a/n: wow, this forum thing is really helping me with posting more stories more often XD
Written for the New Beginnings Event on the Ilvermorny forum.
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Prompt: Write about Fenrir Greyback - or any other known werewolf associated with the dark arts.
Word Count: 433
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It had never been a choice for Fenrir Greyback.
None of it.
Not the monthly transformations, not the rejection from Hogwarts, not the disgusted looks thrown his way every moment of his life.
He was a monster.
Yes, he was, that's what they told them, that's what the whispered words were.
Freak. Worthless. Creature. Disgusting. Monster.
So he made use to it. He had a power, and no one would accept him except for those Dark wizards who wished him to help them with the world. He reveled in the power of leadership, being the terrifying and terrible master of those other werewolves under his command in the war against the weak.
Perhaps he had been blinded.
But all he had ever wanted was acceptance. Acceptance into a world that did not accept any not like them, even the Muggleborns who supposedly nowadays had 'equal rights' but were no better off than they had been before.
He thought them all blind, all weak fools who cowered behind their perfect image of reality that was no more real than flying pigs.
But really, he had been the blindest of them all.
He should have expected that the Dark Lord would never accept him and his kind, no, he would only discriminate and force them out, kill them off one by one after their use in fighting the war had dwindled and died.
He should have expected that the Potter boy would win this damned war and eventually destroy the thing he had called master for those many years.
He should have expected that he would be no more than a puppet, that he would just become a vicious animal, like they had all said and thought he was so many years ago.
They were right.
They had, in the end, turned out to be right after all, because he was a monster. He had turned into one, after all the years of hate and blood and disgusted faces turned his way. He had gone the way of darkness and turned into a vicious, bloodthirsty thing.
But it hadn't been his choice to turn into a monster, had it?
They were the ones who had turned him into this.
They were the ones who had taken away his old life and made him suffer.
They were the ones who had made him angry and bitter and oh so very vicious.
They, the ones who had made his life a living hell.
It wasn't his choice.
It had never been his choice.
All he had ever wanted was a choice.
He had never, ever gotten one.
