Who: Fenrir Greyback When: 13/14 November 1979 Where: Solitary confinement cell in Azkaban What: Fenrir spends his first full moon in prison. It doesn't go well. Rating: R for violence and blood. Status: Complete
Fenrir paced across the tiny amount of free space in his cell, a low growl rumbling continuously in his chest. Unlike more normal times, this growl wasn't solely one of rage or anticipation but had fear and trepidation winding it's way through it. The stone cell had only a tiny slit window high on one wall but Fenrir didn't need to use that to know that the full moon was about to rise. And it had been twenty years since he'd been confined on the full moon. The wolf was used to running free and he knew that it would not react well to being caged.
He came to an abrupt halt when he felt the first shiver of the change run down his spine and he raised his head towards the window and howled, the sound echoing through the cell and the corridors, setting of other inmates and causing the nearest Dementors to swirl agitatedly. He continued to howl as his bones cracked and crunched and realigned themselves, as his muscles shifted and stretched and settled back into their new places. The howl gradually changed from one so very clearly from a human throat to the clearer, bell tones of the wolf.
Once the change was complete the howling stopped and the wolf stood in the middle of the cell, panting slightly. The wolf looked around and rage blazed in its eyes. He gathered himself and threw himself at the door, hitting with a heavy thud before falling to the floor. However the door barely moved, didn't even shudder, certainly showed no signs of buckling. The wolf clambered to his feet and growled, a sound of pure rage and hate, then threw itself at the door again... and again... and again. Throughout all of this, the door did not shift or break.
Finally the wolf stopped and stood near the door, panting and growling. He snarled angrily and started scrabbling at the door, trying to score the pitted iron with his claws. But the door was heavily reinforced with wards and all his effort made not a single scratch. The wolf could scent humans beyond the door and he wanted to hunt and kill them. That was what he was born to do and to be denied was infuriating. He could sense other, strange-smelling creatures beyond the door but those he ignored. The Dementors had little effect on the wolf for it knew nothing of human fears.
The wolf threw itself away from the door and seemed to fall into a fit of rage, throwing himself at the door, the walls, snarling and growling the entire time. When that proved fruitless, the wolf turned on itself in between attacking the door and in short order blood began to splatter over the floor and walls and fur was spread everywhere.
When the dawn broke, the wolf changed back into the man, leaving Fenrir lying naked on his back, slightly curled to one side, silent and still on the floor near the door. Blood oozed out of the great slashing claw and teeth marks on his chest, stomach, legs and arms. After several minutes, Fenrir twitched and his eyes flickered open for a moment before closing again. He made an abortive attempt at moving and let out a tiny whimper when pain lashed through him. He hadn't felt this kind of pain after the full moon since his first few transformations.
He made no further attempt to move or to cover himself. Nor did he make any attempt to clean his wounds. He had no strength and right at this moment, no motivation. Let them kill him through neglect, he didn't care. He had always lived at one with nature and nature would decide the outcome of this should his captors do what he expected and ignore him. He would either die of exposure or die of blood loss... or he would survive. He did not fear death. If he died, his pack would avenge him in a manner so bloody and so terrible that the wizarding world would forever regret caging him. Of that he had great faith.