fnrirgreyback-blog

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“Just getting something to drink before going home,” said Fenrir, glancing down at the familiar woman stand in the coffee queue in front of him. “Hello Amelia.”

“Merlin, this queue is far too long for five thirty in the morning. I’m desperate for caffeine today though - work’s even more mad this week, if you can believe that.

"And what’s dragged you out of bed this early, hmm?”

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When Fenrir had gone out that night, the sight of a completely and utterly wasted Remus was not the sight he expected to find. Alcohol and maybe a lay with some stranger he’d never see again was what he expected, not his wayward son. He wasn’t sure if the sight was welcome or not but he did know (and quirked his brow at) that the boy was utterly sloshed. 

He took the seat beside Remus, placing a hand on his back and turning him around to face the bar. “Two Guinness's please,” he said to the bartender, trying to figure out what to say to Remus. Finally, he found his words; “you really shouldn’t make a scene.”

January 8th, 1982 The Three Broomsticks [ @fnrirgreyback ]

“ - Well, look who it is,” Remus called out, loud enough that his voice carried through the pub and a few of the other onlookers turn in the their chairs. He’d lost track of how much time had passed since he’d entered the pub, but now his only attention was on the figure a few steps away. "If I’m nice to you, will you piss off? Because in that case - cheers to you,” he said, raising his glass clumsily, some of the drink sloshing out over onto his fingertips, which he ignored as he downed the rest of it. 

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“You’re not my son and yet you call me dad all the time,” he said, pinning Oscar with a pointed glare. “You are Pack and the Pack sleeps at home. They don’t just wander off whenever they feel like it and tell no one. And if you don’t want it to smell so bad, perhaps you should consider helping clean -- or at least buying an air freshener.”

“Merde.” Oscar hissed under his breath, quickly pushing himself up as he realized exactly who his mysterious guest was. “I’m not your son. I don’t need your permission to sleep elsewhere. Maybe I just wanted to sleep where it doesn’t smell like animals.” 

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“Yes, you can,” said Fenrir, his grin widening as Oscar’s face morphed with expression. “You can tell me why you weren’t home last night and why it was so important that you not be home.”

January 12, 1982 Three Broomsticks Inn 2:04 PM

One day. Just one day, he’d wanted to be away from the pack and spend the day by himself, which was precisely why Oscar found himself in one of the rooms at the Three Broomsticks. And he’d managed to fall asleep once the bar had died down, though now someone was rudely waking him up with their unwelcome, uninvited presence. “Can I help you? Guy can’t sleep in for once?” 

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“Is it really?” he asks, his gaze hard and heavy with expectations and the world’s meaning or something like that. “I convince myself I do good but you convince yourself that you’re human and that your friends aren’t scared of you and won’t abandon you the moment you step out of line.”

He waits and listens, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as Remus rants at him. He snorts as he tells him that he was a child -- like he didn’t know that -- and that he’d had not illness and need no protection. He bites back a laugh at the idea that Remus has accepted what he is -- he says he does but he tries to pretend he’s human and normal and safe. How is that accepting?

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he asks. “Do you think I don’t realize you’re different? Why do you think that’s the case? If you thinks it’s just because I’m a monster and I’ve since adapted myself to look better, you’re wrong. I was eighteen -- barely more than a child myself. I didn’t intend to bite you. But you don’t care, do you? You need to paint me as the big bad wolf -- as the boogeyman and the monster under the bed. So be it. But if you ever want the truth, you know where to find me.”

He shakes his head, a humored grin on his lips; “so I’ve noticed. I hope that does come back to bite you in the future -- I don’t think your friends would make it out of that very well.”

Christmas “Cheeriness” | open

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“Mm, alright Dorcas,” he said, allowing the blonde girl to lead him in the direction of wherever she was taking him. “I’m Fenir but you probably already know that,” he said cheerily, “they really don’t take their duty of posting wanted posters lightly, do they?”

Christmas “Cheeriness” | open

She raised an eyebrow at him, completely doubting his statement that he had a lot of tolerance when it came to alcohol…well, she was sure he did but after what? Two days of nonstop drinking? That was just unsafe and harmful for him and literally everyone in the general vicinity. 

“Right, let’s go then.” Dorcas said, leading him in the direction of her flat. “And my name’s Dorcas, not doll.” She corrected him.

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“That? I understand myself but I’m not quite sure what you even mean by ‘that’. To answer your question... I’m not too sure myself.”

3rd of January, 1982 Amelia’s 22nd birthday

“Oh, no, we’re not doing this. I have other stuff to deal with than you and… that. What is that even?”

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You would kill to change Remus' mind about the pack.

Well yeah.

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You still have feelings for Rita.

Platonically I still care about the bitch, but romantically? Rot in hell, ‘non.

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Real or Not Real?

Send my character a statement about themselves or their relationship with another character and they’ll either confirm (Real) or deny it (Not Real).

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He snorted at her description of him; “I’ve got a lot of tol-er-rance,” he said, sounding at the word and then laughing at his own drunkenness. “Comes with the gift.”

He nodded, slinging an arm around the blonde’s shoulders. “Lead the way doll.”

Christmas “Cheeriness” | open

“Yeah, I can tell you have. No offense but you practically smell like a bottle of whiskey” Dorcas frowned slightly and folded her arms over her chest. She was a healer, there was absolutely no way, now that she had gotten herself involved, that she wouldn’t make sure he sobered up before going back home. She was the type of person that would feel guilty for the next week and a half if she knew she hadn’t helped. 

“Alright then. My flat is a few blocks away. I’ve got a few potions from work that’ll help you sober up.” She said and looked up at him.

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James pushed an arm against his chest but he pushed back -- he was 6′4, 246 pounds, and muscles upon muscle. He didn’t budge.

“I think I could take you love,” he said, a sharp edge to his voice. “Doesn’t matter if there’s a price on my head -- plenty have tried to collect, all have failed. I wonder what happened to them...?” he asked with mock innocence. “What the fuck do you want Potter?”

James struggled to not let out a yelp as the man pushed him towards the wall- his pride wouldn’t allow Fenrir have the satisfaction of knowing that he had thrown James. Instead, he attempted to use his forearm against Fenrir’s chest, using it as leverage and pushing the man away. 

He wasn’t here to fight. He was here to warn.

“Sure you want to do that to an Auror with such a hefty price on your head? I didn’t feel like collecting Galleons, but the new Cleansweep came out yesterday and it sure would be nice to have a bit of pocket money for it.”

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He gripped her arm tightly as he saw her ready to turn and go off and not listen to him. Fenrir understood why, of course, but he wasn’t going to let her.

“No, you don’t,” he said, his voice like he was ordering her. He was ordering her -- ordering her not to go. “Your contact at the Ministry isn’t expecting you -- they’ve got no new information for you and your gossip column, understood? I want to talk to and we will talk.”

He didn’t wait for her to shout or whine or whatever at him for tricking her. “I just want to know how you are -- and don’t just saying your fucking peachy. You were kidnapped by a Death Eater. How badly did he hurt you? How did you escape?”

There were embarrassing exes, and then there were embarrassing exes.

Fenrir Greyback was most definitely an embarrassing ex.

To the few (very few) who knew about her relationship with him, Rita would laugh it off, and cite any old excuse to make it seem like the relationship hadn’t really been that serious. She was drunk for most of it. She was young and naive. She hadn’t gotten any in a while.

She didn’t tell them that they were together for the better part of two years. She didn’t tell them that she had been in love with him. She certainly didn’t tell them that he was the best sex she’d ever had.

Towards the end of their largely turbulent relationship, they had disagreed on many things, but the one thing they had agreed on? The past two years should be kept secret - preferably one that would be taken to the grave. Of course the story had slipped through the cracks from time to time - Rita had told Margot about it one drunken night, and she knew for a fact that several pack members knew - but other than that, they were very good. They didn’t brawl when they saw each other in public, they didn’t slander each other too much. Each simply pretended the other didn’t exist, and it suited them.

So why now was he insisting upon talk to her? Her day had been promising to be such a good one before he’d shown up out of the blue and assaulted her.

“I’m just peachy,” she snapped. Rita’s eyes found the mark she’d left on his jaw, and she couldn’t help but feeling oddly proud. “Are we done here? I have somewhere important to be.”

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He doesn’t listen to Remus -- he stays there in his space, in his personal bubble and spouts his rhetoric. He can see the defeat in the boys posture and his face and he wants to grin -- wants to smirk and wants to shout his victory. The boy pushes him and he takes a single step back. Sometimes they explode before they acknowledge the truth and he has a feeling Remus will be that type.

“But you are,” he says -- he’s not shouting or whispering or anything, he just speaks with confidence that this is the truth because it is. “You are -- you’re a werewolf, as much as you hate that. You’re a werewolf and I made you -- I shaped you. It’s an intrinsic part of you, as much as you hate to admit that it is. It’s intrinsic and it shapes what you do, how you live in this world. You hate yourself for it and that also defines your actions -- but that’s not because of me, that’s because of the society you try to be a part of it even though you don’t belong in it.”

As he speaks, his passion grows. The stops for breath become fewer and when he done he exhales and inhales because it feels like his lungs are withering. 

“You think we’re bad. You think I’m bad. You think I go around hurting everyone I can sink my fangs into, no? That’s not the case,” he says. “I help only those who need it. Oscar? He would’ve died -- an overdose. It took him eight months to be fully well again but had I not given him the bite, he would’ve died. Valerie? Drinking and fucking and a life not worth living. There are others, of course: Kaycee -- an abusive boyfriend who’d beaten who her so severely one of her ribs punctured her lung, Silas -- Cancer, I cured him of a disease that even doctor’s can’t, Lillia -- she was alone in the woods, seconds from bleeding to death after falling down a ravine, Ryker -- his muscles were too weak in his legs for him to walk, he begged me for the bite and he walked, and there are plenty more. Get it? I’m not the monster under the bed.”

Christmas “Cheeriness” | open

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Celestina Warbeck and Ted Tonks are in a burning building. You can save only one. Who do you choose?

Such a tough decision... Maybe Tonks because he sells weed or maybe NEITHER since then people would stop asking these stupid questions.

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Do you secretly have fantasies about Remus calling you Daddy?

No.

Yes.

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What is your favourite thing about Celestina Warbeck?

I don’t know… The fact she doesn’t constantly ask me about herself is a pretty good thing in my book.