A/N: This has been one plot which has been drifting around in my mind for very long, whilst working on Wingardium Leviosa.
Before I start, I want to re-emphasise: This is AU. Fenrir is largely OOC, and so is Remus. If you prefer more canonical characters, my other fic would be a better read for you.
Fenrir Greyback wasn't exactly sure how he had wounded up in a relationship with a bland woman whom he barely knew. Her name was Margaret –even her name was so…normal- and she had been nothing but a regular customer at the scrappy restaurant where he worked at as a waiter.
Recently, he had agreed to sell off his dilapidating apartment room to live with her. Such a decision garnered no support from his fellow waiters.
"Didn't you hear the rumours! The number of men who went to live with her and ended up running away from her damnable house! Something's up with her and that house; those who left say something about this creepy…" The one called Sirius would whisper dramatically into his ear every time Fenrir reported for his shift.
The greasy chef in the kitchen, Severus, would chip in at times, reminding Fenrir that no one knew much about this woman. Margaret was the only subject Sirius and Severus could ever agree on- so that was saying something.
Fenrir always shrugged off the last bit about supernatural happenings, however. He didn't believe in such farcical nonsense. Sure, no one, even him, knew much about that woman –he only knew that she had some job that required her to fly to distant countries rather frequently; but he could do with more comfortable living quarters. He was also running low on funds, his meagre salary barely able to cover for his living expenses. He supposed that was why it seemed wise, at that time, to agree to live with her.
Standing in front of the house, Fenrir had to admit he did feel rather spooked. The house sat on a street by itself. The garden around it was a tad overgrown, but the colourful flowers peppering the ground more or less made up for the existence of weeds.
It wasn't terrible-looking; for sure, it was miles better than his apartment, but there was something off about its aura. It almost felt as if the house was trying too hard to be aesthetically pleasing and warm.
Well, he had made his choice. No turning back now. He hung his head and strode up to the door, rapping smartly against the wood. It flung open almost instantly, with a cry of "Oh, Fenrir!" and there Margaret was, clinging onto him as if he were her life. He inwardly cringed at that, but forced a smile out.
Stepping inside, he noted that it was really quite well-furnished. The furniture was quaint and some of it looked rather old and dusty, but it had this sort of old world charm to it.
Perhaps this is not as bad as Sirius and Severus make it out to be.
"…and our room is the one over there on the second floor. Ignore the room on the third floor, it's where…where I keep all the junk accumulated over the years, nothing special!" Margaret ended breathlessly, eyes gleaming at Fenrir, who realised he had missed more than half of her blabbering.
"Oh. Okay," he smiled again, though it looked more like a grimace.
Abruptly, he made for the staircase, up to their room, luggage in the other hand. He didn't like how the stairs creaked heavily with his every step. Despite his sceptism at most things and his strong belief that he was as masculine as a man could get, the sounds of the staircase and the overall aura of the house was still making him uneasy.
Margaret seemed to have noticed nothing, as she left the house to pick up groceries.
Slamming his luggage shut as the last of his things were unpacked, Fenrir sighed comfortably as he propped himself onto the soft bed. Deciding to catch a quick nap, he turned off the bright desk lamp, and soon fell asleep.
He snoozed without disturbance, forgetting about the odd aura of the house- until; he felt the mattress move, as if someone had gotten on the bed with him. His eyes snapped open, wary.
"Supernatural!" Sirius hollered as he saw Fenrir pass him with his luggage, headed for Margaret's house…
He felt someone breathe near him, and there was brief contact with extremely cold skin that lasted for a second. He yelped, feeling very uncomfortable- he refused to think frightened, that was an unbefitting word for him, he believed.
"Who's there?" he questioned, glad that his voice didn't quaver.
The mattress shifted again, as if the person or thing on it were standing up.
"Lucifer, fallen angel of…" the voice hissed. Fenrir drew back. Despite his sharp hearing, he was unable to tell from the voice if it was a male or female; or was it an 'it'?
Thump.
The weight on the mattress was removed. Fenrir quickly snatched this chance to reach for the desk lamp and turn it on. There was nothing there! His eyes widened in confusion.
"Ow…" a distinctively young male's voice sounded from the floor at the other end of the bed. Fenrir scrambled over and peered down.
A boy, definitely no more than fifteen, grinned shyly back up at him, rubbing the sore spot on his arm. Fenrir studied him cautiously. He had extremely pale skin that looked like it had never seen the light of day. His hair and eyes were coloured light brown. He had better than average features, though they were marred by a sickly look and the fact that he was very skinny. Fenrir could see the collarbones jutting out near the collar of his faded t-shirt.
"Sorry," he squeaked.
"I- you- who the hell are you?" Fenrir queried curiously.
The boy seemed to delight in having being noticed. Without warning, he plopped himself on the bed next to Fenrir happily. His eyes bravely met Fenrir's. Fenrir noted that there seemed to be overwhelming adoration in them.
"First, who are you?" he asked back.
"Fenrir Greyback, I'm with the woman who owns this house, Margaret," Fenrir replied. The boy crinkled his nose at the mention of her name, but quickly returned to smiling. Fenrir felt a little more at ease, feeling that this boy was most likely human and harmless. But still; who was he?
"I've told you who I am. Now, who are you?" Fenrir tried again. The boy looked reluctant to respond, so Fenrir ran a hand through his hair. Fenrir was pretty good at reading people, and he could tell this being craved attention quite a lot. Indeed, the boy edged closer to Fenrir, grinning again.
"I'm the boy who lives in the room on the third floor," he answered.
"Margaret never said anything about a- what's your name?" Fenrir asked, frowning. Was this Margaret's son? She had never mentioned anything about one before. Perhaps she had told the boy to hide, for fear of tainting their relationship with a reminder of a past love? Not that Fenrir would care, truthfully.
"My name…" the boy started, and then stopped, looking expectantly at Fenrir. Fenrir sighed and patted his head lightly. The boy looked like he was going to squeal in delight, or do something equally girlish. Fenrir fought back a laugh at that image.
"My name is…" he started exuberantly, but was interrupted by the sound of the main door opening. His eyes widened, and he pushed Fenrir back on to the spot where he was lying before with amazing strength. Quickly, he leapt off the bed and turned off the desk lamp.
"Goodbye, Fenrir," he whispered, barely audible, before disappearing into darkness.
"We're having a simple dinner tonight, dear, if you don't mind," Margaret said, scurrying around the kitchen and placing the cooked dishes on the table.
"Um, of course I don't mind," Fenrir smiled in a sickly fashion. He wasn't really that hungry, anyway. What he really wanted to do was to ask her about the boy. They ate their dinner in silence. When they were done, and Margaret had dumped the dishes into the dishwasher, Fenrir decided to bring up the topic of the boy.
"Hey, uh, Margaret?" he started.
"Yes, dear?" she smiled dreamily at him, much to his disgust.
"I was sleeping just now, when this boy who says he lives in the room on the third floor woke me up. Who's that? I tried asking, but he never really gave me the answer," Fenrir said.
Margaret stopped smiling, and sat upright, suddenly looking very serious, and rather intimidating.
"A boy, you say?" she hissed.
"Yeah, he's kind of sickly looking and really skinny?" Fenrir continued, unsure of why she seemed so furious.
"He's back at it again," he heard her mutter to herself.
"He's no boy," she looked up, and stared right at Fenrir, as if telling him about a horrendous omen, "He's a demon. He's the one who drove away all the previous men before you."
Fenrir raised his eyebrows. Sirius and Severus were serious about that supernatural crap, after all?
"Do you know his name, then?" Fenrir pressed on. He just needed a name. With a name, he could definitely dig up something on that boy –or demon, if this cranky woman and the darned waiters were telling the truth.
"Don't speak of him anymore!" Margaret snapped, getting off her seat, and heading to their room. Stopping midway in the staircase, she swivelled around, a frightening look on her face.
"Don't speak of him again," she repeated, "He will seek you out himself. That was frightening enough for the previous men. Don't you dare seek him out. All he will do is wreak misery upon you, upon us."
A/N: End of first chapter! It felt rather liberating, to use the characters more freely. This is my first AU fic, and I hope it doesn't read too badly.(: