That was written for Rameelia's Black, black heart challenge. Rated M for violence/torture.
Thanks Penelope Fiction for beta-reading it!
Enjoy and review!
Fenrir's only regret.
The Malfoy manor's cellar was the place Fenrir Greyback enjoyed the most in the important residence. It was where the tortures took place. Torture to make people speak or torture only for pleasure; the second had always been the werewolf's favourite. He looked at the small, tense man bleeding and yelling on the floor.
The melody was delightful. Screams echoed on the walls when the man, who had betrayed the Dark Lord, was put under the Cruciatus curse. Fenrir was not a Death Eater, he was not a wizard anymore, but he did enjoy the piercing screams those dark wizards torn from their victims. It was a simple stick made of wood, but it twirled so incredibly in the pallid, thin fingers of its owner. The light was beautiful to watch, but the sounds emerging from the victim were even better. He bent his head to watch the pain on the man's feature; his senses began to rise. He wanted to hurt, he wanted to see the man agonising even more, but he was stopped: they wanted the man alive, not dead. And Fenrir had a tendency to not restrain his need and kill the victims.
The wizards looked appreciatively at Bellatrix Lestrange; she always had been the best at using the Cruciatus curse. Even the Dark Lord had praised her for her skills, but Fenrir didn't care about praise. At least, not when it came from a wizard. Because now, he was not a wizard anymore; he was better than that: he was a werewolf. He reminded the day he made that choice, it was a clear night and the smell of blood had invaded him.
He had just killed and destroyed a human body, he didn't care if it was a Muggle or a wizard : the sensation was amazing. He felt powerful, alive and he hadn't felt like that since he had become a werewolf. Fenrir looked at the damaged body on the floor. He had crumbled him as simply as if he had been made of paper. He never felt so powerful before, and he had been a skilled wizard. Flitwick had even given him a 'gold wand award' during his first year.
The memory made him feel the stick in his pocket. He took it. And without a second thought, he had broken it. He was not a wizard anymore, so why bother with a weak instrument. He was strong, he only needed his power. The wand was useless and breakable, he was not.
A golden lightning snapped him from his reverie. The body was now twirling in the air, blood spurting on the people in the room. And Fenrir was hypnotized, not by the body dancing in the air and painting the walls with the red substance, but by Bellatrix. She sure knew how to handle the branch between her fingers. She seemed happy, euphoric. His attention was ported to the wand made of dark wood, it was like a part of herself. Automatically, he reached to his pocket, and he felt empty. He never regretted anything, but now, he regretted having broken his wood long-time companion. Briefly, Fenrir Greyback had wished he still was a wizard.