Chapter 3: The Wolves of Frostmoore Heath
Rafe Canagan splayed his fingers across the table, carefully examining the maps of London and its surrounding townships he'd laid out. Rafe was a big man at six foot three. He had broad shoulders and the lean muscles that came from hardship and street fights. He pushed his hand through his greying ash-brown hair. He still remembered his first grey hair. Fenrir had laughed when a seventeen year old Rafe had looked in the mirror and screamed at his greying temples. He and Fen had shared a flat in London at the time.
Thinking back on it there hadn't been a time in his life he hadn't been within shouting distance of Fen. They'd lived next door to each other as children. He'd been turned by Fen at six on Fen's first full moon. Rafe would never forget the night he'd snuck out of his bedroom window to visit his best friend who'd been mauled by what he'd described as a bear dog. He'd been just in time to see the moon rise and watch his best friend turn into a wild animal. The creature had sunk its teeth into his thigh then looked him right in the eye and run away. Rafe had passed out from blood loss. He'd been woken the next morning by a ragged and bloody Fenrir who'd told him to pack a bag. As far as Rafe was concerned they'd been on the run ever since.
He looked back at the map, covered in blue and red dots. The blue were for the packs or lone wolves that were aligned with he and Fen. The red were targets.
Fen had started picking targets after he and Fen lost their jobs and were thrown out of both their flat and a pub for being werewolves and to top it all off The Daily Prophet reported the death of werewolf at the hands of an auror. The were's family had been kicked out of their home for being unable to pay the bills and the auror had gotten a bonus and a medal, the Order of Merlin Third Class.
Fen had been so angry at the injustice of it. In their roaming years they'd seen hundreds of weres. All living in squalor, all pissed on by society. Rafe was shamed remembering how he'd thought that was okay. He'd just accepted it as part of being were. Fen hadn't. He'd first broached the topic of targeted attacks with Rafe over a beer in a little were shanty town in the woods outside of Devon when they were twenty.
Firelight had danced over the scars on his face making his features even harder than usual. "I'm tired of being fired from jobs I'm qualified for. I'm tired of being kicked out of restaurants, tired of having shopkeepers refuse to sell me anything even though my gold is just as good as anyone else's. I'm tired of the scars on my face and hands marking me as a traitor to society instead of as the warrior I am. And so long as we keep putting up with this bullshit, so long as we keep living like this, fighting each other, nothing will change. You know the French muggles used to live like this. The rich kept kicking the poor down and shitting on them." Rafe had looked at Fen and seen the manic flinty spark in his eyes. Fen had always talked a big game but he'd never known Fen to act on his plans. Rafe could tell this was different. Fen continued growing louder so that he could be better understood by the crowd he was drawing. "You know what those muggles did? They rose up against the oppressors, they rose up against those who said they weren't worth anything. They chopped those 'superior' motherfuckers heads off and danced in their blood. They made a new world out of the old that wouldn't have them. I think it's time we did something. If muggles can do it without magic and without second forms, we can do it."
The crowd he had gathered cheered. He leaned over Rafe and whispered, "It's time to pick sides mate. I'm not as smart as you, I can't do this on my own. Are you with me brother?" Rafe had grasped Fen's proffered hand and stood. He knew where this was going. Until this point they hadn't done anything illegal. He thought of the auror who was this very second eating a full meal in his warm house with his warm family, while the wife and children of the man, not beast, man he'd killed starved in the cold just like all the weres who had now gathered around them. These self important wizards had to pay. He nodded to Fen.
Fen smiled and continued, "Our oppressors are trapped in their human skins and because they fear what they've trapped within, they fear us. Why? Because WE ARE FREE. They try to chain us to poverty, to hunger, to squalor because they are trapped in their fear and their hatred. I have a message to them. I, Fenrir Greyback, am coming for you. I will not take this lying down anymore. We may be few now but as you know our 'condition,' as you call it, leaves room for aggressive expansion. You may be happy kicking us down now but it only takes a scratch and you'll be sleeping in the bed you made." The crowd roared, fists punching the air. "I think it's time we united. We are wolves. That makes us brothers. That makes us pack. I think it's time we grew our family and I know where I'm starting. I'm starting with the wolf-slaughtering auror and we'll see how ready he is to kill weres when his wife and children are moon called." The crowd had roared its approval but the next morning they'd dispersed. Rafe had understood why. Fen wasn't the first to make barrel fireside speeches but nothing had come of them before and the weres of the shanty town weren't expecting results.
Their first pack had united behind its new leaders when photos of Fen and Rafe surfaced in wanted posters and a "brutal" werewolf attack on the family of the wolf killing auror was reported in the Daily Prophet. Hundreds of targets and countless power struggles later, Rafe stood in a house he owned, surveying maps of the United Packs of the British Isles all of whom answered to him, and surrounded by his three sons.
His marriage to Tasha, was what stopped him taking targets. Vengeance was a powerful thing and he'd dealt enough of it to know that if he continued the attacks with Fen, he was putting his wife and any future child in danger. So he'd stepped back. He'd focused more on Were internal affairs. While Fen started taking targets from the Dark Lord and growing increasingly violent with his consumption of human flesh, Rafe worked on bringing more packs under their centralized control. In that respect, Fen's imprisonment in Azkaban had been the best thing to happen to the packs.
Rafe felt shame creep up his face at this thought. It was true, he knew it. Fen was a loose cannon and controlling the packs had been easier without him. His imprisonment had allowed for the return of cooler-headed wolves to the packs, men like Marcus Connor and, for a time, Remus Lupin had been incredibly helpful in improving public opinion and distancing weres from Fen's legacy of violence. Rafe shook his head, Fen had been his brother when their own families had run them out of town. Even then Fen had been an "all or nothing" man and now that he had returned from Azkaban, more vicious than before, it was up to Rafe to shape and direct his rage.
As though summoned by these thoughts, Fenrir Greyback threw the farmhouse door open. To Rafe's shock, he was carrying a small toddler. Rafe's gut clenched. A child that young was too young to be moon called, the transformation would kill her.
"Fen, I don't know where you got that child but you should put her back. I'm sure her parents are probably worried sick." His tone was soft like a parent coaxing a petulant five year old but under the soft guise a cold steely strength permeated his words.
Fenrir laughed, "Her parents are dead. And you worry too much. This isn't what it looks like, I promise. I found her on guard duty today and the Dark Lord said I can keep her."
Rafe inhaled deeply, focusing on his breath as a way to calm the rage that was now clawing at his insides. "Fen, This girl is not a stray puppy and the Dark Lord isn't really knowledgeable on the finer points of being were. That child is too young. If she even gets a scratch from one of us, the shift will kill her."
At this Fen's smile broadened even more. "Oh ho. Watch this Rafe, then tell me this girl is a bad idea." He gently put the little girl down and crouched to her level so that it was absolutely clear that he was addressing her. "Now sweetheart, can you put your fox skin on so that dear Uncle Rafe can see how special you are?" he said coaxingly. The little girl beamed and turned to Rafe smiling.
To his surprise, she dropped to all fours as a fox still wearing her little dress, sweater and shoes. Fen pulled an envelope out of back pocket and tossed it to Rafe who read the front. "Trust me, no one's coming looking for this kid," said Fenrir gravely.
Rafe crouched down in front of the fox kit, gently scratching it behind the ears. He gingerly picked the fox up and turned once more to Fenrir. "Is this the only other form she takes?"
"No," Fen answered, "I saw her take the shape of an eagle owl like the Malfoy's too. I think she can be any species she's either seen or come in contact with before." Rafe's brow furrowed, "Can she shift based on pictures?"
"I dunno haven't tried it yet." Fen poured himself a fire whiskey and walked over the children's picture books scattered across the sofa. He picked up one book filled with photographs of wild animals and walked back over to Rafe who set the fox on top of maps that covered the table. The two men leafed through the book quietly arguing animal choices until they saw a pair of crystal blue eyes blinking up out of a snow white face. It was a beautiful picture of an arctic wolf. On the table the fox was once again a little girl and she was waiting patiently while the two grown men tittered over animal photos like schoolgirls.
Finally Fen turned the picture of the arctic wolf to her. "Can you show us this? It's called a wolf." The little girl picked up the picture, looking at it curiously. The arctic wolf ran about in the frame before turning to the camera and blinking slowly. She pulled off her sweater and slid off her shoes. Then she scrunched up her face in concentration. Within a few seconds a snowy white wolf pup was wriggling out of its little pink dress on the table.
A slow smile spread across Rafe's face, "Well I'll be damned." Rafe's mind spun possibilities. The two-natured movement could have a face. Someone who could take and animal form but without the danger of infecting others. They could have a spokesperson unsoiled by the brush of the curse. She would be able to interact with wizards without prejudice. This could be a new beginning.
Fen suddenly became very interested in his glass of fire whiskey and muttered, "some other death eaters will probably be dropping in occasionally to check up on her." Any joy that Rafe had felt at the arrival of this interesting new pack member curled up and died at the mention of Death Eaters entering their home. When he'd bought this farm he'd protected it with the Fidelius Charm as the secret keeper and upon Fenrir's return from Azkaban the Charm had been recast to include him as a second secret keeper.
A chill flushed through Rafe's veins, "Fen, you didn't."
Fenrir's expression flashed from shame to anger, "I had to! The Dark Lord made me tell him and the Lestrange's about our farm." Rafe buried his face in his hands, elbows on the table. He could feel the steady throb of a headache build behind his left eye. For fourteen years he'd kept this farm safe, slowly growing the pack into a full sustainable community. For fourteen years no wizard had crossed the property line of the forty acre Frostmoore farm and within two years of Fenrir's return the three most violent and dangerous witches and wizards alive had been given an engraved invitation to enter at will. Fenrir quietly slipped a small piece of paper between his elbows, "The next batch of targets the Dark Lord wants attacked at the next full moon."
Anger flashed through Rafe like lightning and he slammed his fists to the table, "My farm, Fen. Frostmoore is MY farm. I earned the money for the land. I rallied the pack. I built the house myself. I brought the packs together. I put the necessary protections in place. I made it a safe haven for the were's of the Isles. YOU were in Azkaban and since you've been back the aurors have been following my pack members around and harassing them and you've given the enemy clearance to enter MY home. You are my brother, Fenrir, but things have changed since the First War. You are not my better."
Fenrir's first reaction was overwhelming rage but it was quickly crushed by shame. "I'm sorry, brother. I've invaded your home and simply expected you to step aside. You've become your own man in our time apart but you must understand I owe the Dark Lord for getting me out of Azkaban. It is an honor debt I cannot, in good conscience, ignore." He rested his hands on Rafe's shoulders. "I promise that I'll take whatever repercussions there are for my actions. I'll be out of your hair soon anyway. The Dark Lord has put me in charge of rounding up muggle-borns and blood traitors once the Ministry falls."
Rafe had turned once more to the maps, meticulously marking the homes of those on the Dark Lord's list with little red dots. "The muggle-borns are our target group, their hard to get while young but the wizarding world shits on them almost as much as it shits on us so they at least know our plight. Though I've said it before, you'd do well to handle them with finesse. I understand that you've a reputation to uphold but it does us no good to have newly turned wolves who won't join the pack out of hatred. Need I remind you, we lost Lupin to the Order because of your reputation and he's not the only one."
Fenrir crouched down to the little girl's level and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Somebody is feeling grouchy this morning." He picked her up and turned to Rafe, "You should run with us this full moon. There's more than enough targets and it's been years since we've run together under the moon." They walked from the sitting room to the porch. Rafe looked across the farm, "I can't. My sons, Caleb and Felan are too young and Tasha is eight months pregnant. I'm potion bound until I know my family is safe."
Fenrir grumbled about how Tasha and the kids sucked the fun out of everything.
Rafe looked out at the farm from his porch. A massive garden stretched to the right of the house growing everything from salad greens and veggies to fruits and berries. A complex of cabins were nestled into a ring of trees as thick forest stretched to the road miles away. The weather was warm and soft. Several men and women worked in the garden, gathering ripe tomatoes and greens. Around the corner of the porch children were playing a small pick-up game of quidditch in a miniature village square formed by the small cottages. The whole complex housed about fifty weres.
A small boy ran full tilt into his father's knees. Rafe looked down at the shaggy sandy blond mop of hair that obscured his son, Caleb's face. The little boy, who had wrapped himself around his father's legs, looked up and cried, "Whatever Felan says I didn't do it. He ate dirt of his own accord, I didn't dare him or anything." Across the yard Rafe saw his two year old son, Felan waddle out of the garden, dirt covering his face, look around for an adult and, after laying eyes on his father, crumpling his face into angry tears.
The toddler hurried toward his father yelling, "Daddy, Caleb made me eat dirt!" Caleb stared at him horrified, "Did not!" he then lowered his voice and hissed at his brother, "You're breaking kid code!"
Fenrir arched an eyebrow at Rafe across his bickering children who were taking swings at each other around his knees. "Well, I'll leave the girl and her letter to you but no matter what it says she's a Greyback not a Black. If pack proves anything it's that family isn't blood bound. You of all people should know that."