Fenrir woke up in complete darkness. He couldn't move, and even though he blinked several times, he could see no light. The air was stale and unmoving and he growled low in his throat, trying to assess his surroundings. He was lying flat; he knew that, on something that smelled strongly of pine. The smell was mingled with the smell of his blood; his enhanced senses letting him know that he had been where he was for at least two days, as he could smell dried blood from at least two days prior. He couldn't move. Moving his arms what little he could, he found them blocked by what appeared to be more pine. Dragging his knees up was cut short by them smacking against the celling of where he lay.
He lay still for at least a half hour, his breathing shallow and labored. It became apparent to him, that he was in a box somewhere underground. It never occurred to him that he could be buried alive.
Buried alive. What a wicked concept. His last memory was standing over the body of a curly haired girl during the Battle of Hogwarts… then nothing. It was apparent to him that he had been knocked out, but why had they thought him dead? Even a wizard was not stupid enough to recognize a live person from a dead one. Rage built up inside Fenrir and his breathing became more erratic. He was not a claustrophobe by any means, but when faced with the prospect of being buried with no escape, anyone would panic.
He gritted his teeth, trying not to expend too much energy, even though he had plenty to spare. He was not a man of thoughts. Trying to bide his time and patience was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but he had to think of a plan. His options were few and far between, but there were options.
He could choose to die. Wait for his oxygen to run out and just drift off into oblivion.
He could wait until the full moon, but Fenrir wasn't too sure his oxygen would hold out that long.
Lastly, he could fight.
As a werewolf, the last option appealed to him a lot more than the first two. He was a person of action, not of waiting. While he tried to find a weak point in the pine coffin, he let his mind wander. Revenge. That's what motivated him the most. Revenge on anyone and anything that got in his path. He would kill any wizard who he came in contact with, even if they were there to help him. He didn't need any help, especially from no dirty wizards who left him to rot in a shallow grave.
Yes, even as he lay here he could smell the layers of dirt above. They hadn't even properly buried him. He was only three feet down, and he was alone. There were no other bodies decaying in the vicinity, which meant he wasn't in a cemetery. They would pay. They would all pay for the injustice that had incurred here.
Yet Fenrir hesitated. There were so many unanswered questions.
He gritted his teeth, trying to dispel the rage building up inside him. He had to get out of this predicament, but he found himself afraid. Yes, even the great and powerful Alpha wolf Fenrir was afraid. Not afraid of death, surely, but afraid of something.
He was reckless, and had he went to Hogwarts he might have been a Gryffindor. Transforming his hands into claws, he began his escape.
He scratched furiously at the wood, his nails screeching against the grain as he ripped the lid of the box to shreds. Blood began dripping from his paws as splintered wood penetrated them, but he buried the pain somewhere else. His adrenaline was pumping and endorphins flying through his blood stream and he didn't have time to second guess himself. Thankfully his captors were lazy, for if Fenrir had to tunnel through six feet of dirt he might not have made it. It was hard enough to hold his breath as long as he did as the lid finally caved and mountains of dirt poured onto him.
He leapt, barreling his body through he dirt as he dug furiously with his paws. He was close, so close, he could smell the warm May air just outside his tomb.
Redemption. A paw flew out of the ground, then another, pulling along with it the head and torso of Fenrir. He took in a gasping breath of air, and drank in the sun's rays. His eyes struggled to adjust to the light, and his ears perked up with the sudden background noise.
Fenrir was back in action, and the world had better be prepared.