Everything belongs to Jk Rowling. This is a sort of sequel to Motivation, but it's about why the villains made the choices they did. You don't need to read that first.
My name is Fenrir Greyback. People say I'm the bad guy. But have they ever wondered what made me a villain. No. I was condemned by society the minute I got bitten. I was 8 when I was bitten by a werewolf. My father locked me in the cellar after I received the bite. He would throw food in, but never let me out. I had been in there almost 18 months when I found a way to escape.
I pushed open the door, and hit my father over the head with a bone from a piece of meat I had eaten. I ran, fled my cottage, and never looked back. I ran to London. I found out almost immediately that werewolves were supposed to register within a week of receiving the bite. My father, of course, had prevented this from happening.
I realized that I couldn't get help from the ministry. If they found out what I was, I would be sentenced to Azkaban. I lived on the streets of muggle Britain for a couple of weeks, until another werewolf found me. He took me back to a place he called home.
It was small, and run down. He was 18,had been bitten at 16,and run away, when his parents threw him out. He was registered. We lived together until I was 11. He told me that though the humans treat me like filth, I was equal to them. He told me we were better, because we didn't harbor the same prejudices.
When I was 11, some werewolf hunters found out that I was an unregistered werewolf. They broke in, and attacked us. My friend fought back, tried to stop them taking me. He had a wand, and had taught me magic.
The hunters killed my friend. Avada kedavra. I took my friends wand, and ran. The wizards who killed my friend got away with it. With murder. I ran back to London, and began to set up a family.
Family, of course isn't always about blood. My family was other abandoned werewolves. We were a family. Friends. A support network. A therapy group. A community. A tribe. A pack.
We supported each other, and protected each other from the hatred of the outside world. I then thought about revenge. I was 20 by now, and I had to revenge my friend. I thought about revenge, on those who hated my kind.
It wasn't all about revenge exactly. It was more complex than that. I thought that if I bit and turned anyone who hated us, who passed new legislations, or hunted us down, or spat at us, mocked us, refused us jobs, then they would understand how we felt.
It didn't work. I tried. It was all I wanted, at first. But the newly turned werewolves were just outed from society. Thrown away. So I needed a new plan.
I began to bite the children of those who offended me. It worked sometimes. Once, for example, I bit a 4 year old boy, who father called me soulless and evil, said I deserved nothing but death. The father regretted his words, hated himself for them. It made him think. He kept the child, and the child became the first werewolf to go to Hogwarts.
Sometimes, it failed. The children would be thrown out, literally, to the wolves. I protected those children, raised them in my pack. Gave them a family.
Judge me then. Tell me it's all my fault, say I'm a monster for wanting equality.