Title: Existence

Character: Un-named OC.

Summary: She always knew that the wolf would kill her. Original character one-shot.

Notes: This is from the point of view of a Dark female werewolf who was killed in the First War. She is an OC, and will remain nameless for effect. A bit gory in parts, so be warned... It's T for a reason, and may be disturbing for some. Aside from that, please enjoy!

She had been bitten at the age of twelve. Still young, considerably so. Most werewolves were adults, at least. Most had a chance to finish Hogwarts. Most... most had a chance.

Fenrir Greyback had been his name. For years, long years, she had thought it was an accident. A mistake. An off chance that she was near when the moon was full... as she stood amongst Greyback's ranks, she knew better. Her painful existence as a werewolf was no mistake.

What led her to this moment, a forty year old woman standing to the right hand side of one of the worst Dark creatures in the Wizarding world?

She wondered, as fur sprouted from her bloodied hands.

No one could describe the agony of a werewolf transformation. Some went mad within months. Others stuck it out, stubborn human pride and animal survival instinct, for once, warring on the same side.

She survived quite well, considering.

First came the fur. Little needles pressing into the skin, some ripping, some tearing. It didn't hurt too much, she thought. Like the injections she had as a child.

Next was the snout. The nose broke at an awkward angle then elongated. The teeth bit through human lips and a human tongue, the coppery smell and taste of blood all too enticing for those all too animal canines. The jaw opened wide, too wide, and snapped, like an elastic band.

Then the claws. The claws were the easiest part, she mused. It was when they started to scratch that they became a problem.

The paws came next. She couldn't count the numbers of times she had woken up with all her fingers and toes broken, or a digit or two missing.

The tail, strangely, took the longest. The spine broke first, each section snapping and ripping as though the bones were paper. Then it stretched, and broke through the skin and the fur. It swished once or twice before she fell onto her hands and knees - all four legs - and started the final part of her transformation.

Her ears seemed to tear themselves into points as they cut through the skin to rest at the top of her wolf-like head. Her knees and elbows bent themselves backwards and snapped.

All this time her organs were shaping themselves into that of a wolf's.

Sometimes the wolf passed out then, but never for long, never for long enough. The puddle of blood on the ground would grow steadily over the course of the night.

Then the self-harm would begin.

Moon. Pain. Howl. Hurt. Blood. Hungry. Trapped. Moon. Pain. Howl. Hurt. Blood. Hungry. Trapped.

The thoughts of the wolf were basic and repetitive. They were full of anger and pain and hunger, their only aim to get to human flesh. She wouldn't let the wolf control her. She locked it up in a white room that wasn't quite so white anymore.

The white room was her. The wolf painted it with blood.

She left Hogwarts - ostracised by people who thought they were better than her because they were people. Her mother tutored her. Her father left. Her sister went to Hogwarts and lived the life she used to have.

She met with other werewolves by the time she was twenty-six; she couldn't live on nothing, however much she tried to. Hidden in her cottage, slamming the door in the face of anyone who dared to come calling from the Ministry. She was a good werewolf, ma'am. Honest.

When she was twenty-eight, she had joined a colony, was treated like the animal she believed herself to be. Then he came.

"Join us," Greyback had growled in a room that was black, and dirty, and full of werewolves who were there for not just their own safety anymore. She was thirty now. Getting slower.

"Why?" One particularly brave man had yelled from the back. One of Greyback's lieutenants had him suitably silenced within minutes.

"I can offer you so much more. Our Dark Lord can promise a brighter future. We will no longer have to bow down to the humans and their petty rules! We can rise up against them, and take our place as gods!" He shouted, a rough quality to the less-than-human voice.

Loud cheers sounded from the room.

"Surely," she drawled from where she stood at the sidelines, thinking of her sister, "your precious Dark Lord is human too? And who do you answer to, Greyback? You might as well be his lapdog."

Greyback flicked his wrist, and his lieutenants moved forwards. Fifteen minutes later, and she was whimpering wreck, begging for forgiveness and swearing her allegiance to Lord Voldemort.

Wizards would never understand that there were far more inventive ways of torturing someone without the use of the Cruciatus Curse.

By the time she was forty, she had killed one hundred and seventy-two people, thirty-eight of which were children under the age of twelve. She was confined to this existence, standing next to a man she had hated all her life, fighting for the worst prejudices of her world, believing in empty promises.

"On my word," Greyback growled, his fingernails sharpened to be constant claws. They all nodded, knowing their place.

The pin pricks were digging into her neck now. Her scream became a howl.

That was the last night that she lived. An Auror by the name of Frank Longbottom killed her. She knew him. He fought for werewolf rights. A charming young man, her mother would have said. But she went after his wife, Alice. That was unforgivable.

Moon. Pain. Howl. Hurt. Blood. Hungry. FREE. Moon. Pain. Howl. Hurt. Blood. Hungry. FREE. Human. Hungry.

"No, no, stop. Stop. Don't go near him. Don't you dare," the human part of her begged in the confines of the wolf's body. "She's a good woman. Kind. No, please. Please stop."

Human. Hungry. Howl. Hunt. Scratch. Bite. Claw. Kill. Eat. Human. Hungry. Howl. Hunt.

"Kill me. Please, just kill me."

She was still so young. She had so much life. She had been a Ravenclaw, did you know? She wanted to work at the Ministry, a nice desk job in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department. She had ambitions. She had friends, a family, a future. She had been bitten at the age of twelve.

She always knew that the wolf would kill her.