Wes didn't know how he'd gotten here. One minute, he'd been standing guard, talking to Alpha, then next, brought here against his will via Portkey, under orders from Master Greyback himself. The entrance hall was roomy, airy and eerie. An uneasy breeze blew down the corridor and grasped Wes with its chilly touch. Its fingers circled around his body, tenderly fondling every inch of him, pulling his shoulders tight together as he huddled into himself for warmth. It was an eerie feeling. He felt almost violated by the wind.

The furthest door from the young werewolf had been left ajar, allowing a glorious amber glow to meander like a narrow stream across the hall. His mind told him not to move, but his body dragged him to the light like a moth to a flame. Every step he took was met by a discordant shriek from the worm rotted floorboards coated in dust.

In minutes, the room was dark once more and a fire crackled in the hearth of their newfound sanctuary, the home of one of the Dark Lord's most trusted followers, but who it was, Wes didn't know.

He didn't want to know. Wes could feel the heat as the floorboards creaked behind him. He turned and immediately stiffened. There sat a woman in an overly large red leather armchair.

Her dark curls cascaded to past her collarbones, ending at her breasts. Even in the dark you could see her, like a shining beacon.

The white creamy tone of her skin reminding him of whipped milk as moonlight shone through the window and on to her. He couldn't help but wonder if he reached out, would he only graze air.

As if she were nothing but a ghost. The woman smiled at Wes.

Wes instinctively shivered. "Welcome to our home," she smiled, though it did not reach her dark, heavily lidded eyes. "And to yours."

He didn't answer, unsure of just how to respond. "Who…?"

"There is no greater pleasure than to host the Dark Lord's best and brightest in our home." With an ashen face, Wes let his eyes roam the room for escape options. The floors here were solid oak plank beneath the dust, the walls were brick behind plaster. There was the front door, the window and whatever lay behind him in the kitchen. Before he'd even made it two steps away from this woman, whoever she was, his legs locked straight and the young, dark-haired werewolf fell harder than a stone statue onto his face, tasting his own blood that pooled on the floor. He spat off to the side, disgusted.

"That wasn't very nice," he called out hoarsely. "Not a nice way to treat your house's so-called 'guests.' What's the Dark Lord going to say when he finds out you're hurting Greyback's top lieutenant? You hurt my feelings, you—you bitch!" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the woman, who once upon a time, might have been quite pretty, even beautiful perhaps, lovingly twirl her wand in her fingers, and then, when she lifted her chin to meet Wes's yellow eyes with her brown orbs, he knew her. Bellatrix Lestrange, he thought wildly, swallowing hard.

"SILENCE, DOG!" the woman bellowed, crinkling her nose in disgust. "You stink of old wet dog smell. You reek, boy," she growled. But still, the dark-haired woman did not move a muscle.

Wes's nose had swollen to the size of a baby yam and his face was disfigured from the fall. As Bellatrix Lestrange rose from her chair, wand in hand, Wes quickly set his face to 'casual indifference.' His only way out of this was for Lestrange to overestimate his skill level, to assume his lack of fear came from mastery, instead of raw nerve.

After a few moments, poor Wes felt himself lift into the air and rotate until he was upside-down. Blood rushed to the already angry wounds and began to drip freely. The witch was lazily raising her wand, muttering an incantation under her breath. "Take a look."

Wes glowered, which only fueled the sorceress's ire even worse.

"The pictures," she growled, waving her wand, causing Wes's body to contort and jerk uncomfortably, his head swiveling to look.

A flick of her wand and at once the dim room was bathed in a steady, ethereal glow. There were oil paintings all around. The woman was in a good number of them, and they had to be ancient in their gold gilded frames. In each one of them, the woman standing before him now was a beautiful young woman, dark locks cascading in graceful ringlets, in gowns of a deep beautiful emerald green, not the black rags she currently sported. "If I bring you down, will the puppy play nice?" Wes let out a guttural warning growl and felt his head bend unnaturally into a nod three times. He wanted to speak, but his voice died in his mouth, rendering the wolf quite speechless.

Now Wes sat opposite the witch, who smiled at her and magically produced a deck of cards. He felt the boards beneath his dried skin and practiced looking out of the corners of his eyes. Maybe he could make a plan without being detected. The glass was single pane.

It would hurt like hell to be cut but once outside, he could Disapparate, grab Norah, and flee to France like they'd planned.

Then without meaning to, his eyes went to the fragile pane. At once, his neck and head became rigid, frozen, no doubt the result of an Immobullus Freezing Charm. Bellatrix clucked her tongue.

"Tsk, tsk. I did warn you," she chuckled, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "Now look what you've gone and made me do, beast." The window became a wall. Wes felt his head being turned towards the door, and then the door too became a wall.

He twisted to face the stairs, then those disappeared as well. The kitchen entrance became an iron grill, medieval and black. "Now, pay attention, dog. We have a little game to play. The stakes are high."

Bellatrix offered a twisted, lopsided grin, shuffled the deck and expertly dealt the cards, no magic. "This is my favorite part," she said, as if they were watching some sappy Muggle movie, like the kind his Norah loved so much. Wes felt his arms become free and he raised a trembling hand to his face. It was a mess. Hot tears sprang from his eyes, washing some of the drying blood back into his mouth to settle on his tongue. "Take a card." It wasn't a request, but a command.

Without any conscious thought from Wes, his hand obeyed, turning over the King of Hearts. Bellatrix Lestrange opened her mouth, but instead of the wicked giggling coming from her, it radiated from the walls of the den. "The king dies," she said coyly. "But don't worry, I'll bring you back for the next hand," Bellatrix taunted him.

Wes opened his mouth, and this time his scream came out strong and short. His arms and legs became under his control again and he ran around the room, wildly searching for an exit. He'd have Disapparated in an instant, but the spells on this house were strong.

There was a trap door he'd not seen before. The bolt slid back as if it were only installed the day before, and he ran downstairs, almost falling in his hurry to escape, the wicked woman's laughter echoing.

Wes swore under his breath as he fumbled for his wand, and he realized he didn't have it. "Where's my wand?" he shrieked, frantically patting the pockets of his jeans and his jacket for it.

"Gone," came the woman's voice from above. "Snapped in two."

"Shit!" he swore underneath his breath, cursing the Lestranges.

The basement was pitch black. Wes was as blind as if his eyes had been gouged out. His body washed cold. He brought his fingers to his eye sockets, they were still there, thank Merlin! He turned back to the stairs and tried to run up, but his foot fell through each one like it was a mere projection. So how the hell had he walked down them, then?

He leaned forward to touch the stair and felt a fabric fall down his arm, soft and velvety. Cold metal touched his forehead, one grope told him it was a pointed hat, like one of those old crowns of old.

Wes grabbed it and a mirror appeared in front of him, glowing.

It was him all right, broken face and all, dressed like a king. He swallowed. 'The king must die,' isn't that what Bellatrix had said?

Without sight of any knife in the mirror, the image began to bleed from the neck. He raised his hand to feel the sticky warm fluid down his throat. Wes let out a horrible scream, unable to repress it any longer. The image laughed, and in a blink, he was in his dirty jeans again, back upstairs, facing Bellatrix Lestrange at the round table again. "Choose another card," she grinned, shrugging her shoulders.

Wes's mind was starting to fail, like one of those Muggle engines that turned over and over, since Norah's people couldn't travel by broom, Floo Network, or Apparition, they had to rely on old cars.

He couldn't formulate a thought. Every action could lead to more pain and there was no way out of this godforsaken evil house. None.

No way out. Wes brought his hand up to his throat. No blood.

The werewolf glanced at the floor, no trap door. His eyes went to the walls, the windows and doors were back, the iron grille gone. He breathed. There was a chance, albeit a slim one. This bitch had limits. Maybe the window was always there, even if she made it look like brick. Outside was night now. Norah would panic if he didn't check in with her at their appointed time. His people would find her.

All he had to do was stall. He turned back to Bellatrix and swallowed nervously. "It's getting late, Miss Lestrange. I do not wish to trouble you anymore. Perhaps I could return with the others tomorrow?" Bellatrix Lestrange smiled at him like an angel, and it was very disturbing. It was a look he never wanted to see on her face.

She cackled, waving her wand and the playing cards disappeared.

"How long do you think you've been here, pet?"

"An hour?" he guessed, not really wanting to answer this woman.

"Try two weeks," the witch grinned, revealing rotting teeth. "The neighborhood that you live in was plastered with your photographs. Your parents split. Your kid sister is on drugs. Apparently, your little condition left quite the hole in their lives. They hate you. Beast."

Wes would have responded, were it not for the ropes that materialized out of thin air that rendered him immobile, tied to his chair, a gag over his mouth. Wide-eyed and horrified, he froze.

He tried to form words, a scream, a shout, anything. Nothing.

"Settle down!" shouted a male's voice, his master's. Greyback.

Greyback and his other top lieutenant, Alpha, a burly wolf that could have been a great Auror in another life, entered. They looked thoroughly displeased, and not because of Bellatrix's treatment.

"I hate it when they die too soon, but bad dogs must be punished," sighed Bellatrix, fingering her wand lovingly, crossing her legs and draping them over the armchair lazily. "Wouldn't you agree, dog?"

Greyback let out a low warning growl from the back of his throat.

"I know what you've been doing, boy," Greyback snarled, baring his canines, pulling back his teeth to reveal his sharp incisors, yellowing gums. His yellow eyes met Wes's, and Wes visibly flinched.

Sensing that the young wolf wasn't going to talk, their leader frowned. He snapped his fingers irritably and Wes's heart broke.

Norah's hands were bound behind her back, a gag in her mouth. Her brown hair fell loose in gentle waves around her shoulders, her dress ripped and slightly bloodied. A purple bruise was beginning to yellow and age above her left browbone, and a black eye on her right.

"You know," Greyback crooned, kicking over a spare chair and straddling it backwards, his chair only inches away from Wes. "I was going to kill your pretty little wife, but I just can't," he murmured, almost sounding regretful. "I am your worst nightmare, kid, because I know it isn't your own pain you fear. You fear the pain of those you love the most. Isn't that right, boy? Did you think you could hide this from me?" he bellowed, rising his voice an octave and backhanding him so hard that the young wolf's chair toppled over. He kicked it.

Wes let out a horrible holler, muffled through his gag.

Greyback snorted and rolled his eyes. "I never take out a worthy adversary until they cease to try. But their loved ones are fair game. This little bitch reminds me too much of my last mate to just kill her." Fenrir sounded far too calm for Wes's comfort. He was planning something. He toyed with a lock of Norah's hair tenderly.

One of his hands drifted towards her lap, wandering slowly up her thigh, up the skirts of her dress as he forcefully shoved her into a chair. "I dreamed so long of taking those the wizard world loves the most and savoring the moment. I dream of teaching them who the smartest one really is. The deaths of those you cherish is my reward."

Norah struggled against her bindings, but it was no use. She let out a tiny, muffled shriek through her gag as Greyback toppled her chair over with a swift kick of his boot, and that's when the man's lips clamped down on her ear. They were light at first, then he bit down harder. Norah Jameson struggled against the wall, her eyes darting back and forth, wildly searching for something, anything to help her.

The teeth turned into a tongue. It slid over the rim of Norah's ear and caused her to visibly shirk away from Greyback's touch as best she could. Two rough hands slid down her sides and landed on her waist, just above the knot of her dress. She didn't know what to do.

Norah hoped this was all some sick joke, a cruel nightmare. The werewolf's lips moved down to her neck and nipped at the tender skin there. She was only barely conscious of Wes's muffled screams.

She knew this would be bad. Her skin bruised so easily, and the Muggle woman knew this man would leave marks that she did not want, and when Wes saw it, well…his temper was going to implode.

Norah let out a tiny squeak through her restraints, screaming through the gag as Greyback wrestled her to the ground until he was able to flip her violently on her back, his face only inches from hers.

His fingers curled and fisted into the back of her hair.

"Has your husband ever taken you, girl?" he taunted, whispering it into her ear. He seemed surprised when Norah nodded her head. "Do you like it when he does? Do you scream his name into the night, sweet thing?" he asked, cupping her chin in his hand, forcing Norah to look Wes in the eyes. "Don't bother lying to him. It's a bad way to start off a marriage. You watch this, boy. There's no way you can keep her satisfied in bed, kid. Watch your pretty little wife become a woman now," he whisper-hissed through his teeth.

His coarse, whisky tongue licked at her skin, stubby fingers curled in her hair. Every time Norah closed her eyes, Greyback bashed her head backward onto the hardwood floor, demanding she open them.

She didn't want to. Anything rather than watch his face light up with power and lust. He became angry, his force less controlled, until finally blood ran from the back of her head onto the floor of the den.

Her head lolled like a doll, but he had finished with her anyways.

He snorted and whispered close to her butterfly stud earrings.

"Dead's better anyways. Great ride, doll face." He stood, adjusting to his full height. "That's enough!" he bellowed, raising his hand to Wes again, who continued screaming and shouting obscenities through his gag, not giving a damn what happened to him anymore.

A beat. A pause. When it became clear to all the parties the young man was not going to calm, his strong hand cracked across Wes's face, snapping it back with the force of his blow, causing his head to reel sickeningly as it slammed into the floor. When black dots quit covering his vision, Wes was jerked violently upright, brought to stand in the middle of the room with the werewolf holding his arms tightly behind his back, the pain of his hold causing poor Wes to let out a horrible cry of pain, and this caused Bellatrix to burst into delighted laughter, continuing to finger and twirl her wand in delight.

Fenrir let out a tiny sigh, almost sounding like he was regretting what he was about to do. "Just so you know, boy, this isn't personal."

He gave a curt nod toward Bellatrix Lestrange, who raised her wand, pointing it at Norah Jameson's chest. "Avada Kedavra!"

In his intense silence, Wes somehow screamed with his whole body. The eyes wide with horror, the mouth rigid and open, his chalky face gaunt and immobile, the fists clenched with blanched knuckles and the nails digging deeply into the palms of his hand.

The scream tore through him like a great shard of glass. He felt his eyes widen and pulse quicken, his heart thudding like a rock in a box. Wes's distraught scream came again, terrified, human…

The world turned into a blur, and so did all the sounds. The taste. The smell. Everything was just gone. Wes paused trying to hold back the strange feelings rumbling inside him, but he couldn't. A lone tear traced down his cheek, and just like that, the floodgates opened. So many tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down his face. He breathed heavier than he ever had before. He was gasping for air that simply wasn't there. His throat burned forming a silent scream. Is this what crying felt like? A part of him dying inside yet, relief…

"I just showed you what happens when you cross me, kid," Greyback growled, turning towards Bellatrix Lestrange, watching as the briefest flickers of disgust crossed her once-beautiful face as she violently kicked aside the Muggle girl's corpse. "Test me again, I dare you. Let's see how fucking proud you are then," he spat, disgusted.

He gave a nod to Bellatrix and she lazily waved her wand, ropes binding Wes and suddenly he felt himself being lifted in mid-air. "Take him down below," ordered Greyback. "I'll deal with him later," he snarled, letting out a low growl. "In the meantime, feed the girl to the others. She's good meat. No point in letting her go to waste." Wes heard Master Greyback's words, but barely registered them. He cried like there was too much raw pain inside him to be contained. He cried like his spirit needed to break loose from his skin, desperate to release an elemental rage on the world. The words of Alpha made no difference at all, as Alpha and Bellatrix were the ones to lead him to the cellar down below, to be thrown in a cage.

Wes was beyond all reason, beyond all methods of calming. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his whole face was red, and he screamed at the very top of his lungs. His upper body and shoulders wracked with every sob that forced their way out, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he gasped for breath, and he clenched his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists, each time he threw his head back to let out a blood curdling scream in between his steady stream of tears.

Alpha knew that sound. It was more of a howl, one of loss.

Wes had managed to calm himself down long enough to hear the sound of Greyback and Bellatrix conversing amongst themselves in low tones. "The Dark Lord says we're to prune away parts of your family tree," he growled. "Cut away the parts that threaten the growth of the rest," Greyback snapped, sounding like he was highly amused.

"My sister and her little brat," hissed Bellatrix. There was no mistaking the hatred in her tone. Wes could imagine the angry, red flush creeping its way onto her cheeks. "I plan to deal with my niece."

Wes wondered if he could lose his humanity in a single moment. Or could he get it back in an instant? Was humanity something that could leave him behind forever? Or really, had it always had a deep place inside of him all along, even after his transformation? Even when he swore it wasn't there. Some of their clan showed it more than others. Some of them, like Wes, blocked it out completely.

Master Greyback had just killed his wife, the only good thing he had left in a cruel life of isolation, and Wes knew that he was now hardly human, the mean thoughts of revenge flitting through his mind. Did he still even have humanity? Did he still have a soul?

He had been human once. Maybe he'd been a human the entire time. Maybe he had blocked out all his humanity so he could taste the only thing he now craved: Revenge. Wes knew in this moment that he had lost the right to be called by that title, a human. He wanted nothing more than to rip Greyback's throat out, watch him bleed out. A human stopped being human when they lost their humanity.

It took Wes exactly five minutes for him to lose his.