5
Dana Mazzanti
UW20 Section 10
4 November 2011
Betrayed
The beetle was struggling to lift itself into the air even though its wings were now lying uselessly on the ground, plucked off by the boy in his idea of a game. It staggered in strange lurching motions, closer and closer to the tree line trying to escape the boy that kept rolling it onto its back. "Not much farther, darling." his mother called from the doorway. "I don't want you going passed that last tree."
As he stood lurking in the shadow of the doorway, his mother's warning from all those years ago echoed in the back of his mind. The scene from that night was fresh in his thoughts. The strangled snarl, the high-pitched yelps. Even then, as a young boy, the sounds had intrigued him rather than frightened.
And now, all these years later, he was still haunted by his decision to wander into the forest seeking those unearthly noises. But now was not the time for remorse. "I'm better this way, far stronger. We werewolves are superior even to wizards." He tried to convince himself for the thousandth time. Shaking off the unease of the memory, Fenrir Greyback stepped out of the doorway into a dimly lit room with a tall arched ceiling where Lord Voldemort was awaiting him.
"Glad you came, Greyback." The words slipped from Voldemort's mouth almost as a hiss. Fenrir was surprised to find himself repressing a shudder. He had to make a conscious effort not to step back from the high-backed chair and the tall, thin man seated upon it. Voldemort's red eyes swept him up and down, taking in his disheveled appearance. The slits of Voldemort's eyes narrowed further, and to Fenrir's fury he could see Voldemort's mouth twist into a sneer of disgust. He felt his stomach clench with anger and shame. A wave of disappointment crashed over him. "Will it really be any different with them?" he wondered to himself. For the second time that night, he found himself lost in a memory.
"There's nothing to be done about it," his mother snapped. "Professor Dippet will not allow a monster to attend school and put all those children at risk. Now stop being ridiculous!" Her words stung Fenrir far more than the disappointing news. He had known all along, really, that the headmaster wouldn't make an exception for him. But his mother's words were beyond endurance. Even she saw him as nothing more than a beast. The tears that had been threatening to overcome him now spilled openly down his face.
"But I can give you what you desire." The high, clear voice drew him back to the present. Fenrir shifted uneasily on his feet; it was almost as if Voldemort could read the doubt that had crossed his mind. "Join my ranks, Greyback, and you and your followers will have all the prey you can ask for." Fenrir really didn't need to think about whether to accept the offer. Since the day he had turned seventeen and his mother had banned him from the house, he had been wandering the streets. First looking desperately, hopelessly for a job. Then, later, searching for victims, eager to avenge anyone who had slighted him, belittled him because of his identity. He still remembered clearly, with a thrill of joy, the first time he had punished a man for humiliating him.
He had gone to the Ministry looking for a job only after he had exhausted every other option. His father had worked in the Ministry for many years, and Fenrir was all too aware that many of the Ministry employees had heard rumors of his affliction. As he exited the elevator into the Ministry lobby, he looked around the busy room, trying to find a sign to point him in the right direction. "Are you lost?" He heard a man's voice call to him from behind the large wooden desk at the end of the lobby. He quickly walked over to the speaker, glad to find someone to help. His insides gave a nervous jolt as he recognized the man as one of his father's long-time co-workers. Certainly, he would know about the Greyback family's embarrassing circumstances. "Err, I'm looking for the ummm…," Fenrir stumbled nervously over his words. "The fourth floor," the man cut in. "That's where the Control of Magical Creatures office disposes of dangerous beasts." And, laughing at his own joke, Fredrick Lupin returned to his morning paper. But the Lupins had paid dearly for Fredrick's little joke; Fenrir had made sure of that.
He left the Ministry that night with only one purpose in mind. They would learn, all of them. And what better way to teach them than to make them in to the very thing they had mocked? It was not hard to find other werewolves to join him in his quest, for he was certainly not alone in the treatment he received from the magical world. He found it easy to stir up the anger of his fellow werewolves. So disgusted by their lot in life, Fenrir had to do little more than approach them with his idea. Before he knew it, he was the head of an ever-increasing gang of werewolves. And together they prowled the wizarding world, placing themselves close to those who had wronged them as each full moon approached, ready to attack when the time was right.
And now, after all the years of searching endlessly for his prey, here was Voldemort, offering it to him in exchange for his loyalty, for his membership in this most pure of wizarding groups. It was an offer beyond his wildest dreams. Here, he thought, was his chance to prove to the magical world the position he and the rest of his kind would rank in the new order Voldemort was bringing about. Voldemort did not fear him. Quite the contrary, Voldemort had sent his most trusted followers to seek out Fenrir as soon as the war had broken out. This most powerful wizard had sought him out, as the head of a group of werewolves, looking to form an alliance, to welcome Fenrir and his fellows into their circle. He let his earlier unease slip away. "My Lord," rasped Fenrir, inclining his head ever so slightly, "it will be an honor to serve you."
As he spoke, Fenrir rolled up the sleeves of his tattered robe and extended his arm to Voldemort so that he, too, could receive the Dark Mark that distinguished Voldemort's followers.
At this, Voldemort let out a high, mirthless laugh, but made no attempt to reach for his wand with which to mark Fenrir. "Very well, then. You will be the perfect completion to my army of monsters." Quickly, Fenrir lowered his outstretched arm as waves of disappointment crashed over him. "How could Voldemort reject me? How dare he reject me?" Fenrir wondered. He had thought that here he would be accepted, maybe even honored, for the werewolf he was. It gave him the power to inflict unimaginable suffering and pain; surely, Voldemort could see that. He stood before the high-backed chair, unsure now if he should still accept Voldemort's offer. But then he recalled the feelings that accompanied an attack.
The boy was playing in his yard, meandering happily around the bushes prodding at leaves and slugs with his toy wand, pretending to cast spells on them. Funny, Fenrir thought as he waited patiently obscured in the shadows, how his own transformation had begun so similarly to this boy's, his first victim. A shiver of excitement sparked along his spine as he thought of what he was about to do, of how good it would feel to sink his knife-like canines into the soft flesh of the innocent boy. Then the clouds parted, and the splendor of the full moon shone itself down upon Fenrir as he lunged out of the shadows towards Remus Lupin. His life would never be the same.
And he knew he had little choice but to accept this offer no matter how short it fell of his hopes. The wizarding world had become far too leery of Fenrir. Parents kept their children close during the full moon for Fenrir and his gang had become every mother's worst nightmare. Each month it got harder and harder to find new children to attack. And he knew it was only a matter of time before he was captured and taken to Azkaban. He needed the Dark Lord's protection and the victims he would provide. Even if in Voldemort's eyes as well, he was still nothing more than a monster.