This is for:
Especially SkyElf, who asked me to write this
My new French horn
And any werewolf lovers out there
His Story
By: Swimdiva87
Fenrir Caldwell was born into a household of wizards. His home was a loving one, a normal, quirky, magical, loving home. He had a father, a mother, and an older sister. Mr. Caldwell owned a shop in Diagon Alley, and provided well for his family. His sister, Eliza, and he played often, even though she was four years older than him. Mrs. Caldwell was the light of the home. She was kind, beautiful, smart, and a Healer. Fenrir loved his mother most of all. By age seven, Fenrir's older sister left for Hogwarts. Fenrir couldn't wait to go. His mother also fell sick that year. In the next two years, his mother fell worse, his father immersed himself in his work, his sister refused to play with him, and he never exhibited any signs of magic. When he was nine, his mother went cold. So did his family.
It might have been just grief, Fenrir couldn't tell. But his sister didn't talk to the family unless she had to, and his father rarely came home. Less than three months after the death of Mrs. Caldwell, a visitor came to town the Caldwells lived in. It was a full moon one night, and Fenrir went out to his backyard to gaze at it. His mother loved the full moon. Nearing midnight, he lay down and began to drift off, thinking it perfectly safe. Suddenly, a howl pierced the air. Fenrir blinked awake, groggily. His family lay fast asleep inside. A low growl came from the neighbor's yard. Fenrir sat up, afraid. Two menacing, yellow eyes appeared in his bushes. Then a beast lunged at him, grabbed his side in the beast's mouth and shook him. Fenrir screamed; the pain hurt so much. Somebody must have heard the scream and came out to scare the monster. Fenrir lay on the ground in a puddle of his own blood.
"Father, should we take him to Saint Mungo's?" asked his sister.
"No, should he survive he will become a monster, it's better to let him die than have a monster in this family," Mr. Caldwell answered coldly. Fenrir whimpered. "Take him inside and clean him up."
Fenrir woke up the next morning with a sharp pain in his side in his bed. He looked down and saw that it was wrapped. It stung, it hurt, everything felt wrong with it. Mr. Caldwell came into the room.
"So, you're alive," he stated.
Fenrir nodded.
"Leave as soon as possible." Mr. Caldwell walked away.
Fenrir packed some clothes that day and walked out the door. His sister and father didn't see or speak to him for the rest of their lives.
Fenrir dropped 'Caldwell' when he met another werewolf. It was the one that bit him, but neither knew that. It was one year after Fenrir was changed. The werewolf suggested that Fenrir change his last name, for the Caldwells want nothing to do with him. Fenrir chose "Greyback" because his wolf form was grey.
When Fenrir was sixteen, he went back to his old home. It was Christmas time, and his sister, her husband and child, and their father was there, gathered around a table. It was a full moon that night. Fenrir crept up the wall of their house to his old room; it was just like it was when he left. He stored his clothes in a safe place and waited for the moon. When he changed, the family heard great screams from his room. The father rushed up to the room, only to find a grey wolf snarling at him.
"No..no…you…you couldn't have survived…no…no…" were his last words. The woman, his sister, was hiding her child while the husband branished his wand. The wolf crept down the stairs, lept on the man and broke his wand.
"Eliza! Run!" were his last words. The woman stood protectively in front of a closet. The wolf lunged at her and broke her neck. She whimpered, "I'm sorry," right before she died. The closet wasn't fully closed. The wolf peeked his head in. A child with fear clearly written upon his face stared a him. The child raised his hands to protect his head, but the wolf only nipped at his palm.
The night was over. The wolf retreated to its room and changed back to a human. Quickly putting on clothes, Fenrir ran down the stairs, eager to get away from the smell of blood. He heard crying, and saw the child walking out of the closet, holding his hand. Did I not kill him? Fenrir thought. "Raise them young, teach them to hate wizards," he said with a smile. Fenrir picked up the child, and left the town for good.
Fifteen years later, Fenrir and his nephew Erik sat around a campfire in a forest. The full moon was approaching. Erik wanted to know about his parents.
"They were terrible people, Erik, they wanted to kill each and every wizard. Same with my parents," Fenrir said. He didn't know if it were true or not, but he hated them just the same. Sometimes when he would think about his mother, he would become angry with her for dying and letting all this misfortune befall upon him. He taught Erik to hate wizards, and to kill anyone who got in their way. Fenrir had quite the reputation, and tried to keep Erik out of it. Right now they were near a little village. In this village, a man named John Lupin lived with his family. This man worked for the Ministry in trying to round up werewolves. Werewolves named Fenrir Greyback. The full moon was tonight.
"Fenrir, I don't want to do this with you tonight," Erik said. Fenrir let him stay hidden in an abandoned house.
Fenrir doesn't remember much from that night, only the sound of another child crying and getting hit with many hexes and curses. He wished he could go back and take the child away from those vile wizards, and raise a little wolf right. Oh well, there were others. And indeed, there were. They stayed in London with other adult werewolves.
Ten years past, and Fenrir was walking in Knockturn Alley, looking aimlessly. A man in a long, dark cloak approached him. "Fenrir Greyback," he said, sounding somewhat like a hiss. "I could use a man like you." Fenrir looked into his eyes. They were blood red. His face was pale, almost translucent. Fenrir knew this man, and nodded.
"Yes, you could," he said in reply. That night, Fenrir Greyback became an official Death Eater.
Erik couldn't believe it when Fenrir got back. He saw the mark, and suddenly all the kids that he bit, the adults he killed, the people whose lives he destroyed, and he felt ashamed. Erik left Fenrir that night.
Fenrir was in shock. Erik was like a son to Fenrir, but he wasn't as cold as him. Erik wasn't filled with anger like Fenrir. Erik wasn't numb to the cries of children. Erik wasn't a squib. Erik's compassion overrode Fenrir's hate. Erik turned himself in the next day. The world celebrated once he received his punishment. Fenrir cried for the first time in 30 years.
But he still kept the hate, he still hated wizards. And every wizard looked like his father.