On April 23, 1932 a 6 ⅓ pound, 1 ½ foot long baby boy was born in nouveau château

magical hospital in Paris, France. His mother was Camela Johnson, an American pureblood witch was ties in the English pureblood socialite scene. His father was not in the room, and no doctor or nurse knew who he was. After 15 hours of labor, Camela was alone with her bundle of what seemed to be joy. The babes blue eyes stared up at her, almost judging her in the process. Camela knew that her family had their own traditions of naming the newborn within at least a day of its birth. She knew the child would be strong but at the same time unwanted. She knew what to name him, but at the same time she didn't want to. Camela wanted this child to be a nameless child, she wanted to throw him away and never see him again.

"Do you know what to name him?" asked a dimple faced nurse. Camela looked away, and in a hushed whisper she responded, "Yes, his name will be Fenrir." "Fenrir Michael Johnson".

-Ten years later-

"Please just consider going to Hogwarts Fenrir, it could really help you" Camela spoke in an angry, frustrated tone, glaring down at her ten year old son. "I don't see why I should mother, no-one in this family wants me here, what makes you think they want me there" Fenrir retorted.

Fenrir had always had a temper problem and his mother had trouble controlling it and herself. After her family had abandoned all hope on the child and found out who the real father was, The Johnsons had just left a sum of money on the doorstep every month and forgot about their daughter for another 30 days or so.

"Why can't you just come to reason Fenrir?" Camela snapped turning her back to her son. "Maybe I'll come to reason when you let me see my father" growled Fenrir. "You practically named me after him, you must have some connection with him" he shouted "Not really, not anymore Fenrir. He's probably running with that god awful gang he's in" Camela murmured.

It was true Fenrir's father was in a gang, a very tight knit gang in fact. What she hadn't told Fenrir is that the gang his father was in was actually a pack. Michael Debuta was a French Alpha who Camlea had met in Paris 13 years ago. What could she say, she had a thing for major bad boys at the time and she fell head over tails for him. They had met for 2 years in secret, and their meetings started to get a little more passionate over time. But one day Michael left with his pack, and Camela found out she was pregnant only a week later.

The clicking of knives and forks where the only sounds that filled the room as Camela and Fenrir at their dinner. Fenrir was 12 now, and no school would ever take him. Fenrir's teeth came in as sharp fangs, claws adored his hands, Fenrir was becoming just like his father. Camela knew that this day would come and it made her want to throw him away even more.

There was howling, loud howling filled the streets of the small village. Camelea's head snapped up as her stomach twisted into knots as she frantically looked out the window.

"Fenrir, I need you to go into your room" Camela said in a worried tone. Fenrir had never heard his mother speak to him like that. She had never really cared for him, ever. Fenrir left the table, but stopped when his mother took a deep breath. "Fenrir?" Camlea called out, "I want you to know that I've always loved you, even if it never seemed like it." Her voice trembled, tears streaming down her face. Fenrir was staring at his mother, his blue eyes piercing into hers. "Oh, and Fenrir?"

"Yes mother?",

"When a woman says no, she means it alright, promise me you'll remember that". Fenrir nodded and went to his room, as soon as he closed the door he heard the sounds of windows breaking. He was about to move when he heard his mother scream out in pain.