Sorry this update took so long! I had a little bit of writer's block, but it's all written now. Sorry if it sounds a little funny, I haven't written anything for a while. But I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, so maybe you'll have fun reading it. Also, I changed the rating, since I figured this is a pretty dark story and there is some language.

A few days later, Greyback arrived at his flat. He switched on the lights, locked the door, and made his way into the kitchen. He started to make a sandwich for himself, as if everything was as it had been before the full moon. Then, just as he was spreading the peanut butter on the rye bread, he snapped.

The werewolf took the butter knife and with a pained roar, propelled it into the wooden counter, where it stood, quivering. The sandwich found itself soaring through the air, and Greyback yelled again, unable to get rid of his anger. There was a week's worth of dirty dishes in the sink, dishes that would never be washed. Greyback snatched up a half-full glass of spoiled milk and hurled it against the wall, where it exploded into a million sharp pieces. Despite his injured arm, Greyback threw anything he could get his hands on. It hurt, but it felt so good. He picked up a metal bowl next, and chucked it towards the shattered glass. It dented the flimsy wall and rolled away into the next room. This made Greyback more angry, who gathered up as many dishes and other kitchen-wares into his arms as he could, then smashed them on the ground.

After all the dirty dishes were gone, Greyback's turned his fury to the silverware. Once all the forks, spoons, and knifes were bent and twisted, Greyback threw himself against the wall. Again. Again. Again. When what of left of his kitchen stopped shaking, Greyback slid to the ground, his entire body quivering in rage.

"Why?" He croaked. "Why me?" Greyback wanted to shout, to yell, to scream at the world for ruining his life, but his energy was gone. He didn't know how long he sat there, curled up in the ruin he had made, but it was cut short by someone knocking at his door.

After about a minute of knocking, Greyback heaved himself to his feet and made his way to the front door, glass crunching beneath his feet. He opened the door with a half-hearted scowl, and said irritably, "What?"

A short, balding man stood there, his arms crossed and looking severely annoyed. Greyback recognised his as the landlord, but honestly couldn't remember and didn't really care what his name was. The man looked Greyback up and down, and finally rested his eyes on the werewolf's large hands, which were covered in tiny cuts. Greyback caught what he was looking at, and put his hand on the inside door knob and the other in his pocket.

"There have many reports of loud noises coming from this flat." The landlord said frostily. "That sort of thing is not tolerated here. If it happens again, you may find yourself without somewhere to live. Do I make myself clear?"

Greyback growled, and was pleasantly surprised to see the short man back up a few feet.

"I'll let you off with a warning this time, but any more crashes from here and don't expect me to be so forgiving next time!" He spoke quickly, clearly not comfortable around Greyback, but unwilling to back down.

Greyback closed the door in his face.

The next morning, Greyback woke up early and took a long shower. He had never felt so.. dirty.. in his whole life. And his entire life felt sort of grubby. His family, Slytherin, his appearance, his job, his flat.. But this was an all time low. The itching bite on his arm felt like it was festering, it felt as though anything he came near was contaminated. Everything was crashing down around him, and he had a feeling it would get worse before it got better. Then he reminded himself that it probably wouldn't get better, and he felt like smashing a few more dishes. But then, of course, he would get evicted.

His thoughts drifted back to Aylin as he got dressed. Still no sign of her. It had been a week since the full moon, and every day he sank deeper into depression, convinced that the werewolf had gotten her. He shuddered, imagining his perfect angel's mangled body in the Forbidden Forest. He growled (it had quickly become habit) and walked gingerly into the kitchen.

Although demolishing dishes was no longer an option, he still had what was left of the silverware. Greyback gathered the knives and forks from where they lay strewn about, and sat down in his armchair. He sat there, staring into space for a minute or two, then plunged a fork into the arm of the chair.

When he Apparated to work, something didn't feel right. He heard a noise in the back room, so he walked back there to find both of his employers, speaking in hushed voices.

"Ahem." He said.

The two immediately shut up and turned to look at him. When they didn't say anything, Greyback broke the silence.

"I'm all better now, have anything for me to do?"

The two stared at him, and Borgin's eyes narrowed.

"What?" He knew Borgin didn't like him, but something seemed a little... off.

"Aren't you going to tell us what happened, Greyback?" Burke asked.

"Oh, right." Greyback forgot that Burke had been the one to bring him to St. Mungo's, after all, of course he was curious. Unfortunately, Greyback hadn't thought to come up with an excuse. He couldn't let them know he was.. that it had been a werewolf that attacked him. How many times had he complained to the owners about how werewolves were all vermin that didn't deserve to live, and how many times had they agreed with him completely?

"I was in the Forbidden Forest, and I was attacked by," he wracked his brain for anything that could rip him to shreds, "a hippogriff."

"A hippogriff?"

Greyback nodded, hoping they would believe him. "I stumbled into one, and it went crazy."

"Ah." Burke looked at him suspiciously. "Because Mr. Borgin was under the impression that you had a run in with something else."

The blood rushed out of Greyback's face. "Oh?"

Borgin took over. "You've been out of work for a week! Are you honestly so dimwitted to think I wouldn't ask about you? It's been chaos here, with you gone and Ministry agents popping in every twenty minutes while there's a Black in here trying to buy a cursed music box! And when I go to see what's taking you so long, what do I find? A filthy werewolf!"

Greyback clenched his fists, then said slowly, "How did you know?"

"How didn't I know? I told them I was family, and they told me! I saw your bloody chart! Don't deny it, I have more than enough proof!" Borgin said, disgust twisting his face. "Get out, we don't need a werewolf scaring away our costumers and dirtying up the merchandise."

Greyback glared with all his power at Borgin. How dare he? Greyback took a step towards him and pulled out his wand. To his immense satisfaction, a wave of fear passed over Borgin's face.

"Greyback, get out of here. You don't work here anymore." Mr. Burke said dangerously, his wand pointed at Greyback's chest. "Now."

"You will pay for this some day," Greyback growled, using his new status as a werewolf to make sure his former employers would take him seriously. "You stay away from me, unless you want even more trouble."

Burke glanced uneasily at Borgin. The two were obviously unnerved. Greyback liked it.

"You wouldn't dare try anything." Borgin said. "Try something and I'll have you in Azkaban before you can say-"

"Try me. You tell anyone I'm a werewolf, you tell anyone anything, I'll tell them exactly what is in your inventory and where to find it. Or maybe," he added, smiling, "maybe you'll be seeing me again the next time the full moon rolls around, how does that sound?"

He left the room and slammed the door behind him, making the walls shake. Then Greyback quietly locked the door. He was going to make this as difficult as possible for those greedy scumbags. He pulled a table covered with valuable, fragile items on it and placed it in front of the door. He figured those two wouldn't be coming out straight away, if he had scared them as much as he thought he did. And when they did come out, he made sure they wouldn't be happy. Greyback quickly grabbed an armful of books off a shelf, as well as a penknife, a golden watch he'd had his eye on for some time, and some money out of the cash register. With a smile, he walked out of the shop, and Apparated home.

Now, on top of everything else, he was jobless. Greyback sat in his armchair (which now had assorted pieces of silverware sticking out of it) and tried to figure out what he was going to do. It came to him rather quickly. He hid what he stole from the shop in a closet, then got to work.

Since he wasn't completely sure of what Borgin and Burke were going to do, he locked all his doors and windows and set wards that would alert him if they were broken. Actually, the watch he had stolen would alert him. He was about to leave when an owl appeared at his window. Greyback groaned, and opened the window for the owl. As it flew inside, Greyback's watch started to vibrate. Oh good, it worked. The owl, naturally, had an envelope for him. Greyback opened the envelope, and read

Dear Mr. Greyback:

We have been informed that last full moon, you were bitten by a werewolf, thus contracting lycanthropy. It is necessary that you come to the Ministry of Magic as soon as possible to fill out the required paperwork.

Sincerely,
Frederick Chase

Werewolf Registry
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures

Greyback frowned. Well, he was going to the Ministry anyway to see if anyone had bothered to look for Aylin, he might as well get the werewolf thing over with while he was there.

"What was her name again?"

"Aylin Vance." Greyback was annoyed. Did they even care she was missing?

"Okay.." the secretary scratched down the name. "Can you give me a physical description?"

"Long black hair, blue eyes, pale skin, a little on the thin side." He said, impatient but willing to do anything to get her back. "Am I the only one who's asked about her? She's been gone for a week!"

The woman looked up from the parchment, and said, "Yes. Now, can you tell me anything else about her? Family, residence, employment?"

Greyback opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't know. Surprised, he shook his head.

"Well, I'll give the report to the proper department and we'll see if we can dig anything up on her. Thanks."

Greyback shook his head and turned away. Didn't anyone care she was missing?

Frederick Chase wasn't a particularly interesting man. He was blond and had a moustache, but other than that, he looked as ordinary as possible. He had a small office and a big desk, which had more drawers than Greyback had ever seen in one place. Out of one of these drawers, Chase pulled out an old notebook.

Greyback raised his eyebrows. He was sitting opposite Chase, twiddling his thumbs and looking around the room, which was rather empty. Chase flipped through the notebook until he found a blank page, then looked at Greyback.

"Name?"

"Fenrir Ryan Greyback."

"Date of Birth?"

This went on for a little while, and after he supplied his birthday, wand description, current and past places of residence, and former employment, there came a pause.

"Do you know who bit you?" Chase asked.

"No idea, it came out of nowhere. I was in the Forbidden Forest." Greyback said. He hadn't thought about who bit him before. He'd just thought of the wolf, not of an actual human.

"Alright, we'll get back to that. Now, I have to take your picture." Chase bent over and pulled out a large camera from one of the many drawers in his desk. "Could you stand against that wall, please?"

Greyback grunted and got up. He didn't like having his picture taken, but he might as well get this over with. It actually wasn't as difficult as he'd thought it would be. Chase didn't seem like he hated Greyback's guts. Maybe because it was his job and he was around enough werewolves that they didn't bother him that much anymore.

After Greyback had a couple photos taken, Chase told him to sit back down. The man put the camera away, and pulled out a huge, battered binder.

"I know you don't know who bit you, but this is Ministry policy. In about half of werewolf attacks, the victim knows the werewolf, although they may not know the person is a lycanthrope. That's a pretty big percentage, so I'm going to have you look through this, and if you see anyone you know, point them out for me." Chase gave the binder to Greyback, who furrowed his brows and began to look at the pictures. He didn't know if he wanted to know who bit him, but part of him needed to know.

It turned out the first few hundred pages of werewolves were dead already, so he skipped to the back. He was surprised to see how normal many of the people looked. Men, women, even some children, all standing against the same wall he had just stood by. Each photograph had a serial number printed on the bottom.

Greyback turned the page, and his eyes fell on a child, who couldn't be more than eleven or twelve. She looked oddly familiar. He squinted, trying to remember where he had seen her before. Greyback mentally shrugged, and started to turn the page, only to find himself staring at the same photo. Why was she so familiar?

Then he realised she had the exact same eyes as Aylin.