The wolf and his pup

Nightmare

Fenrir woke up to the warm sunlight draping over his exposed back. The werewolf shifted onto his side. A throbbing in his calves prevented him from slipping into unconciousness. Fenrir frowned and shifted again, but the throbbing continued. Eventually, the werewolf gave in and opened his eyes.

Fenrir wasn't met with the overly expenisve master bedroom of The Black Family Mansion, he was met with an old, mouldy room you would find in a cabin. The werewolf sat bolt upright, all drowsiness gone from his body. The room looked old and uncared for. There was a stairwell to the left of him, disappearing down into the wooden, uncarpeted floor. There was a grand wardrobe tucked up into the right hand corner. It was covered in dust and it was splintering at the seams. Fenrir looked down at the bed he was laying in. The bed was small, fit for a small child. Fenrir's legs were dangled over the footboard - that explains the throbbing - and he was covered in a much too small, much too thin blanket. Fenrir's brows furrowed. Where the fuck was he?

The werewolf swung his legs off of the rickety bed and stood. Suddenly, he was much shorter than he actually is. Fenrir looked down at himself again. His pants, far too big, fell down to around his ankles... Along with his underpants. Fenrir quickly grabbed the now oversized boxers and covered himself with them. Fenrir stalked over to the wardrobe. Maybe there were some clothes that fit? What the fuck was going on? Fenrir pulled open the wardrobe. There was a mirror incrusted in the door. Fenrir was met with a young eight year old boy, with a buzz cut and wide, silvery-blue eyes. Fenrir's bald head was littered with slash scars. Fenrir's heart stopped and his blood ran cold. He stared at the reflection fearfully, his mouth agape. He.... No..... Fenrir shook his head. No... No no no no no no no no no no NO! Not here again!
Shakily, Fenrir reached up into the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of child's boxers, a pair of shorts and a shirt. The werewolf pulled them on, his mind racing. How did he get here? Why is he here?! Is this some sick prank Tom was pulling?!

Was he here?

Shivers shot up Fenrir's spine, and the werewolf was overcome with fear. Slowly, he turned to the stairwell, his body tense and his eyes wide. The werewolf debated going down the stairs. The bedroom didn't have a window. It never had a window. He made sure of that. Fenrir crept over to the stairwell, flinching at every creek the floorboards made. The werewolf reached the stairs and gazed down them, gripping the banister in his tiny hands. Slowly, Fenrir shakily stuck out a foot and lowered himself down onto the first step. The werewolf started to lower his other foot onto the step, but his foot gave way and he fell forward. Fenrir rolled down the stairs, his pale, skinny frame bruising and reddening. Fenrir slumped against the door, his vision blurring and spinning. The werewolf rubbed his eyes with his hands and let out a groan. His body was throbbing and he felt the blood rush to the bruising spots on his body. Fenrir grimaced.
"Was that you boy?!" Came a shout.
Fenrir's blood ran cold, "Y-Yeah papa!" He found himself shouting, "I-I just fell down the stairs!"

The werewolf grabbed the banister in his tiny hands and heaved. He pressed his feet against the bottom step and pulled himself to his feet. He was here...
"Get your skinny ass down here, boy! You got shit ta do!"
"Yes papa!"
Fenrir turned, rubbing his sore ass with one hand and reaching out for the door with the other. The werewolf tugged open the door and slipped through. He stepped out into an all-too familiar hallway.

The blue wallpaper was peeling and torn, and the once fluffly carpet was dirty and flattened. There was a single, small table in the middle of the hallway, upon which was a vase. The vase was white, with golden swirls dancing up from the golden rim base. In the vase was a ring of orange Tiger lillies, red roses and yellow Tiger eyes. The vase made the werewolf smile. That was his mother's vase, filled with her favourite flowers.

Fenrir's mother, Angelina Greyback Nee Pugnator, was a beautiful woman. She had beautiful, thick, ebony hair that she always tied up in a bun. Her lips were plump and naturally pink. She had high cheekbones and a skinny frame. The woman was tall and muscular; she used to fight in muggle boxing matches every Saturday. Her name was The Tiger. Fenrir loved watching her kick ass in the ring. One of Fenrir's favourite things about his mother was her eyes. Her eyes were an enchanting, cerulean eyes. Angelina preferred to be called 'Angie', and Fenrir remembered he used to call her 'Angel mama' when he was around five. A small smile purged his lips. The smile, however, was short lived. His mother was dead. The werewolf's face fell. Tears purged the werewolf's eyes, threatening to fall.