning, mate.”

Grinning happily, Fenn dragged his new best friend out of bed.

“We don’t want to be late for classes today, so come on! I’m starving.” The last comment was untrue; Fenn had stuffed himself thoroughly at the welcoming feast the previous night, but it seemed a good excuse to get his roommates to hurry. In truth, Fenn was simply itching to go down to the Great Hall and begin the day.

Finally, all four Slytherin boys left the common room. On the way they passed a sneering Abraxas Malfoy, the Head Boy who was reputed to be the cruelest seventh year at Hogwarts. Catching Augustus’ eye, Fenn and his friends sped up and did not halt until they had reached the Great Hall.

And so the day went on. Fenn decided that he loved Hogwarts, loved his classes. The young boy proved more than adept at all the simple spells and charms they practiced that first day of Hogwarts. He excelled particularly in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms, but Fenn decided that his favorite class by far was Transfiguration. It was interesting and engaging, and the teacher, Professor Dumbledore, seemed very talented, if a little odd.

Fenn had already formed a close bond with Augustus and the rest of his fellow Slytherin first years. His teachers were nice, his friends were true, and the handsome young boy knew with out a doubt that the next seven years would be the best of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fenrir Grey woke up late on the morning of Halloween. It was Sunday, and the stormy weather matched Fenn’s mood perfectly. Almost all of the upperclassmen--actually, third years and up--had left for a trip Hogsmeade village, while Fenn was stuck in the drafty old castle with nothing to do.

Fenn sighed heavily. His fellow Slytherin first years were all in the library working on the extensive Transfiguration essay that Professor Dumbledore had assigned, whispering answers back and forth under the beady eye of old Madame Lyse. Fenn, who now regretted finishing the assignment days ago, was left with nothing to do and no one to talk to.

It was the first time since Fenn had come to Hogwarts that he was truly bored. So far he had been so busy with classes, schoolwork, and extracurricular activities that he had hardly had time to relax, but now--faced with an afternoon of nothingness--Fenrir could not help but feel bored. The young boy lay apathetically on his bed, the curtains drawn around him to block out the enchanted sunlight. A copy of Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 lay sprawled across Fenn’s broad chest, but the studious boy had already read through the book several times. How he wished there was something, anything, to do...

Suddenly, Fenn heard quiet footsteps ascending the stairs into his dormitory. He sat up happily, shaking hair out of his eyes.

“‘Gustus, mate, is that you?”

Grinning brightly, Augustus Rookwood tore open Fenrir’s curtains and dragged his friend out of bed.

“Come on, Fenn, stop moping about in there. One of the second years says that he’s managed to break into the broom closet downstairs, d’you want to go to the Quidditch pitch and practice a couple of new moves with me?"

Fenn nodded happily. Both he and Augustus had tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch team earlier that year, but predictably, neither had made the cut. However, they were not put out in the slightest; the youngest player in the past fifty years had been the Gryffindor Minnie McGonagall, and she had joined the team as a second year. The two friends had vowed to each other that they would make the team next year, and in order to do that they knew they must practice.

Twenty minutes later, the two Slytherin boys were on the Quidditch pitch, windswept and drenched with rain. Fenrir felt a jolt of disappointment as he saw the red-robed figures of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring through the sky. Exasperated, he turned to Augustus.

“Argh, we shouldn’t have come out.” Fenn shivered slightly, drawing his robes closer about him. “How long till they’re done, do you reckon?”

Augustus smiled evilly. “Not long, I expect,” he smirked. The scrawny boy raised his wand to where a young Gryffindor girl was watching the team play from the stands about six feet away, muttering a quiet curse under his breath.

“No!” Fenn’s cry mingled with that of the girl as she screamed in horror. Yelping, the second year attempted to stamp out the fire burning its way up her robes, but the enchanted flame--however basic magic--was hard to put out. The entire Gryffindor team plunged earthward as the Captain raised her wand to emit a powerful jet of water that bowled the girl over.

Augustus dragged Fenn under the nearest set of raised bleachers, stuffing his fist into his mouth so as not to laugh. Fenn, however, was appalled.

“Augustus!” he whispered, outraged, watching the Gryffindor team members staring around the pitch, searching angrily for the culprit.

Augustus clapped Fenn’s mouth with his hands, looking frightened for the first time. “Shhhh!” he hissed, drawing further back under the bleachers as the Gryffindor Beater--brandishing his wand in one hand, his club in another--sweep past. Both boys held their breaths until the burly seventh year was out of earshot. “D’you want to get us caught?”

Fenn wanted desperately to point out that it had been Augustus who had cursed the girl, but he thought better of it. Pushing drenched, sandy-colored hair out of his eyes, Fenn brushed Augustus aside easily. However, the husky Slytherin knew better than to speak--for now, anyway.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the Gryffindor Captain turned to her team. “Well, whoever did it is gone now. We’ll report it to Professor Dumbledore, and he’ll see to it that the culprit is caught and punished. It was a weak spell, probably done by some first or second year. C’mon.” Putting a comforting arm around the shaken second year, she gestured imperiously for her team to follow. They all obeyed.

As soon as he deemed it safe, Fenn whirled around to face Augustus. “What in Merlin’s name was that for? You could’ve hurt her badly, she didn’t do anything to you!” He was shaking, from a combination of both cold and anger. But Rookwood, ever-superior, just gave Fenn a scornful look.

“Well, I got the Gryffindors to leave, didn’t I? Who cares if she almost got hurt--she’s alright, isn’t she?” Fenn nodded grudgingly, unwilling to pick an argument with his aggressive best friend.

Augustus smirked triumphantly. “Fenn, when’ll you learn? We’re Slytherins, and this is how things go at Hogwarts. So pull yourself together... Dumbledore is probably going to come out here in a minute to see if he can catch us; we should go back to the common room.” He shot Fenn a dirty look as though this was his fault. “Just please, next time, don’t be such a wimp.”

Fenrir flinched at Augustus’ cutting remark. He may have been a Hogwarts student for almost two who months, but Fenn still wasn’t comfortable with the way his fellow Slytherins behaved. But he wasn’t about to tell Augustus that. He’d rather eat the giant squid than lose any of his friends, and he knew better than to try and talk them out of their ways. With one last glance at the backs of the retreating Gryffindor team, Fenn stepped out from under the bench, taking a deep breath as he did so. Augustus was right... It was time for him to behave like the Slytherin he was.

Witches and Werewolves





Fenn grinned and winked roguishly at a pretty third year Gryffindor as he swung easily into the thestral-drawn carraiges that would take him to the Hogwarts Express. Fenn’s roommates, Albert, Byron, and Augustus, waited impatiently for him to enter before clambering into the carriage and swinging the door shut.

“Honestly, Fenn,” teased Augustus, rolling his eys. “What would your lovely Arianna think?”

Fenn and his friends had just completed their fourth year at Hogwarts. True to their reputation, Fenn’s fellow Slytherins had quickly become three of the meanest, nastiest boys in their year.

Not Fenn, though. The tall, muscular boy was one of the smartest and best-looking fourth years out of all the four houses, and thus immensely popular amongst boys and girls alike. A Beater on the Slytherin Quidditch team, Fenrir Greyback’s natural talent both on and off the pitch gave him a glowing school-wide reputation. While Fenn could be rude and petty at times, he was easily the nicest boy the Slytherin house had seen in years--a fact that annoyed Augustus to no end.

Despite his ongoing popularity at school, Fenrir Grey looked forward to the time he spent at home more than anything else in the world. He had quickly settled into a routine; at school, he was forced to play the cool and nonchalaunt Slytherin, laughing with his friends at cruel jokes and sneering at those whom the other Slytherins deemed unworthy. With his parents, though, Fenn didn’t have to pretend to be a prejudiced and self-centered jerk; he could be himself, and was loved for who he was rather than who he pretended to be.

“So, what did you all think of the exams?”

Fenn snapped back to the present at the sound of Albert’s voice. The stocky, heavy-set boy was easily the least intelligent in the group, and was perpetually worried that he would not achieve the grades to remain at Hogwarts. It was not very often that the taciturn Slytherin joined in on his friends’ conversations--usually he just listened and gawuffed stupidly. Fenrir was pleasantly surprised.

“I’ll eat my wand if I didn’t ace the lot,” said Fenn cockily, tossing his head back so that his long hair fell more naturally over his shoulders. A girl in a nearby carriage turned to gaze at him with starry-eyed awe, causing Fenn to smirk ever-so-slightly. “The Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was really something, wasn’t it?”

The boys’ carriage jolted suddenly into motion, causing Albert to jab himself in the eye with his loosely-gripped wand. Byron and Augustus roared with laughter, but Fenn just frowned. Sometimes, his friend’s cruel behavior still got to him...

However, fully aware that Albert would be laughing at him if he had done something stupid, Fenn forced a sneer and even a chuckle before averting his gaze to the glorious view of the Hogwarts castle. With a sudden jolt of sadness, Fenn realized that it would be a long time before he saw it again.

It was not long before the carriages reached Hogsmeade station. It was the usual scene of chaos; students were leaving their carriages, shoving aside others--and nearly trampling some--in their haste to board the train. Owls were hooting, toads were croaking, and people were shouting back and forth to friends as they were pushed apart in the commotion.

With a flick of his wand, Fenn levitated his trunk out of the carriage then turned to his friends. “You guys take my trunk and get us a compartment, okay? I’ve got to go find Arianna.”

It was a beautiful day, the epitome of an early summer’s afternoon. The sun shone brightly through the cloudless blue sky, a fiery eye watching the students every moves. Squinting slightly in the light, Fenn could not help but muse upon how perfect this day was.

It took Fenrir several minutes of careful searching before spotting a flash of auburn hair leaving a nearby carriage. Feeling a surge of warmth completely unrelated to the weather, Fenn called his girlfriend’s name. “Arianna!”

The girl turned at the sound of her name, face brightening at the sight of Fenn. A Ravenclaw fourth year, Arianna Hornbeck was a pretty, petite girl with a sweetly innocent face and wide blue eyes. Standing on tiptoe, she hugged Fenn warmly and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“How are you, Fenn?” Arianna asked quietly, eyes shining. “I’m going to miss you a lot this summer.”

Fenn grinned. “I’ll miss you too, Ari. Don’t worry, I’ll write you every week, promise.” Seeing the amused look on her face, Fenn chuckled and quickly corrected himself. “When I remember, that is.”

Rolling her eyes, Arianna took Fenn’s hand. The handsome Slytherin happily grabbed her trunk with the other and began pulling his girlfriend toward the Hogwarts Express.

The two parted with a hug when they found the compartment in which Arianna’s friends resided.

“Are you sure you don’t want to ride with us?” implored Ari, making the big puppy dog eyes that Fenn found so irresistible. “My friends won’t mind.”

Fenn sighed regretfully. “I know, Arianna, but mine will. They’re expecting me, and besides, they have my trunk.” Laughing slightly as Ari pouted, Fenn quickly tried to redeem himself. “I’ll come by with food when the trolley arrives though. I’ll walk you out on to the platform, too.”

It did not take Fenn long to locate the compartment is friends were in. Byron, Augustus, and Albert were sitting with two Slytherin girls in their year. Also, a dark-haired seventh year Fenn had never spoken to was sitting in a corner as far away as possible from the rest, her nose buried in a heavy textbook.

“So, the famous Romeo has finally deigned to join the mortals,” teased Byron, throwing Fenn a few chocolate frogs. “What brings you to this lowly Slytherin compartment?”

Fenrir rolled his eyes. “Romeo was every bit as mortal as the rest of us, which you should know. Well, only if you paid attention in Muggle Studies.”

Byron looked mildly offended. A proud pureblood, the tall boy had aristocratic features and dark hair that framed his narrow face quite handsomely. However, his sneer was one of pure distaste as he answered.

“Muggle Studies? Bah, who needs to learn about how those stupid Muggles spend their time. I only took the class because it’s an easy OWL, and it’s not as if I enjoy it.”


Fenn felt slightly uncomfortable in the direction the conversation was going. It was well known in their little group that Fenn quite enjoyed Muggle Studies, a fact that his friends openly despised. Casting around desperately for a different subject, Fenn blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “What’ve you all got planned this summer?”

The small group immediately began swapping information. Byron was going to France, and Augustus to Italy. Finally, Fenn’s turn came.

“I’m going with my parents to a little wizard village by the forests up north. It’s supposed to be quite nice. It’s for my mum’s birthday; she’s been dying to go there for ages. Layona--have you heard of it?”

Just as his friends were all shaking their heads, the sallow-faced witch in the corner looked up unexpectedly. “Layona?” she demanded in a surprisingly husky voice, looking both alarmed and curious. When Fenn nodded, nonplussed, her face darkened.

“There are a lot of rumors about that town... werewolves, they say.” Without elaborating, the girl quietly returned to her book.

“Oh, don’t listen to Prince,” said a high, fluttery voice. Fenn turned wearily to face one of the fourth year witches, a squat and toad like girl with dark curls and a square, overly made-up face. Fenn stiffened. Oh, it’s her, he thought distastefully, face darkening with a scowl.

"Dear Daddy is the head of the Department of Control of Magical Creatures, and he’s been working for ages to round up all the filthy half-breeds in England--those awful werewolves, especially. He says they’ve managed to tag almost all the werewolves in Britain.” She puffed out her chest proudly. “Now, the Ministry can keep track where every single werewolf goes, so no one has to worry anymore. Though,” she mused, “Father wanted to euthanize all of them, but the Ministry wouldn’t allow it. One day...” She laughed breathily and gave an affected little sigh. Fenn shuddered, disgusted--more at the girl than at her words.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” The surly seventh year called Prince had joined the conversation yet again. Her cold black eyes were intense as she stared penetratingly at the squat fourth year.


“Except for on the full moon, werewolves are just as human and magical as the rest of us. I’m sure it would be no problem for them to disable or remove whatever tracking device your ‘dear’ daddy put on. He would be the famous Omar Umbridge, correct?” she added.

Dolores Umbridge smirked proudly, obviously missing the heavy sarcasm in Prince’s voice. The others did not, and sniggered heartily.

But Fenrir, who did not find the morbid subject nearly as interesting as the others did, had already drifted off to sleep.

He dreamt of radio-collared wizards and robed wolves, laughing and howling to the crescent moon as they closed in around him.

A Walk in the Moonlight




“Oh, Fenn!”

Fenrir woke up to the sound of his mother’s delighted cry, rubbing his amber eyes blearily. Sitting upright in his bed, the tall boy looked up at Heidi with a puzzled look on his handsome young face.

It was the middle of summer. Nearly one whole, glorious month had passed since the school term had ended, and Fenrir and his family had, just this morning, begun their holiday in Layona. The peaceful little village was a beautiful one; the vast majority of its inhabitants were wizards, and it was therefore one of the most interesting places Fenn had ever visited. From the quaint, old-fashioned stone pubs and cottages to the tranquil forest surrounding it, Layona seemed, to Fenn, like a scene out of a storybook.

“Mu-um,” groaned Fenn, yawning heavily. Rubbing his eyes vigorously, the boy tousled his messy blonde hair and heaved himself upright with a grunt. “Thanks for letting me sleep in.” He grinned cheekily up at his mother.

“None of that sarcasm, young man,” said a deep voice mildly. Fenn’s father, Michael Grey, stepped into the room. He was a very tall, handsome man, and his dark brown eyes were shining with paternal warmth. Smiling broadly, he clapped a large and calloused hand on Fenn’s shoulder. “Congratulations, son.”

“Thanks,” replied Fenn automatically. “But...er...what exactly did I do?” A roguish smile had worked its way onto his face; he thought he knew what it was all about.

Fenn’s parents exchanged proud glances before Heidi finally burst out, “You’ve been made a prefect, Fenn!”

Fenrir gasped a little, and then smiled widely. He had, of course, been expecting this--certainly there was no other Slytherin better suited to the position than himself--but to hear the words spoken was a delight in itself. Bounding up out of bed, he turned happily to his parents. “Well? Where’s the badge?”

Michael laughed lightly. “Slow down, slow down. There’s plenty of time for that later. Let’s read the letter first.” Seeing Fenn’s face fall almost comically, Michael chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Just kidding, son,” he smiled fondly, gesturing down the hall. “I know, it’s all about the badge, isn’t it?”

The Grey family had rented out a small summer home in Layona--a truly delightful little cottage, with two bedrooms and tiny bath that smelled of pine and rainwater. The little procession made its way through the narrow little hall to the sitting room, which consisted of a homey fireplace, a number of musty old sofas, and a small kitchenette. And there, perched upon the windowsill, was tall, proud owl.

Fenn’s hands were shaking ever so slightly--with excitement, no doubt--as he beckoned to the handsome tawny bird. With a low hoot and a ruffle of wings, the owl launched itself into the air and landed on Fenn’s outstretched arm. He pulled off the heavy letter and looked at the unbroken wax seal before giving his parents a disapproving look.

“You opened it?”

Fenn’s father smiled rather sheepishly. “Well, we had a feeling we knew what it was, and we just had to check. Your mum told me to seal it up again so you’d have the satisfaction of opening it.”

Pausing only to roll his gleaming gold eyes, Fenrir eagerly ripped open the envelope and scanned the parchment he’d been given.


Dear Mr. Grey,

On behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I am very pleased to inform you that you have been selected as a prefect of the Slytherin house for the next three years. As a prefect, you will be expected to uphold certain duties and responsibilities, which include but are not limited to: patrolling corridors with another prefect at appointed times, assigning detentions and punishment to fellow students as you see fit, and assisting Hogwarts teachers and staff in various jobs throughout the school.

You are to meet the Head Boy and Head Girl in the Prefect’s compartment of the Hogwarts Express on September the First. I trust that you will continue your academic and behavioral excellence for your remaining years at Hogwarts.

Sincerely,
Professor Horace Slughorn

Head of Slytherin House


Feeling warmth and happiness surge through him, Fenn reached again into the envelope and withdrew a large green and silver badge. He rubbed his thumb against the shiny, polished surface, and turned to grin at his parents. “Nice, isn’t it?”

To Fenn’s intense embarassment, his mother’s eyes were filling up with tears. “I’m so proud of you,” choked Heidi proudly, while Fenn averted his eyes. “What would you like to do today? You name it, and we’ll do it.”

Fenn perked up at this. “Let’s go on a hike!” he exclaimed enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up with eagerness. “I know we were planning to go next week, but let’s do it tonight instead. I really want to see the forest by moonlight.”

Heidi, however, bit her lip at this. “I’m not to sure...” She trailed off as a look of disappointment crossed her son’s handsome face. “Well... You and your father can go, I suppose. But please, be safe.”

Fenrir reached out and embraced his mother in a warm hug. “I promise, Mum,” he said seriously as he placed his badge carefully into the envelope once again. “I’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was finally nightfall. The setting sun was as red as blood against the dusky purple sky, a fiery orb sinking beneath the gently swaying canopy of trees. The air smelt warm and damp, and age-old piles of loam and moss gave way under the booted feet of the two adventurers.

Fenn and his father walked together side by side, their plain black ropes swirling around them. The path they were on was overgrown; it was clear that no one had come this way in a very long time. Here and there, Fenn could see discrete signs of forest life: paw prints along a stream, a stray feather here and there, hoofed footprints made by a doe and her fawn. The forest was quiet and dark but in a way, mysteriously inviting.

The forest engaged all of Fenn’s senses; he was constantly hearing, seeing, and smelling things he had never noticed before. He could sense a stream long before he saw it and could hear the pattering steps of small rodents and the quiet hooting of owls from what seemed like miles away. The air felt heavy and old, very much like the ancient trees that surrounded them in all directions.

As the last glimmer of sunlight dropped out of the sky, Michael raised his slender oaken wand. “Lumos,” he murmured quietly, gesturing for Fenn to do the same. Their wands twinkled simultaneously into light, illuminating the darkened forest around them.

Fenn smiled happily at his father. Ever since he had begun Hogwarts four years ago, Fenn had missed the excursions he and his father used to take together. They were, after all, kindred spirits; both father and son had a thirst for adventure and nature, and they immensely enjoyed the time they spent together.

Before long, the full moon had risen. A delicate silvery orb, it glimmered and shone through the velvety night sky, luminous and pure. Exchanging a glance, both Fenn and Michael extinguished their wand tips, content to walk together by moonlight.

As father and son strode along the overgrown old path, Fenn was alerted to a strange, keening sound in the distance. Feeling an inexplicable chill crawl across his spine, Fenn cast as sideways glance at his father, who seemed not to have noticed. Michael looked to be half asleep, his eyes barely open. A wave of recklessness surged through Fenn, and drawing his wand, the boy slipped silently away to investigate.

Stealing quietly toward the direction of the noise, Fenn felt a thrill of excitement course through his veins. With a twinge of guilt, he realized how frightened his father would be when he realized that Fenn had given him the slip. However, at the moment, Fenn didn’t care. Holding his breath, he quietly approached a clearing where a small brook gurgled and tinkled over a bed of smooth grey rocks.

The strange noise sounded again, this time much closer. For the first time, Fenn felt truly afraid. Taking a deep breath, the husky boy gathered his courage and stepped forward to cross the stream.

“Arghh!”

Fenn let out a wild cry as he lost his footing on the smooth, slippery stones and plunged downward to the ground. His wand flew out of his hand, and he heard a sickening snap as he landed heavily on his wrist. Moaning in pain, Fenn sat in the middle of the icy stream, nursing his broken bone.

After what seemed like hours, Fenn rose painfully to his feet. Seeing the wand lying several yards away, Fenn walked gingerly toward it and bent over to pick it up. As he did so, however, he felt the unmistakable sensation that he was being watched.

Turning around slowly, hoping this was all a terrible dream, Fenn found himself gazing into the most nightmarish apparition imaginable. A pair of keen, yellowish eyes approaching him in the darkness--nothing more, nothing less.

A Father's Nightmare


Michael Grey’s eyes were drooping. Half asleep, the tall man was now walking purely out of instinct. His feet thumped steadily against the moist loamy ground, but he was completely unaware of the dark, quiet forest around him.

“Mmmph.” Michael started back into consciousness as he walked head-on into the scarred, thick trunk of an ancient oak tree. Grabbing onto the rough bark for balance, Michael waited for his son’s laughter to greet this foolish blunder. However, it never came.

It took Michael a moment to realize that Fenn was not with him. Slowly, the smile slid off of the man’s handsome face... Fenrir was nowhere in sight. Forcing himself to remain calm, Michael drew his slender wooden wand and spun slowly in place

“Fenn?” His voice was hoarse and quiet in the bitter darkness. “Come out, son... This is no time for games.”

Silence. Michael felt his neck prickling uncomfortably as the deathly quiet seemed to grow thicker... more solid, somehow. His breath catching in his throat, Michael raised his wand high. “Lumos.”

The wand tip sparkled into light, illuminating the dark forest that seemed to be closing in around him. Somehow, as Michael had dozed, everything around him had become sinister: the warped trees leaning down toward him, the hiss of the wind through their leaves... Feeling a horrible sense of deja vu, a deep-rooted feeling of terror somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Michael turned to face a particularly malevolent patch of undergrowth…

And that was when he heard the howl.

It was a deep howl, a throaty howl, one laced with venom, danger, and pure wildness in the same breath. It was an unearthly and horrifying sound... yet somehow, it was mysteriously beautiful. Michael stood rooted to the spot, petrified, unable to believe what was happening...

Although, he knew by now exactly what tonight was. Michael’s head moved up in slow motion to stare at the starry black sky. What he saw did not surprise him, but he could never have guessed how it would change so many lives....

It was the full moon.

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Michael allowed himself one moment, one brief, fleeting moment, to let the dread sink in. When that moment was over, the tall man launched into action. Plunging head first into the dense undergrowth, Michael plowed his way in the direction of the howl; oblivious to the branches and thorns scratching his face, unaware of the roots that seemed to reach up and snare his legs, tripping him time after time... Michael fought onwards, toward the sound of the howl. He had heard a yell in that direction, a yell he knew to have been Fenrir’s. He couldn’t let this happen... He couldn’t

Several agonizing moments later, Michael reached the little forest clearing. Puffing like a bull, Michael raised his wand and looked back and forth, mentally willing his son to reveal himself. On the far end of the clearing, the moonlight glimmered off a trickling creek. And there, there at the water’s edge, was a sight to chill the bones of any father.

A wolf, a massive, matted, rangy grey wolf, was bearing down on a fallen teenage boy. Fenn’s eyes were wide with horror, one hand still clutching at his broken wrist. The boy’s sandy hair was wet with sweat and clinging to his ashen face, but the wolf clearly did not care. Its yellow eyes were gleaming in horrible anticipation, and its massive yellow fangs were bared, eager to sink into their victim.

For a moment Michael stood there, rooted to the spot in terror--but of a sudden, all his paternal instincts kicked in. With a guttural roar of rage, Michael bounded across the clearing and leaped toward the werewolf, his wand and all magic forgotten as he yelled out in panic to his son.

“Fenn, run!”

Michael bowled straight into the wolf, knocking the massive beast clean off its feet. Its fur felt tangled and coarse beneath Michael’s hands reeking of blood and fear. As Michael hurled the creature bodily away from himself and his son, the man staggered forward, unable to control his momentum.

As Michael hit the ground hard, he knew he was about to die. He felt a strange sort of calm overtake him; he would not die like this, stretched out on the ground like a helpless doe. No, he would die a proud stag, fiercely fighting this horrible beast until the end. Saying a silent prayer for Fenrir and for Heidi, Michael hauled himself upright and turned to face his doom.

Michael had expected to find himself face to face with the angry wolf, but found himself confronted with a sight much worse. His son, his beloved Fenrir, lay stretched out on the damp mossy ground, bloodied and unconscious. The wolf was howling in pleasure, its paws and muzzle stained red.

Michael didn’t know why the wolf had decided to attack his son instead of him, but it no longer mattered. It was too late. Alive or dead, Fenn’s life had been ruined. But Michael was still driven by the desperate, all-consuming need to save his son. Spotting his wand buried in the muddy ground a few meters away, Michael seized it and turned to where the wolf stood, still howling its triumph to the shining full moon.

Somehow, in his mind, the father knew what to do. Still immersed in the strange, surreal calm that had overtaken him, Michael raised his wand and watched as the wolf lowered its jaws, ready to bite again at Fenrir’s exposed neck.

“Expecto Patronum!"

A mighty silver stallion erupted from Michael’s wand tip. Charging the wolf, the Patronus reared up in midair, its insubstantial hooves cleaving and flailing above the wolf’s head. With fear shining in its savage yellow eyes, the werewolf turned on its heels and fled, its narrow back curving and undulating as it ran.

Michael Grey remained standing momentarily, his right arm still raised--and shaking with exhaustion. Wiping blood and sweat from his eyes, Michael staggered over to where his son lay. “Fenn...”

Michael collapsed on the ground next to him. Chest heaving, the man placed his hand gently in front of his son’s mouth, hoping, feeling. Nothing.

Numb dread was rising like bile in Michael’s throat. His son, his only son, he couldn’t be--

Michael cried out in relief as he felt Fenn’s weak breath against his hand, soft and insubstantial but reassuringly present. To weary to Apparate, Michael seized a large river pebble in his hand and muttered, “Portus.”

Moments later, the little forest clearing was empty and peaceful once again. The only reminder of the life-changing struggle that had taken place mere moments before was the torn-up, bloody ground and the little stream that continued to run red many hours later.



Author's Note: Sorry this one's short (I was originally planning a longer one) but it's just how it turned out. =) I decided to write it in Michael's point of view, so I hope you enjoyed--don't worry, it'll be back to dear old Fenn in the next chapter.

Also, I'm very pleased to say that I have an absolutely stunning new character banner for my OC, who you'll be meeting in (most likely) Chapter 7. I've decided to put it up early as a teaser for y'all (=P), so be sure to check it out!

Not a Veterinary


When Fenrir Grey awoke, the first thing he was aware of was... nothing. No sights, no sounds, so smells, no... pain?

But why would I be feeling pain? Fenn struggled to gather his scattered thoughts, but failed miserably. Where am I?

Suddenly, though, the memories came flooding back... flashing before his haunted amber eyes like rolls of film before the photographer. It was still all too real to Fenn; the pain, the fear, the cloying odors of blood and of death...

And with the memories came the senses. Fenn’s eyes snapped open at once, and as they did so he was greeted with a bright white light shining down on him, reflected off the sterile walls and ceilings of the room. The small, square chamber was silent save for the monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall; there were no windows or furnishings to speak of, save the metal-framed bed on which Fenn rested.

The sharp, acrid scent of disinfectant strong in his nostrils, Fenn hauled himself upright. He clenched his jaws tightly together as a fresh wave of pain flooded through his body, but the boy ignored it. Still struggling to collect his wit, Fenn examined his hands and arms closely. They had been bandaged tightly and clumsily whilst he was unconscious, and his broken wrist had been mended. However, filled with a morbid desire to see the horrors inflicted upon him, Fenn ripped off the bloodstained white linen and looked down bravely.

Strangely, though, the injuries were not as bad as Fenn had thought. His arms were bruised and scabbed, but they showed no sign of puncture or breakage--no sign that he had been bitten.

Still trying to shake off the surreal haze that had settled down around him, Fenn commenced inspecting every last inch of his body for injuries. His back was sore and aching from his fall, his head was pounding, and his face bore signs of scratches and bruises... but nowhere, nowhere, could Fenn find evidence of a bite.

Just as Fenn had rewrapped his arms and leaned back in his bed, pure, wholesome relief flooding through his aching body, he heard voices as if from afar. They were coming from outside the door--probably coming down an unseen hall toward him--and were growing louder and more heated every second.

With renewed confidence, Fenn rolled off of the bed and limped painfully to the door. His bandaged hand still stiff and sore, Fenn clumsily reached for the doorknob--only to find it locked.

Fenn felt momentary panic as he whirled about, looking for some way to escape. He was locked in a strange, unfamiliar room... presumably a hospital, but what if it wasn’t? He longed to get out, to breathe the fresh air... He wanted food, water, and most of all his parents. Was Michael even alive?

Fenn shook his aching head slightly, trying to stem the flood of thoughts that threatened to drown and smother all reason. He had to think rationally, to calm himself. As he stood there, his heart beating very quickly, the voices outside the door grew more distinct and recognizable.

“Let me in right now!” It was Michael speaking; Fenn felt a rush of relief as he realized that his father must have somehow survived the horrible encounter as well. “It’s been two days, and I don’t care what he might or might not be--he’s my son!”

“Sir, I--” an unfamiliar voice sounded right outside the door, but was shunted quickly aside.

“Alohomora.”

Fenn staggered backwards as the hefty wooden door swung suddenly inward, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Somehow managing to keep upright, Fenn grinned weakly up at his father. “Hey, Dad.”

In the two days since Fenn had last seen his father, Michael had changed. His once-handsome face was lined and haggard, and his hair looked greyer than ever. His unshaven chin was scraggly and oddly slack, but what had changed most was his eyes. They were haunted and grim, and bore such pain that Fenn’s heart ached for him. However, shaking hair bravely out of his eyes, Fenn embraced his father warmly.

“How’ve you been, Dad?”

Michael Grey hugged his son like he would never let go. The heartache was almost unbearable, but the tall man knew that he must be strong--for Fenn’s sake. The boy was heavily bandaged and obviously in pain, but he was being so brave... so brave.

If only I had been brave as well. For what must have been the hundredth time since the terrible event, Michael felt an overwhelming surge of guilt rush through him. It was all his fault. If only I had been there to protect my son.

Suddenly, the emotional reunion was cut short by the sound of an impatiently tapping foot. A short, fat wizard clad in green Healer’s robes was standing in the doorway, a look of anger and distaste written across the hard, cold features of his face. “I see you’re awake, boy,” he said brusquely, his wand aimed at the ground but clenched tightly in a chubby fist. “Sit down.” He pointed abruptly to the bed, beady eyes bright with undisguised disgust and fear.

Breaking away from his father, Fenn moved tentatively toward the bed and took a seat. With revulsion in his eyes, the Healer quickly removed the bandages from around Fenn’s arms and rewrapped fresh ones hastily. The job was clumsily done; Michael stepped forward abruptly, clearly angry, but a soft voice from the doorway stopped him.

“Healer Bramwick?” An aged Healer with dark grey hair and similarly coloured eyes was watching his younger counterpart curiously. “Is there a problem?”

Turning his back on his patient, the hard-faced Bramwick addressed Michael gruffly. “Excuse me,” he said, clearly not meaning it, as he walked to the door. Immediately, he began conversing in hushed tones with the newcomer.

Several moments later, though, Bramwick’s cold voice raised dramatically. “I’m a Healer, not a veterinary!” The short man turned to fix Fenn with a horrible glare as he spoke, giving an affected little shudder as he did so.

The look on Michael’s face was one of pure rage, but Fenn no longer cared. His stomach had clenched horribly at the Healer’s words... not at the harsh, cruel tone of his voice, but at the words themselves. Not a veterinary. That could only mean one thing.

Sinking down onto the bed, Fenn buried his face in his hands. The dread overtaking him was so intense, so overwhelming, that Fenn longed for it to end... for all the pain, all the suffering he had endured to end. He felt the edge of the bed depress as his father sat down, but Fenn did not look up.

Michael laid his hand on his son’s shoulder, heart bursting with sorrow. “Fenn...” he began softly, his eyes filling with tears for the first time.

“I’m a werewolf, aren’t I?” Fenn looked up, his amber eyes hard and blazing. His face had turned very pale, and his hands were shaking slightly, but he seemed to have gained control over himself. “It bit me, didn’t it?”

Michael stared deeply into his son’s tortured eyes, wondering what on earth he could say. Finally, he decided on the truth.

“We don’t know, Fenn. We�”well, the Healers--couldn’t find a definite bite... You might or might not be a...” Michael trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. The hope and the doubt shining from his son’s eyes was almost too much to bear.

Suddenly, the tall grey-haired Healer strode into the room and kneeled by Fenn’s feet. Placing a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders, the aging man looked him gravely in the eye with a serious countenance.

“We’ll find out on the next full moon.”