The moon was full in the starless sky, casting an iridescent glow upon the forest clearing. In the middle of the clearing stood a small, cozy cottage. The yellow porch lamps had been lit and they glowed bright in the darkness, encasing the front of the cottage with a stunningly bright light. Keeping away the shadows. Inside was a tall, honey-blonde woman with crystal blue eyes wearing a floral printed apron. She whistled a happy tune as she washed the dishes in the steel sink. She glanced at the door once. Her nephew was late yet again. He had been late almost every night that week.

Out preying on youngsters.

She shook her head lightly in disapproval. It was nothing new but just thinking about Fenrir towering over a frightened child was enough to raise her hackles. The things that her nephew did were terrible indeed but they were not without reason.

The repopulation of werewolves was a complicated thing. To just bite a person wasn't enough anymore. A turned werewolf would have to intend harm, to intend to infect his or her prey which was something that took more focus than a transformed werewolf could muster. For werewolves born of two lycanthropes, it was simple.

A pureblood werewolf would only have to break the skin of his victim to cause instant infection, there were no transformations or intents needed. A pureblood werewolf would have total dominance over his infected victims and a turned werewolf would have nothing. They were like directionless drones, biting and infecting only during the full moon.

Over the years of breeding with humans the lycanthropy contagion had become diluted. Werewolves had lost their savage ferocity, and they were becoming weak. Delicate. Decadent. The virus had also been weakened by magic. There was a war against her kind in the Wizarding world. It was harder to live when people knew you were a werewolf.

Vampires were romanticized. They were glamorized by the public but the werewolves were subjected to ridicule. They were seen as savages though that was far from the truth. Their communities were elaborate and their magic was ancient.

She shivered at the thought. The blood of King Lycaon was nearly spent. She was the last of his direct descendants. Her and Fenrir as it were. Fenrir was too insolent to put his blood to good use. He absolutely refused to breed with any of the other pureblood werewolves. Yes, the bloodline would end with Fenrir. Savage, untamed, monstrous Fenrir. He had so much potential! His children would be virtually unstoppable and their bloodline would hopefully continue to thrive. If only Fenrir would mate with another pureblood. If only she could force him . . .

Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest as she thought of the possibilities. Calm yourself, Belinda. Don't give yourself false hope. She sighed deeply. If only she were a few years younger and had a fertile uterus. Fate was not kind to her. She'd lost the love of her life and her potency.

Belinda rung droplets of water from her hands. All she had now was Fenrir.


His name ringing in her ears, repeating itself in her mind. The son of her lover, her only living relative.

She wondered where he was.

Somewhere, deep in the alleyways of Knockturn Alley, within the ancient house of Amara, Fenrir moaned on the large four poster bed. The young brunette in his lap hummed rhythmically around half of his enormous length. The small hands around the base of his cock squeezed firmly, eliciting a grunt from the horny werewolf. Fenrir placed his big, calloused claw-like hand on either side of the boy's head preparing to thrust forward into that delicious, warm cavern.

"Yes, my pet. Suck harder you slut!" Fenrir growled as he thrust forward into the young man's mouth. The boy gave a startled cry and gagged on the thick flesh now pressing into his throat. He squeaked loudly, sending tremors through the throbbing flesh. Pleasure built within him, too quick to catch. With a loud roar, Fenrir spilt his seed into the boy's throat. Finally, after he was sated fully, he withdrew his hold on the boy's head.

The boy coughed and spluttered as he crawled away from the panting werewolf. Once he was far enough from the werewolf he gasped for air. His frail body shaking as he coughed. He was pale as death now, far from his previous tanned complexion. He whimpered as he lay at the edge of the four poster bed, his cock bobbing to attention.

Fenrir watched in lazy fascination as the youthful young man who had previously been in his lap, played with himself. A small hand slid down smooth alabaster skin, across his flat almost hairless stomach and into a sea of soft curling hairs to wrap itself around the youthful purpling member.

"M-Alpha, please. I've been good. Please let me cum." The young man pleaded. Fenrir chuckled. He crawled tiredly over the younger man's body. Raising himself onto his knees he pulled the youth into his lap by the legs, hard. The boy wrapped his arms around Fenrir's neck immediately. He ground his hips into the alpha's abs. The sensation of his hard cock gliding against slick muscles was almost too much for him.

"You have been very good, my pet. Perhaps you should be rewarded." Fenrir said, his voice was deep and rumbled with each word he spoke, his stomach vibrating softly with every word from his thin lips much to the boy's pleasure. He arched his back into the large claws holding him tight. He scratched his finger nails down his alpha's back as he tightened his legs around the man's thick waist. He mewled and moaned deliciously until someone knocked on the door causing him to stop almost instantly.

"Sir? Sir, your time is up. Alex, you have other customers you must attend to!" The annoying hostess exclaimed through the locked door. Fenrir only grunted. He grabbed the boy's hips methodically rubbing the boy's lower body against his abdomen but Alex would have none of it.

The boy pulled away harshly and scrambled off the bed. His once rigid phallus now limply sagging. The boy, Alex was his name, he walked over to the night stand and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. Once the Newport was lit, he turned cold hazel eyes on Fenrir.

"Sir, your time is up. I thank you for spending this night with me; I hope that my services have been pleasant enough that you wish to return many times in the future." Alex recited, boredom etched in his tone. He took a puff of the cigarette and turned his back on Fenrir.

Fenrir was shocked for a moment by the boy's coldness. He would have thought that Amara had tamed all of her servants by now. He would have thought that the old mistress had taught them well enough to never deny a customer. He was somewhat excited by the boy's actions. It had been a long time since he had met a feisty human in the old bordello. He'd enjoy breaking this one.

He pushed himself off of the bed with one swift movement. In a second he had pinned the frightened young man against the wall by his throat. Alex stared at the man assaulting him with fear and hatred. He opened his mouth as if to say something but clamped it shut when Fenrir bared his teeth. His big golden eyes never wavering from the young man's face. He smiled smugly.

"Do you think I care that you have other customers?" Fenrir said menacingly. The boy began to weep sadly. He pulled at Fenrir's enormous hand in futility. Fenrir felt his heart jump as the boy pleaded with him through eye contact. Those lovely hazel orbs were shiny with fresh tears. As they slid down the boy's rosy cheeks, Fenrir licked them away.

"Oh, yes. Don't cry -mmm- now. The fun has just begun." Fenrir's tone was mockingly sweet. He smiled at the boy and released Alex's neck. Alex looked up at him in bemusement for a moment, confused as to why Fenrir had let him go. Fenrir growled and opened his jaws wide, biting into Alex's neck. A loud, shrill scream echoed through the entire building, startling the patrons and frightening the staff.

A thick layer of blood splattered against the southern wall. The heavy coppery scent filled the air complimenting Alex's gurgles.

The cigarette lay on the floor forgotten; embers burning a fiery red.

Back at Grimmauld Place…

Harry opened an eye and peered over at his sleeping friend. Ron snored loudly; his long body sprawled out across the small bed. Harry lifted his head cautiously.

"Ron?" Harry said loudly but his slumbering friend did not wake. Ron snored louder and rolled over. Harry smiled like a Cheshire cat. He threw the covers off of his body and jumped from the bed. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and put them on quickly before grabbing his wand. He aimed his wand at his secondhand cotton nightwear instantly transforming it into a grunge-y torn black shirt and a pair of cargo khakis. He pulled at the bottom of his shirt, inspecting the band on it. Oasis had to be his favorite muggle band. He didn't much like the shirt but the spell he had cast was a very tricky one so he just decided to wear it.

He had been staying with Sirius at Grimmauld Place for most of the summer. Living with his godfather was a blissful living arrangement for Harry. For those past few weeks he had finally gotten to experience what life was like as a normal teenager. He didn't have to worry about playing the role of the boy-who-lived when he was with Sirius, he could just be Harry.

Over those few weeks he had discovered more about himself and the role that he had been playing. He had begun to get lost in expectations from others. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived, but never just Harry. The orphan who desperately wanted to hold on to some semblance of normalcy as he understood it. Who needed and wanted, though he would never admit it out loud, a family unit.

Sirius treated him like a person. He imagined that in the muggle world their relationship would be the equivalent of uncle and nephew or to some extent father and son.

The only irritating thing about living with Sirius was that his godfather was very overprotective. He wasn't allowed too far from Sirius' sight. He still got to have fun with Ron and Hermione. He could go to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley any day of the week but never alone. It was much better than living with the Dursleys. He didn't miss his small room or the hand-me-down clothing and possessions. At Grimmauld Place, he was cultivating his own style.

The other aggravating thing about living at Grimmauld Place was that it was headquarters. People who he would have liked to keep at a distance such as Dumbledore and Snape were almost always at the house. Constantly Dumbledore inspected his life, telling Sirius, quietly (in the way of someone nice, polite but manipulative as well) which way to punish him if he did something wrong, constantly dictating his godfather's role in his life. Harry hated what Dumbledore was doing to Sirius. He hated seeing his godfather like that but he knew that if Sirius went against Dumbledore he would mostly likely be placed back in the Dursley's care and that was something Harry didn't want.

His anger at Dumbledore had reached its peak that morning. Harry had asked Sirius if he could go to Diagon Alley alone since his godfather was supposed to be cleaning the basement by order of Molly Weasley. Harry had been in awe when Sirius had actually said yes. At first he had thought that his godfather would have given him a: "It's not safe for you to wander alone." Or the one that irritated him the most: "We know what is best for you." speech. He had been so overjoyed that he was actually going to have some freedom that he forgot about the omnipresent headmaster.

The old coot had stuck his nose in busy that didn't belong to him yet again. Harry had gotten another "I know what is best, my boy." speech and sent to his room so that the headmaster could talk alone with Sirius. After that Sirius had changed his mind about Harry going anywhere by himself.

Harry sighed. He'd never be free from the old man's control if he relied on everyone else to guide him. He stood in front of the tall mirror in the corner of the room. Silently he cast a quick glamour charm over himself. His hair instantly grew till it reached his back and his eyes lightened into two pools of light blue. His eyebrows elongated and his nose became stout. At the end of his transformation Harry looked nothing like Harry Potter. He smiled happily and went about the next task: Sneaking out of Grimmauld place unseen.

As he roamed down the hall of the second floor of Grimmauld Place he felt guilt build inside him. He wished he didn't have to betray Sirius' trust but he really wanted to go out with Duke Lemon, A muggleborn he had met in Diagon Alley. Duke was nice and he understood what Harry felt most of the time without Harry having to tell him. It was surreal having a friend who understood him so well. Ron and Hermione understood him as well but sometimes they would attempt to take on the role of a parent, an authority figure, which was something Harry had plenty of.

He didn't know which was worse, Dumbledore keeping him in the dark about almost everything and expecting him to follow blindly, Hermione trying to order him around as a mother would with her son or Ron trying to give him 'manly' advice as a father would. He felt good when he was with Duke; he didn't have to follow any rules and there was no stress, he could just have fun.

He tipped down the staircase silently, past the snoozing portrait of Mrs. Black down to the first floor.

Duke had invited him to a party a few days before and Harry had been so elated that he had instantly said yes. Only several hours later did Harry remember his boundaries. Sirius had specifically asked him to not get into any trouble and Duke was definitely trouble.

Duke was five years older than Harry, about six feet tall with spiky silver hair and he had never finished his schooling. He was devilishly handsome with his thin curvy lips. Not only was he fun but he had a lot of friends and girls liked him. Harry, though he had never been one to follow the crowd, wanted to be cool like him. Not for being the Boy-Who-Lived but for being himself. Duke was also a werewolf which was one reason why Harry hadn't told Sirius. Or Remus.

He had been going to Diagon Alley to tell Duke that he wouldn't be able to attend when Dumbledore had intervened.

In a way he was sneaking out to teach Dumbledore a lesson. The headmaster couldn't keep him under control for much longer, he'd break free soon enough and when he did, Harry had an amazing plan of revenge in the works for Dumbledore. He crept into the kitchen, tipping over the creaking plank of wood as he got closer to the sink. He peered out of the window just above the dripping faucet and turned back to look at the flapping door wondering if he should go through with what he was planning.

He nodded to himself as his rebellious heart gave a jolt of excitement. He knew it wasn't safe for him to try and walk out of the front door, Dumbledore might have put an alarming charm on it. He stood on the sink and opened the window before sliding out of it quietly.

Once outside Harry made a dash for it.

Meanwhile, in Knockturn Alley…

Fenrir licked his bloody chops and slid the bloody, convulsing boy to the side of the room. Amara stared at the man who was now licking blood from the floor with revulsion.

'Zees is horrible. Get up you evil man!" Amara shrieked, as she looked wide-eyed at Alex who was bleeding profusely from the several deep gashes marring his skin. Fenrir paid the ugly old woman no attention as he continued to lick the delicious blood from the smeared floor.

"Candy, Azure, and Genevieve please assist Alex. Take heem to zee doctor and be very careful wit heem." The old werewolf instructed the three women standing stock still in the doorway just staring at Fenrir, fright evident in their eyes. They stood there for a moment in the doorway just looking at each other as if they were deciding whether to obey their mistress or not. With heads held down they filed into the room slowly and picked Alex's still convulsing body from the floor; they left in a flash.

Fenrir looked around the room in a daze realizing his victim was gone he roared in anger and made for the door to retrieve the yummy boy but Amara stood in his way.

"I have 'ad enough of zees, Fen-were," Amara's French accent was deep and heavy with fury. She flipped a few locks of her lank golden hair over her wrinkly shoulder. Standing spine straight and her nose high wearing an elegant black dress, Amara was the poster child for elegance and wisdom. "I knew. I knew I shouldn't have allowed you in. Not after what you did to Cheiri." The old woman gave an apparent shiver as she remembered the young woman, Cheiri, who Fenrir had devoured so many months ago.

Fenrir only heard murmurs and mumbles as the bloodlust that had taken hold of him slowly receded back to the confines of his devious mind. He shook his head to relieve the red mist that fogged his vision and the clogged feeling of his brain. A second later Fenrir realized where he was. He was crouching bare bottom naked in front of one of the oldest werewolves he had ever met. Her eyes were a fury yellow as she glared at him. His cock gave a peculiar twinge at the thought of clawing out those big, soggy orbs.

"You've turned my biggest money maker! You dim-witted dog!" The old women screeched hysterically. Fenrir covered his overly sensitive ears as he got up from the floor. " You are a disgrace to werewolf society! Oh Merlin, your papa would be so ashamed if he could see you know." Amara shook her head in pity. Fenrir barked with laughter when he heard the elderly were-woman use his father's name. Bitter cold spread through his bones spreading through his entire body until he was completely frigid. Papa? Papa. . . Bastard. The words reverberated in his mind. He looked at the woman in front of him. This woman he abhorred nearly as much as he hated his father.

"My papa?" Fenrir gave another laugh that was filled with more malice and bitterness than amusement. "Always so quick to take up for the man who sold you into prostitution all those years ago. You call me a villain. You call me a disgrace to all werewolf society. " Fenrir scoffed as he picked the forgotten cigarettes from the floor and put one between his lips. "He murdered my mother. Murdered your husband, your son, your daughter, your family and here you are DEFENDING his honor. I wonder if you were defending him when he crept like a coward from room to room dispatching you of your loved ones." Fenrir mocked the old pureblooded were-woman. She looked sad and positively shell shocked. Fenrir felt overjoyed to know that he had finally gotten to the old bitch.

"Y-your father w-was," She stuttered hesitantly before changing the subject. "I have called someone to assist you with getting back home. After this I don't ever want to see you in my establishment again." Amara said coldly. Fenrir was already fully dressed by then. He was only wearing a faded, tattered pair of muggle jeans and a long, husky brown cloak.

"I don't need one of your mindless lackeys to assist me with anything." Fenrir took a puff of the cigarette and let the cool relief ease his bubbling temper. He walked to the door and stood in front of her for some moments just staring into her eyes. He smirked when she looked away. Dominance was the name of the game, he remarked to himself, and he would always come out victorious. Shoving the old lady harshly to the side, Fenrir left the room.

Halfway through the doorframe something small hit his chest and rebounded to the floor with a soft thump. Fenrir looked down at the girl on the floor. Her vibrant pink head whirling from the fall, the glasses on her face were leaning against the tip of her nose, slightly askew across her oblong face. She wore funny looking clothing in Fenrir's opinion. She wore a sleeveless black shirt with the words:"100% Lycanthrosexual", written across it in bold white letters. Three necklaces draped down her neck, all with some type of multicolored jeweled teddy bear on each of them. Her arms were being concealed by two long white and purple arm warmers with small glittering stars adorning each finger. The white cargo pants she was wearing were a little too big for her, Fenrir also noticed the little charms hanging from each pocket.

She stood up and looked straight into Fenrir's eyes. Fenrir took a step back at the look of eagerness on her face.

"Fenrir, this is Fawn Fur. She'll be escorting you home." Amara whispered from the behind the door. Fenrir was about to turn and say something to the elderly were-woman but he was rendered speechless when a thin layer of blood coated his once clean chest. His only warning had been a light sneezing sound. He looked back at the girl who was now too close in his perimeter. She covered her bleeding nose and looked up at him shyly.

"I'm really sorry about that. It is v-very n-nice t-to meet you, Mr. Greyback." The black girl stuttered constantly.

Fenrir sighed and walked right past the girl-shaped ball of color, he felt agitation grow in his chest. He ignored the girl on his heels and instead focused on getting out of the bordello as quickly as possible. He'd ditch the girl when he got outside.

The activities that had taken place that night were becoming more and more dissatisfying with every step he took, by the time he reached the threshold of the exit he was feeling even hungrier than he had when he had first went in. He looked from each side of the empty street and wondered where he'd be able to go to get a bite of 'fresh' meat. It was food that he was hungry for necessarily, it was the thrill of the hunt.

"Fur, are you a pureblood werewolf?" Fenrir asked, secretly plotting to eat her if the answer was no. He could feel her smiling even without looking at her.

" I don't know." She said cheerily.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Fenrir was quite befuddled by Fur's statement. How could she not know what she was?

"I know my mother is a pureblood but I never knew my dad. I think he was a pureblood too but I'm not completely sure. You knew my dad so maybe you could tell me? His name was Silver Fur." She rambled with an irritatingly cheerful disposition.

Fenrir burst into a fit of laughter. No wonder she was so sunny, the loony Silver Fur was her father. Fenrir thought.

He had indeed known Silver Fur. He had sired Silver, watched from a far as the boy he had bitten became a man and soon joined his pack. The man was the most passive person that Fenrir had ever known. Silver was an optimist, always saw the sunny side of life and never seemed to say anything out of turn. Fenrir had hated Silver Fur at first but after twenty-seven long years of knowing the man Fenrir had somewhat warmed to his ever-present optimism.

Silver had never been a strong man; on the contrary he was quite gimpy which sometimes had its advantages. Despite being gimpy Silver wasn't a coward and Fenrir respected him for that. Even if the man was a traitor at least he wasn't a coward.

He looked Fawn over. She did somewhat resemble Silver. Had the same almond shaped eyes, the same warm, caring honey brown eyes and the same flat stalk nose.

He could see a lot of Silver in her. Not complexion wise but in mannerism and minor features.

"Yeah, I know Silver. Bloody traitor, he is. He went back to the Wizarding world awhile ago, haven't seen him since." Fenrir stated nonchalantly. He shoved his hands in his pockets as they resumed walking. Flicking his tongue over the reminiscence of blood on his face he savored the sweet metallic flavor. Need more. Fenrir felt hunger build within him. He was thirsty for a challenge and his wolf was festering inside, hungry for more than an adrenaline rush.

He looked over at the girl whose head now hung low. Fenrir felt a little familiarity with this girl. Thirty something years ago it was he who had been walking through Knockturn Alley contemplating his existence and the absence of his father from his life.

"Buck up, girl. Thinking like that will drive you insane or worse, you'll worry yourself to death." Fenrir said awkwardly, attempting a smile. He wasn't good at comforting others, breaking their spirits was something he could do but he had never mastered the art of comforting.

"You're a half-breed then. I turned your father and your mother is a pureblood. You should be honored."

"It doesn't bother me anymore. I kinda thought I was a half-breed. Good that it has been confirmed. Good to know he's still alive… maybe." She smiled cheerlessly. "Anyway, lets get you home, Mr. Greyback."

The conversation between the two drifted into a tense silence. Fenrir was becoming more and more desperate. He needed to feed. Needed that satisfactory sound of flesh being torn from bone. Once they were beyond the streets of Knockturn Alley, Fenrir turned to his young escort. He no longer minded her presence.

For a brief few moments he contemplated eating her. No doubt the sound of her nimble young bones crunching would be satisfying. He had already tasted her blood so he knew that she would be delicious. For some unfathomable reason he didn't find her quite that appetizing. The fact that he had sired her father made her off putting to him, like the thought of biting off his own claw.

"So, do you know where I can find some uh. . . fresh meat?"Fenrir smiled, showing all his grimy, pointy teeth. Fawn looked as if she was thinking for a moment. She looked up at him, slight signs of fear showing in her gaze.

"There's going to be a blood fest tonight." Fawn supplied with a shrug. She didn't find humans very appetizing, she preferred the taste of duck, geese and livestock but she kept that to herself. She didn't want to disgrace her pack by telling the whole world that she had never tasted human flesh and never intended to. She was a kinder creature than most, preferring to exist with the natural world rather than destroy it. She enjoyed the hunt as much as any other wolf but like her mother and the members of their pack; the sound of humans screaming was disturbing. She wasn't a cannibal and never intended to become one.

Some werewolves allowed their wolven side to get the better of them; giving in to insanity and heinous living. There were other ways to feed the beast. "It is being hosted by the Lemons and their ilk." She said with disgust.

Fenrir grimaced at the surname. The Lemon clan. A right bunch of freaks they were. Some of the things that those people did were so disgusting and perverse that not even Fenrir, being the sadomasochist that he was, could speak them out loud.

"Luckily- I mean- Unfortunately, I wasn't invited and it's more of an invitation only party." Fawn said with relief. Just being in the same vicinity with a dead body made her queasy and forlorn.

Blood fests were a type of event popular in pureblood circles. A pureblood clan or a clan with a pureblood leader usually held them. They'd trick several humans into attending and invite only the purest werewolf bloodlines. The humans usually became intoxicated with alcohol and 'flavor enhancers' that were dressed up like drugs and potions. The humans were never aware that they were captives not even when the orgy ensued, not until the end when they were chased down like chickens and savagely ripped apart. More popularly, blood fests were seen as a rite of passage and organized for werewolves coming of age. In other circles, it was a way to build relationships and establish allies. Where else could you make friends if not at a fest? Fawn thought to herself before shaking her head.

She had never been to one and from what her mother had told her about them, she never wanted to go to one.

Fawn shivered when she caught sight of Fenrir's grinning face.

"Hmm. Lead the way, Fur." Fenrir spoke. No matter how much he disliked the Lemon clan he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to feed upon countless victims. Fawn shuddered. Just had to open my big mouth.

"I'm leading you right to your home." Fawn said unsurely.

Fenrir sucked his teeth.

"I need to feed, Fur. I need to feed quickly and right now you look real delicious." Fenrir lied. He licked his chops hungrily just to get his point across. Fawn looked frightened and backed away from him shivering. He seized her by the throat, preparing to ring her little neck until she divulged the location of the blood fest. Fawn squeaked as her airway became blocked.

"Ok. Okay. T-there's a portkey in Diagon Alley that'll take you there but you have to know the code to write to activate it. I know the code. Please don't kill me." Fawn choked out quickly. Fenrir released his hold on her neck, dropping her to the ground.

"Take me there." Fenrir ordered. Fawn scrambled up from the ground, walking in front of him. In that instant, she wished she hadn't signed up for such a dangerous adventure.

"Fine." She said angrily. She balled up her fists like an angered child, Fenrir thought with a laugh.

He thought of all the victims he'd devour and he licked his lips. Maybe his night would be a good one after all.


A/n: Please review and let me know how you like this. I tried to show the rebelliousness that was usually a trait of Harry and I hope I succeeded. I also wanted to show you the brutality and perversion that is Fenrir but I don't think I did so well. What do you think?

I want to thank Kati-kun, livelifelovehgdm, ladyroo88, blueeyddragon,kuro and last but not least Alex R.

Thank you all for the wonderful ideas! Without you guys I probably wouldn't have written this. Lol.