FIC: "Road to Darkness" for carrot Recipient:carrot / vikingcarrot Author/Artist:curia_regis Title: Road to Darkness Rating: R Pairings: Fenrir/Luna Word Count: ~1150 Warnings: Violence, Non-con Summary: The road to darkness is a journey not a light switch. Author's/Artist's Notes: Thank you to my beta!
Road to Darkness
This is what Fenrir remembers about being human.
The feather-light kiss on his cheek every night. The cloying smell of poppies. The taste of bread and milk and the feeling of vegetables crunch under his young teeth.
But that's all gone now, replaced by sharpened senses and the steady, hunger that stays around even when he seems human on the outside. Fenrir loves the wolf inside him. It somehow seems more real than the weak, two-legged form that he's forced to endure for most of the month.
There is something so simple about being the wolf. It's all eat or be eaten. Hunger or death. There is no politics, no power-play, no grovelling at the feet of a madman because that's his last choice.
Fenrir glances at his calendar and marks off yet another day.
When Fenrir was seven, he was still human.
His mother kisses him as she gives him a gentle shove toward the school bus. He's terrified of how rambunctious the boys on the school bus look. "Stand up to them, and they'll respect you," she whispers in his ear as he leaves.
As Fenrir boards the bus, he feels his knees knock together. He's shaking with fright and he just knows the boys smell his fear.
That afternoon, Fenrir comes home trailing blood, his arm in a sling and his eye mottled and black. He vows revenge.
The last thing Fenrir remembers as a true human being is going out for a walk in the middle of the night. He's furious at his mother, for a reason he can no longer remember. She has warned him before about walking in the forests near their cottage, ("your father told me about certain . creatures that roam these woods," she said with worried eyes).
But Fenrir thinks he's invincible with his Superman cape and plastic sword.
What eight year old boy doesn't?
The creature comes out of the darkness, a terrifying dark streak. Fenrir remembers feeling teeth sink into his shoulder, feeling blood trickle down his cape, and the golden-brown eyes of his attacker.
When Fenrir arrives home, bloody and dirty, his mother looks frightened. She cleans the wound with antiseptic and binds it up and tells him that she's going to take him to a hospital in the morning.
In the morning, Fenrir wakes up to an empty house, bloody sheets on his mother's bed and a sense of complete and utter bewilderment and loss.
The next month, several young boys mysteriously disappear out of their beds in the middle of the night. The police are baffled and blame it on wild animals.
Fenrir wakes up in the morning after the full moon and is horrified to find blood on his hands, on his clothes, on his bedspread and most of all, blood is still dripping off the corpses of the boys who had bulled him.
Fenrir feels sick at the sight, but there's also a sense of satisfaction. They got what they deserved.
He picks a scrap of rotting flesh out of his teeth.
It takes Fenrir years to figure everything out. It takes him years to realise just exactly what it meant to be both a wizard and werewolf. It takes him years to understand the wizarding world and to understand how much hatred they had towards him. It takes him years to realise just how utterly screwed he is.
It's with this in mind that Fenrir joins the Dark Lord.
He knows he doesn't have another choice.
The Dark Lord laughs at him. "You're just a half-blood, and a werewolf half-blood at that. What makes you think I won't kill you right now?"
Fenrir stares up at him and shrugs. He isn't afraid. There's no point. He doesn't have anything to lose by being here. "I could bring werewolves to join your ranks," he offers.
The Dark Lord tilts his head to one side and regards him through heavily slitted red eyes. "If you can achieve that, I shall let you live."
Fenrir nods abruptly. He thinks that he might just be able to.
Sometimes, in his more philosophical moments, Fenrir compares being human with being a werewolf and wonders who is worse. He wonders this as he bites, deeply and savagely into the neck of the slight girl with the vague eyes and dirty blonde hair. He watches with satisfaction as she writhes.
Afterwards, he stands up and licks his teeth clean.
Fenrir stares at him, a short, fat boy who looks remarkably delectable in the dim light. "She's yours now."
"But sir." The boy hesitates. The girl's face and neck are mangled, but Fenrir is pleased to note he's kept her body pristine. One of her breasts is bared, her hair half-covering it. He can just see the faint rise and fall of her chest. She's still clinging onto life, just.
"Don't worry," Fenrir says irritably. "The blood isn't contagious. I'm not contagious right now."
"B- but, the blood," the boy says, stammering.
Fenrir stalks over and grabs the boy's left arm and pushes up the sleeve. In the half-light, the Dark Mark is still clearly visible. "Are you a Death Eater or not?"
The boy looks terrified.
With a sigh, Fenrir pushes him away. It looks like this girl is all his tonight. Roughly, he pulls her skirt up, his nails drawing bright red lines across her pale skin, while with his other hand, he pushes aside his robes.
She really is quite delectable, a prize. From what the Dark Lord said when he handed her over, she was apparently a friend of Potter.
"Well," Fenrir says, his voice a low growl, "you're mine tonight."
She's tight as he enters, so tight that he can smell the extra tang of fresh blood in the air.
Fenrir finds himself watching her. He heard the girl introduce herself to one of the children in the camp. Luna.
She's a strong one. Her eyes are bright with defiance as she stares around the camp, her gaze drifting towards the weak points in the camp's security.
He knows he's going to enjoy the chase tonight. With any luck, Luna would come back with another bite mark on her neck and the knowledge that she could never leave their camp again without being shunned by the wizarding world at large.
Fenrir loves the wolf inside of him, but if time turners worked that way, he would give anything and everything to go back and stop himself from being bitten.
But he's nothing if not practical. He knows there isn't much use in wondering what could have been. He's in this world and he's chosen his side.
He knows the Dark Lord will not have much use for him in the new world.
Fenrir smiles and bares his teeth at a small girl who shuffles by clutching a worn teddy. She's one of the newly turned, still terrified at their way of life and the idea of being a wolf. She sees him and runs away, curling up in a corner, sobbing loudly. Fenrir lets his gaze wander to the rest of the community, at the thin, poorly clothed adults, at the bedraggled newly-turned children and the smell of blood and sweat. His gaze lingers on Luna who stares defiantly back at him, one trembling hand over her neck.