Chapter One
Dangerous Times

"Miss Burke?"

At the sound of the voice, she glanced up from the counter and sighed. Oh for the gods' sake. How many times was he going to come here? This wasn't exactly Diagon Alley, nor were their customers self-respecting Aurors with the Minister's stamp of approval. Borgin and Burkes sold items from the darker side of wizardry, the slightly-less-than-legal items that no one asked for the provenance of.

Sophie stood up off her stool and forced herself to give her visitor an amicable smile. He'd asked her out at least a dozen times now and every time Sophie politely refused, making up some excuse about the shop. "How can I help you today, Mr. Cole?"

"I was wondering—What I mean to say is—"

Behind Mr. Cole, the doorbell jangled quietly when someone else entered the store. He stepped close so as tower over the smaller man, clad in black robes and a cloak to conceal his face, and carrying himself with a slight hunch as if to disguise his size. "The lady isn't interested, now bugger off."

"I beg your pardon?" Cole turned around, immediately freezing where he stood. He lifted his head to take in the man behind him and swallowed as fear surged through him. He was broad-shouldered, his limbs seemingly thick with muscle and a matted beard covered his jaw. If not for the look in his eyes, Mr. Cole might've refuted his suggestion and told him where to shove his wand. Instead, he lowered his gaze, ducked his head and rushed outside into Knockturn Alley without another word. Those eyes, that look . . . a few seconds longer and there was no question that he would've been killed.

That man had the eyes of a monster, one who revelled in blood and death.

"Thank you for your custom," his voice was deep, sarcastic and deadly. "Now don't come back."

Merlin's beard. Sophie rolled her eyes and sat back down on her stool. She should've known he would be out prowling the streets. It was almost dusk and that meant dinner time, although what he ate (or who) was a question she didn't desire to ask. "You didn't have to do that."

"He's a pithy rat. Can't gain power for himself so he looks for the next best thing: someone with it. Why do you even entertain these deluded idiots?"

"Mister Greyback," Sophie began in a somewhat condescending tone, "if you scared off every suitor I have, I'd be single all my life." She gestured at the front of the shop, the heavy drapes that hung at each end of the windows and the door, murmuring a spell under her breath. The drapes slid across the curtain rod and closed themselves, the 'open' sign on the door turned itself around to say 'closed', and the dozen or so locks slid into position. "Now what do you want?"

Fenrir straightened himself out and groaned, rubbing the kinks from his neck, stretching the muscles in his back. He hated slinking around like some pathetic mudblood but people paid less attention to a damaged old man than they did a tall, dangerous werewolf. "Has that shipment of wolfsbane come in yet?"

"I told you I'd send an owl."

He grunted in response and pushed his hood back, revealing fresh scars on his face and neck, scabbed over but still sticky with blood. Greyback slid his cloak off, scrunched it up and tossed it aside near a glass cabinet. He proceeded to fetch a chair and seated himself by the blazing fireplace, warming his hands. "Any old men here?"

"None aside from you."

"Haha. Very funny."

"So why are you here then?" Sophie tied her hair back and carried her own stool towards the hearth, sitting beside him. The store was always dimly lit with candles only, or old oil-burning lanterns. Gaining the use of electricity would require interaction with muggles, and clearly the entire Wizarding World didn't care for the advantages of modern technology. If only they'd update themselves, she wouldn't have to sit there manually totalling sales records and hauling out the inventory books on a daily basis. "I thought we had an agreement that you'd stay away unless it was an emergency. Granddad can't afford to have Aurors around here, not now Voldemort's back."

"Full moon's coming."

"I'm aware." She could feel it in her bones. The ache that came with the nearing of it. Her skin would begin to itch by tomorrow. A day after that, she'd be holed up in a cellar, bound by enchanted chains attached to the floor and walls. After eighteen years, Sophie had become somewhat of an expert on her moon-induced symptoms.

"You should come with us. You might enjoy yourself."

"Who's 'us'?" Sophie asked. There was always a catch with Greyback. Some kind of hidden agenda. He believed in werewolf supremacy and all that garbage, the kind of ludicrous ideas she'd dismissed throughout her entire life. It was almost as ridiculous as believing in prophecies and stories of teenage boys with scars on their foreheads defeating powerful wizards who wielded forbidden curses as easily as they breathed — but that was besides the point.

"Death Eaters."

"No, thanks." If she wanted to ruin her life, there were plenty of other ways of doing so. Exposing herself as a werewolf, thus revealing she was 'tainted' to the entire pureblood community, or walking up to her grandfather and telling him she was quitting her job, would all serve perfectly to condemn her to misery. "I already know what happens to people who get involved with you lot. They either die or disappear and end up in Azkaban with the Dementors."

Fenrir scoffed and swivelled around to face her. He reached for Burke's throat as if to seize her and pull her close but she stood before his nails could graze her skin. One day, she wouldn't refuse him. Eventually Fenrir would have her just as he'd had the others, but whether she was alive or dead by the end — that'd be entirely up to her. "Wouldn't it be more fun than sitting around here or locking yourself up? Werewolves don't get the Mark anyway."

Voldemort was a mudblood himself but acted like a pureblood. It was all a sad little pantomime in Greyback's opinion.

"Living is more fun. Freedom too."

"Sophie—"

"I might have been turned into a monster but I don't have to act like one." Her last year at Durmstrang, being in the wrong time and place, had led to waking up in a forest with a mouth full of blood. With no idea of how she'd gotten there, Sophie had cleaned herself off in an icy stream and run back to the school. The next month, after finding herself injured and bleeding, she sent a letter to her grandfather, Caractacus. His reply began with four words: Dear Sophie, I'm sorry.

Suddenly, the doorbell chimed loudly. She hadn't heard the locks disengage but it was clear the proprietors of Borgin & Burke were back from their supply run. Sophie carried her stool back behind the counter and watched the two grizzled old men lead a dozen floating boxes inside. The shop's owners had finally returned.

"Your potions will be ready for pickup tomorrow morning," Borgin said, fixing Fenrir with a hard stare. "If you wouldn't mind leaving, we have business to attend to."

"Tomorrow then." Fenrir fetched his cloak and tossed it over himself, glancing back only to nod at Sophie. When she glared at him in return, he smiled and exited the shop. "I'll be here at dawn."

A frustrated growl escaped Sophie's throat and she flicked her fingers at the door, slamming it shut with a spell. The locks returned to their previous positions while a heavy stone slid across the floor, blocking the door from opening again.

"How many times have I told you not to lock that door?" Caractacus pointed his wand at her. "It only takes one moment for him to kill you, Sophie. You left yourself with no escape."

"Oh leave her be, Carrot," Borgin intervened. The use of his nickname earned Borgin a jab in the ribs from Caractacus' wand. "She's plenty old enough to deal with that mangy mutt."

"What did he want?"

"The same as always. I don't care how many of those ingrates Voldemort has working for him, I'm not joining them."

"And what do you really want?" Caractacus hobbled towards her, waving his wand as he went. The floating boxes behind him stacked themselves neatly on a corner bench, ready to be carefully unpacked later. "You've been here for ten years, Sophie. Isn't it time you moved on?"

"Granddad." Every time they had this conversation, it was the same old thing. Get out of the shop, get yourself a life and a house. "If I wanted a wife or husband, I'd find one. I'm not the settling down type." What she wanted was to find a cure (one that didn't involve dying) and free herself from this curse. While the perks were nice, the cons of being a werewolf outweighed the pros. "I've got too much to do, and besides, who else is going to keep you from being caught out? Everyone thinks you're dead."

"He's going to come back, Sophie."

"I know. We're the only supplier of wolfsbane potions a man like him can go to."

"You know what I mean, child."

Yeah, she did. It wouldn't make a difference in the least, however. Sophie tugged the hood of her cloak up to conceal her face and walked towards the door. She disapparated in an instant, leaving behind only a loud echoing crack and an irritated old man.

The only way to stop Greyback from returning to the store would involve heading him off, and that was exactly what Sophie planned on doing. If Fenrir came back at dawn, she'd dredge up every fragment of anger and hatred that dwelled within her and hit him with the strongest Crucio curse the mongrel bastard had ever felt.

Sophie apparated in one of the nearby alleys and adjusted her cloak. She rolled her sleeves up past her wrists to free her hands — Caractacus hadn't allowed wands in his house when she was young; they weren't a source of magic, only a tool, and he disapproved of people's overreliance on them — then fetched a brown paper package from within a small wooden barrel that rested against the right wall.

"Is that dinner?" His voice was low and deep, and Sophie couldn't help but hear the underlying threat in it. His tone also sent a shiver down her spine and stirred feelings she fought hard to suppress. Fenrir sniffed and cocked his head, approaching her from the upper end of the alleyway. "Smells rotten."

"No more than you."

"Funny. Have you come out to play?"

"No." Sophie shoved the package in her pocket and walked past him, making sure she struck him with her shoulder. It felt like she'd hit a wall, no doubt hurt her more than it did him, but Sophie didn't stop moving. "I don't think you'd like the kinds of games I play."

His lips curled up into a wicked grin, revealing sharp teeth and a thick scarred tongue. Greyback's eyes shimmered gold in the darkened alley when she smacked into him. He let her pass without incident, watched her stroll in the direction of Diagon Alley, then finally asked, "What games would those be?"

"The ones where I find you after the full moon—" Burke didn't look back, just kept on walking. "—and rip your heart out of your chest."

"Ooh. I like those games." He chuckled, body trembling with amusement, and dragged his overgrown nails over the bricks so as to leave five long scratch marks. "Sounds like a bloody good time. Shall I see you at dawn then?"

"No. Your potions will be left by the back door."

"Pity. I was looking forward to you killing me."