(no subject)
Who: Fenrir Greyback
Where: His home
When: 21 February 2002
Status: Complete
Fenrir always thought of the way he felt the morning after a full moon as something like a hangover. He hadn't had many of those in his lifetime- being a werewolf, as it turned out, gave a man a remarkable tolerance for drink- but he imagined it was similar. He felt tired, for one, more tired these days than when he was younger, although he didn't want to dwell too long on that. He also usually felt as though he had thoroughly enjoyed himself the night before, but the details were fuzzy around the edges. Finally, no matter how he felt, he knew he'd look forward to doing it again. He felt his best when the beast rode him, and that was the truth.
Last night had been a rare exception to his usual full moon routine, however. He had left his second in command responsible for the pack's activities, and had excused himself to tend to his own business. The business being, of course, how one poor little resistance fighter was faring with his first shift.
Fenrir had been surprised by the boy's fortitude, if he was being honest. He'd never suspected the Weasleys of being particularly hardy stock, but this one had beaten the odds when it came to his first shifting. The change into beast was always intense; how could it not be when your whole being was changing so drastically? Most humans who had been bitten, if left to their own devices, expired from the pain of it, and even if they survived that, didn't know how to control the wild thing that had taken them over, and found themselves shot, taken by animal control, or captured by the Ministry. Weasley, however, had played it smartly, shifting in isolation. He'd seemed to take to his new form as easily as some of the strongest wolves Fenir had changed, although, as with anyone experiencing those sensations for the first time, he'd been mindless enough that he hadn't detected the older wolf observing him. And what a form it was, too! Fenrir generally valued big, fast, and strong over appearances, but that red fur had been something to behold.
This was the first test Fenrir usually set new wolves: if they could come through that first full moon alive, they had a place in his pack. It didn't matter who they'd been before that first shift. The way Fenrir figured it, that initial change was like being born anew. A wolf that strong had no business running rogue and living a life in hiding, or worse, winding up in one of those bloody internment camps. He wouldn't deny an ulterior motive, either; having Weasley in his pack would be quite the coup. Weasely would, of course, have the protection Fenrir extended to all pack members, but he wondered if the boy would see it that way. He doubted the new wolf would be that pragmatic, but in any case, the offer would be made, and the choice would be in Weasley's hands.
Off to track him down again, then.
Where: His home
When: 21 February 2002
Status: Complete
Fenrir always thought of the way he felt the morning after a full moon as something like a hangover. He hadn't had many of those in his lifetime- being a werewolf, as it turned out, gave a man a remarkable tolerance for drink- but he imagined it was similar. He felt tired, for one, more tired these days than when he was younger, although he didn't want to dwell too long on that. He also usually felt as though he had thoroughly enjoyed himself the night before, but the details were fuzzy around the edges. Finally, no matter how he felt, he knew he'd look forward to doing it again. He felt his best when the beast rode him, and that was the truth.
Last night had been a rare exception to his usual full moon routine, however. He had left his second in command responsible for the pack's activities, and had excused himself to tend to his own business. The business being, of course, how one poor little resistance fighter was faring with his first shift.
Fenrir had been surprised by the boy's fortitude, if he was being honest. He'd never suspected the Weasleys of being particularly hardy stock, but this one had beaten the odds when it came to his first shifting. The change into beast was always intense; how could it not be when your whole being was changing so drastically? Most humans who had been bitten, if left to their own devices, expired from the pain of it, and even if they survived that, didn't know how to control the wild thing that had taken them over, and found themselves shot, taken by animal control, or captured by the Ministry. Weasley, however, had played it smartly, shifting in isolation. He'd seemed to take to his new form as easily as some of the strongest wolves Fenir had changed, although, as with anyone experiencing those sensations for the first time, he'd been mindless enough that he hadn't detected the older wolf observing him. And what a form it was, too! Fenrir generally valued big, fast, and strong over appearances, but that red fur had been something to behold.
This was the first test Fenrir usually set new wolves: if they could come through that first full moon alive, they had a place in his pack. It didn't matter who they'd been before that first shift. The way Fenrir figured it, that initial change was like being born anew. A wolf that strong had no business running rogue and living a life in hiding, or worse, winding up in one of those bloody internment camps. He wouldn't deny an ulterior motive, either; having Weasley in his pack would be quite the coup. Weasely would, of course, have the protection Fenrir extended to all pack members, but he wondered if the boy would see it that way. He doubted the new wolf would be that pragmatic, but in any case, the offer would be made, and the choice would be in Weasley's hands.
Off to track him down again, then.