He stood, poised in the shadows, fangs bared menacingly and half hunched over, the ridges of his back poking out from the stretched fabric of his torn shirt. His breath came in loud puffs of air, but the people who held his gaze and attention were much too far away to hear him.
He glanced up at the moon while the crickets chirped loudly; the pale grey orb was only missing a sliver from the side. It would be full moon again soon. Soon.
That wasn't really needed, however. He was a savage with or without the moon; the moon just happened to make him lose complete control on his mind and body. The bloodthirsty need never went away – it was always there. He couldn't remember a time where it wasn't there. Just the thought of blood on his lips, tangy and salty, made him drool a slight bit, through the deep breaths he was taking.
The September night was cold and the wind was nipping at his flesh, exposed in the torn clothing. The long stalks of hay which he was hidden behind sheltered him from the view of the simple little house in the distance, a beam of light shining through one of the windows and the curtains drawn tightly over the other. His upper lip curled over, exposing his canines.
He was sure no one was around. A lone field near a lone cottage, up north. With two parents and a five-year-old girl and a seven-year-old boy, completely innocent. No other people around, just an ordinary, simple Wizard family and that was that.
He would be right there when he changed, right next to them, right near them. He would go after the children, it would be too much of an allure. That's why he was poised underneath the moonlight, waiting and waiting for the full moon.
The full moon was when Greyback would attack.
Written for the Create-A-Potion Challenge, for wormwood, and the Fantastic Beasts Challenge, category Werewolf. Word count: 319