Greyback (Harry Potter Fic)

The merged minds of both Fenrir Greyback and Cyrus Martin fought a raging battle for psychological dominance, his thoughts and feelings in dissaray. However, one thing was oh-so very clear. Run run run.

He didn't know why he was being chased, who was chasing or even where he was, but turning to look behind him he spotted 3 men wearing long, dark cloaks flying after him on- "Broomsticks!" Fenr-Cyrus was certain he wasn't hallucinating, those men were flying on broomsticks as if this was Harry Potter!

Speeding up he kept an eye on the enviorment. Judging from his surroundings he appeared to be in some fithy labyrinth made up of endless dark allys and homeless people. The two buildings on either side of him were tall enough that his pursuers had a rough time keeping up through the air. Not to mention his speed. Cyrus was no slacker when it came to running, in fact he took pride in being the captain of his schools track team, but this was a different ball game. He could easily catch up to a car with this inhuman speed.

His thoughts were cut off as red beam of light struck the wall to his left, creating a loud bang, debris hitting his face. Ignoring the stinging pain in his eyes a foriegn sensation overwhelmed him as instinct took over. As if by magic, Cyrus reached into his robe and pulled out a wooden stick, swiftly vanishing with a crack. The trio of Aurors halted, having watched their target disapparate they cornered off the scene and called for back-up.

...

Appearing in what looked to be a forest Cyrus collapsed, falling into a trance. It was only a few minutes ago he'd fallen asleep at his house in London, when he suddenly awoke in a different body being chased. He couldn't gather much on his apperance other than an obvious increase in height, body hair and hand size.

Crawling to a small puddle to his left Cyrus took in his new looks. It was like someone had asked a 4 year old to draw what they thought was a 'scary man' Bringing up his hand, long yellowish nails brused across his cheek. Previously well kept skin was replaced by a rough sandpaper like texture. His teeth, now as beastlike as everything else, were that of a carnivore. Cyrus's hair was a matted gray that reached his chin, piling on to his manly, but bestial appearance.

His mind was quickly bombarded with a second wave of Fenrir's life causing him to roll over and writhe around in pain. Deciding it was useless to fight he stopped moving and reluctantly accepted the memories of this stranger. His eyes, now open, expressed a myriad of emotions as his mind shifted through the events of another life. Slowly, but surely, the gravity of the situation dawned on him as he now understood where he was, who he was and what was happening.

Fenrir's big, rangy frame stumbled to his feet still not used to the new body. "I am Fenrir Greyback, the year is 1971..." An unfamilar, raspy and bark-like voice escaped his lips, "...and this is Harry Potter," he finished.

Fenrir sat back down and pondered his situation for what felt like eternity. Despite the signature Death Eater cloak he was wearing Fenrir was happy to see, or rather not see, the infamous Dark Mark mar his skin. 'At least Voldemort can't use it locate me, thank god he didn't accept Werewolves in his inner circle. This leaves me with an out of all this.'

Jumping to his feet Fenrir removed his Death Eater cloak in case it was charmed to keep track of him. Throwing it in a nearby stream of water something dawned on him as the day bled into nightfall. In panic his wand-hand lashed out, disappearing in a crack.

....

At one of his many safe spots in the scottish mountains Fenrir hunched over in pain. His body twisted in an unnatural attempt to become something... 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. His greasy, rough skin split like tree bark. Wiry black hairs sprouted. His once feral brown eyes melted into a heavier, more misty blue colour. His bones shifted under his skin like mechanical snakes; audible cracks sliced through the air. Growing to slightly over 7 feet tall his clothes burst apart like an over filled water balloon, his muscles bulged into that of a body builder and finally it seemed like it was over.

Fenrir stood tall as he inspected this second form, surprised to learn that he had retained consciousness despite the full moon. This was something unheard of, it should be impossible.

Lycanthropy was not simply seen as a 'change' due to unfortunate circumstance, but rather a disease. An illness to avoid being infected with at all costs. It was feared to the point that some survivors of Werewolf attacks would rather end their life than live as a 'beast'. The only way for a Werewolf to keep their human mind intact during a full moon was to consume the Wolfsbane potion, something he hadn't taken.

This truth, along with the fact he clearly didn't resemble the sickly looking beasts that his kind normally turned into, proved he was a new type of Werewolf. 'Perhaps this was due to travelling from another world?' He mused.

Fenrir ran across the dark mountains killing many a magical creature, whilst attempting to change back before the full moon. Something told him this was another impossible the he could accomplish. After a spending hours in the wilderness he eventually managed to change back at will.

His mind contemplated what this meant, not just for himself, but the Wizarding World as a whole. Could this gift be passed on? Could other Werewolves receive it? If the answer is yes, this was a game changer for his kind. The old Fenrir attempted to liberate his kind by changing as many people into Werewolves as possible, especially children so they could be raised to hate the Ministry from young. Then there was his involvement with Voldemort, hoping the cruel Dark Lord would give them a better world.

While the cause was most definitely noble, the execution was anything but. However, this situation would give him cards he desperately needed for his campaign. Unfortunately his previous self had quite the reputation, making his other halfs dream difficult to fufill.

...

Inside a large, dimly lit room over a dozen men and women sat around a large table. Each and everyone of them had an air of superiority, their bodies practically oozed it. It was mixed in with a blatent darkness they all held in their eyes. If the average Wizard was to witness this meeting they'd recognise some of the Wizarding Worlds most wanted criminals, or societies most notable upperclass. A group ranging from the well known fan of the Imperius curse, Mulciber Jr, to the young newly-wed Bellatrix Lestrange. They had all been going about their day to day business when their dark marks singed with an angry passion. It was clear their Lord was not in the best of moods.

Sitting up straight, his movements unnatural, the snake-like man seated at the head of the table hissed, "It appears we have been 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥." His voice rang clear for all to hear. "Those dogs should have been kept on a tighter leash. All of you are to keep an eye out for Greyback and his pets."

His lips pulling back into a sadistic smile he stroked the large snake on his arm rest. "Understand that whoever catches the mutt will most definitely be rewarded handsomely."

Hearing their lords words some began to frown in annoyance. Their guard dogs had dared to go rouge? Now they had to pump time and resources into finding them.