Statistics Edit

Full name: Fenrir Greyback (formerly Wodanaz Green)

Age: Unknown

Date of birth: Unknown

Blood: Pure-blood

Wand: 15 inches, yew, werewolf fang core

Alumni: Ravenclaw

Affiliation: Previously a Death Eater, now an unattached psychopath

Home Life Edit

Mother: Astrid Greene

Father: Cornelius Greene

Siblings: none

Other family: One aunt still living and a handful of cousins scattered across Europe

Relationships with each: Fenrir, for obvious reasons, does not have anything to do with his family anymore.

Home: Nowhere fixed. If circumstances call for it, he stays with Death Eaters, but he much prefers to sleep outdoors.

Finances: None to speak of, but he doesn't particularly need them. If the situation calls for money, he's quite adept at - and comfortable with - killing and robbing until his needs are met.

Personal Life Edit

Personality: Much of his personality has been washed away by madness. His only passion is destruction of the Wizarding society that failed him as a child. He is cunning, cruel, deceptive, and completely without remorse. In spite of this, he has become adept at blending in and comes across as coldly intellectual.

Marital status: Single

Sexual Orientation: Fenrir thinks of sex in terms of animal pleasure, therefore it doesn't particularly matter to him what gender his partner is as long as their scent pleases him.

Strengths: followers; vast intelligence; fearlessness

Weaknesses: insanity; lycanthropy

Boggart: His father, wasted away to practically nothing, holding out his arms and shambling forward.

Patronus: A massive silver wolf.

Mirror of Erised: Himself in his wolf form atop a mountain of Wizard bodies, howling at the full moon.

Amortentia Potion: Blood, sweat, fear, pine needles, and the moon.

Aesthetics Edit

Appearance: Fenrir is surprisingly small in his human form, retaining the slenderness of his youth. His face is lean and hard and weathered and has a tendency to twitch, particularly around his nose, which remains sensitive. Although he can and does present himself as a normal Wizard, there is an edge to him; he starts at loud noises, he shows his teeth when displeased or angry, and he has a habit of surreptitiously sniffing whatever he lays hands on. Because very few people have ever seen Fenrir in his human form, the connection to lycanthropy is rarely made and he is typically assumed to be an eccentric academic.

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 160lbs

Hair: Long, brown

Eyes: Black, with a sheen of red overing his irises

Style of dress: When he bothers to go out in human form, he typically wears something nondescript and favors black and gray as colors. Regardless of what he's wearing, he always seems uncomfortable in it and often picks at his clothing as though it chafes his skin.

History Edit

Born to a pair of perfectly ordinary, perfectly unassuming parents in the English countryside, Wodanaz Greene seemed destined for an unremarkable life. His mother, Astrid, and father, Cornelius, met at school, were sweethearts from fifth year on, and married in a quiet country wedding. His mother, who'd always had an impressive green thumb, opened a small florist's shop and his father, a bit hopeless at magic, was content to run the business aspects of the little store.

It soon flourished and Astrid branched out, growing not only decorative flowers, but also medicinal plants and exotic species that she sold to the Healers and to rich Wizarding families respectively. After the shop had been open for two years and the Greenes were comfortably settled money-wise, Cornelius suggested that it might be time for children, and Astrid agreed without hesitation.

After several months of trying, Astrid became pregnant and, nine months later, little Wodanaz was born, healthy and happy. In spite of his rather warlike name, he was a calm, sweet baby and from the start, he was the center of his doting parents' world. He passed his formative years in the greenhouses with his mother or underfoot at the store, learning to walk by clutching tables full of potted exotics and teaching himself to read out of The Daily Prophet and various gardening catalogues.

He was a bright boy, speaking in full sentences by the age of two and reading simple books by the time he was four. His parents, particularly his father, were incredibly proud of him and slightly bemused that such an inquisitive child had come from them. For his birthdays, Wodanaz politely requested books, and if his parents suggested a holiday to the beach, he would calmly request to tour historical sites instead.

So no one was surprised when, upon arriving at Hogwarts, he was sorted into Ravenclaw. Even among a House noted for its studiousness, Wodanaz distinguished himself as a bookworm, often spending his free time tucked away in a corner of the campus greenhouse, nose buried deep in one of his library books. His marks were outstanding and, although his magic was uninspired, it was technically perfect. The professors loved him as a student but were unsure what to make of him as a child, and though he endured a small amount of teasing from his peers, he was largely left to his own devices.

Things started to fall apart during his fourth year. His father came down with a nasty chest cold that rapidly progressed, leaving him bed-ridden and unable to run the store. Astrid was forced to hire a bookkeeper and a new manager, both positions that her husband had once filled, and for the first time in his life, Wodanaz found himself unable to concentrate on his schoolwork. His grades were still good, but his heart was no longer in it, and when he left Hogwarts at the end of the term, it was for good.

Wodanaz returned home and immediately began work in the shop, spending the first month of his summer vacation helping his mother sort things out around the house. Healers came and went but none of them seemed able to diagnose Cornelius's ailment. Wodanaz, unable to cope with the sight of his father wasting away in bed, gathered up his savings and set out for the mainland in search of a cure.

His travels ranged across the continent and back as he tracked down wives' tales and legends, sending each cure back to his mother and waiting grimly for the verdict before setting off again. During the months that he wandered, he grew lean and tough, and his face took on a perpetually distant expression. People that had once tipped their hats to him now avoided his gaze, and as he grew more and more frantic for an answer, he also grew more and more careless.

He was fifteen and a half when he ventured too far into the Black Forest. Whispers in the surrounding villages pointed him to the heart of the forest, where there was supposedly a night-blooming rose, the petals of which would cure any ailment as though it had never happened. Wodanaz set out without a second thought, sure that he'd finally located the one thing that could heal his father's sickness. Instead, he was set upon by a pack of wolves and savaged nearly to the point of dying, though by some miracle he clung to life long enough to send up a flare with his wand.

He was recovered and bundled back off to England, where he spent nearly a full year in St. Mungo's recuperating from his injuries, which required intensive healing and exhaustive physical therapy. Halfway through the ordeal, Cornelius Greene died in his sleep and Astrid closed the shop to move to London so that she could be with her little boy.

When Wodanaz learned of his father's death, he sank into a deep, vicious depression, going through the motions of rehabilitation for the sake of his mother. His failure ate away at him, festering like a sore and turning his mind into a dark sinkhole of quiet insanity. He was positive that if he had devoted more of his childhood to sports and physical activities, he would have been strong enough to beat off the wolves and thus rescue his father.

Astrid was little comfort during this period. She wore black constantly and would often fall into fits of hysterical weeping at the foot of her son's bed while he watched her coldly, unable even to offer the small comfort of a hug. Neither of them realized it at the time, but the poison that had seeped into Wodanaz's body during the attack was beginning to take hold, subtlety changing the way he perceived the world around him.

Upon his release from St. Mungo's, Wodanaz returned home with his mother. Her gardens were in a shambles, overgrown and untended, and she threw herself back into them with a manic focus, determined to rebuild her life as best she could. Wodanaz, finding himself unable to concentrate on the books that had brought him such comfort as a child, took to wandering the countryside. He particularly enjoyed being outside at night, when everything seemed to smell so much richer and the world held a wildness that he could never quite grasp.

The weeks passed. The moon waxed. Wodanaz felt himself growing more and more restless and, though he could not explain why, he started giving into the urge to sleep outside, basking in the way the moonlight felt against his skin. One night he fell asleep and was plagued by hideous dreams, fur and teeth and blood and a woman screaming, and when he woke the next morning, his clothes were gone and his mouth was full of a vile, coppery taste.

He returned home to find his childhood house utterly destroyed. It looked as though a madman had been through it, ripping pictures off of the walls, smashing furniture, rending curtains, and breaking mirrors. Upstairs, his mother lay dead in her room, torn to pieces in such a violent manner that the entire room seemed soaked in blood. Flashes of his dream came back to him as he stood in the doorway, staring down at his mother's corpse, and Wodanaz, as sharp as he'd ever been, put the pieces together and left the country before the Ministry could catch up.

He spent the next couple of years in the forests of Germany, learning his new body's habits and needs. Far from being horrified at the brutal murder of his mother, Wodanaz was intrigued by this new power. He hid from his guilt by sleeping away the days beneath massive trees or tucked away in caves, allowing the moon to wash away his human emotions every night. In his solitude, his mind degenerated further and hatred began to grow inside him, first for the Healers that had been unable to help his family, then for Wizarding society as a whole. He ran wild, sneaking into towns in his human guise just before the full moon and leaving the entire population either dead or maimed by the time his cycle was finished.

During this time, Wodanaz embraced his lycanthropy, even going so far as to change his name. He chose Fenrir, enjoying the poetic overtones, and began to gather a pack around himself, using his prodigious intellect and a passion born of madness to convince the other werewolves that it was their right and duty to take the world back from the filthy Wizarding scum who had abandoned them. He led them on raids, terrorizing towns first in central Europe and then back in England. During these raids, it was his special pleasure to seek out young children and bite them, thus ensuring a steady supply of new werewolves to bend to his agenda.

When Voldemort rose to power, Fenrir surprised everyone by pledging the werewolves to aid him in his task. As he explained to his loyal followers, Voldemort would do half the job for them, and then all that would be left was the conversion or killing of the drastically thinned out Wizard society. Fenrir continued his reign of terror under Voldemort and calmly withdrew after his first defeat, marshalling his forces and planning his next assault.

He stepped forward again upon Voldemort's return, throwing himself gleefully back into the destruction and mayhem of war. During the Battle of Hogwarts, Fenrir attempted to attack Harry Potter, too wild from the taste of blood and the scent of terror to realize that it was a doomed attempt. He was captured and sent to Azkaban, though he didn't have to suffer there long. Though they tried to feed him wolfsbane potion, he quickly mastered the art of vomiting it back up and he strolled out of Azkaban during the next full moon.

Current Activities Edit

Being creepy and stalking.

Mary should write something here other than my nonsense above.

Meta Edit

Player: Mary

PB: Mark Lanegan