my father's eyes

[rhys alexander greyback]

how did i get here?

what have i done?

2021

Every day Rhys waited for notice or some kind of letter. Merlin, even a howler with some news. And every day, nothing arrived. Saff and Archer had dropped by when they could, but they didn’t have updates and continued their work—without Rhys. He hardly cared that he was probably driving Juniper a bit mad with his persistent sulking and apocalyptic outlook. And it hadn’t taken long for Rhys to pick a fight and find a bar to sit at for a while.

When he’d finally get home, and Juniper was already asleep, Rhys would splash some water on his face and again contemplate the situation. Juniper had asked him why? And Rhys hadn't been able to bring himself to repeat what Stump had said that night. Blue eyes looked back at him in the mirror like some solemn reminder of what he was capable of. It was like what everyone had said all along, wasn’t it? Werewolves were unpredictable and volatile, they said, especially a Greyback. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Late May 2021

”Stop your whining. You’re acting like you’ve never been hit with anything worse than a stunner.” Saffron scolded Rhys, who was slowly pulling himself up to lean against the wall. His head hurt, but so did everything else. For a moment, he sat there dazed, trying to decide if the images in his mind were part of some memory or a bad dream. The stinging sensation of air passing over the broken skin of his knuckles should’ve answered it for him, but he still felt unsure. ”Episkey.” Rhys glanced over as Saffron pointed her wand at Archer’s face. His nose shifted back into place, and his split lip healed up. Rhys didn’t even know what he looked like then, and he was far too deep into this daze to care.

He had yet to speak as he had nothing to say. What the hell had just happened? And why were they sitting in some alley looking worse for wear? How long had he been stunned? And why did Saffron need to hit him so closely with a stunning spell?

”You’ve really done it this time, mate.” Archer’s voice entered Rhys’ thoughts, but he didn’t look at him. Archer was right, of course. This wasn’t Rhys’ first incident like this, and other times his friends or someone had managed to grab the back of his shirt before he got into trouble. But not this time. The perfect combination of factors and Rhys had snapped beyond all his control. Was it the timing of the full moon? The stress of the job? The other things on his mind? Probably all of the above. He could hear Saffron cursing under her breath as she paced a bit. Rhys glanced at his friends. They’d stuck together through training and often worked on jobs together now. Archer was their potions man with a keen mind for Herbology. This came in handy more often than one might think. Rhys enjoyed the research, puzzles, and, most of all, Charms. There hadn’t been runes he couldn’t yet decipher or a puzzle of the stars he hadn’t yet cracked. Saffron had pushed ahead as their muscle. She could use a precise spell or charm to knock down a wall without causing collapse, but they were well-rounded in all these subjects.

A wave of guilt washed over Rhys as he closed his eyes and sighed, leaning his head against the wall. They were a team, and Rhys had just lost it. He could hear a noise next to him. When he opened his eyes, he saw Saffron sliding down to sit beside him. ”You’ll probably hear from the bank soon.” Rhys nodded idly. You couldn’t beat the son of some important Ministry employee to a pulp and not expect some consequences. There was a long pause. ”I was ready to cover him in boils after what he said...” Saffron added casually but trailed off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Archer agree with a nod and a shrug. It was supposed to make him feel better, but it didn’t. How could Rhys feel alright when everything felt so up in the air and unknown?

Archer was right. Rhys had really done it this time.

Earlier that night

The taunts and jeers all sounded the same. The voice Rhys heard was that of his bullies in school. Bagman and others he didn’t feel like naming. But Bagman wasn’t here. No, instead, this self-righteous and pompous little gnome of a person snarled words at Rhys, spit accumulating at the sides of his mouth as his face turned increasingly red. Too much whiskey would do that to a person. And too much whiskey had let entirely loose his tongue. All night Rhys sat tensely at a small table. Saffron and a couple of other colleagues joined him, and they all individually glared at the group at the bar. It was always this one—ever since their training days.

Saffron would place a hand on his shoulder or arm, it helped ground him, but whiskey also flowed freely through his system, which made it hard to focus. Rhys thought Cursebreaking could be a new start. Somewhere, he didn’t have a reputation and could build something new. Because he was tired of what people thought when they saw him or when they learned his name. But then he’d found a new class of bully, one he was powerless against. This only infuriated him further. It didn’t help how they encircled their tables felt like a trap.

The comments about werewolves and vampires weren’t lost on the other patrons at the bar. All over, one could see the exchanged looks of annoyance or disgust, but the agitator’s father was someone important at the Ministry. So, what could they do? Absolutely nothing. Plus, Rhys already had a few barfights under his belt. Cas’ blunt lecture during his trainee years had helped settle him down, but his temper always lingered. And that night, it was so close to the surface. Rhys stared at the table in front of him. The wood was marked and scarred, and he had control as long as his eyes remained fixed on the imperfections.

But then he heard the crowd near him grow louder, and chairs slid across the floor to create a path right to his table. Stump was his name, and it was very fitting. Rhys towered over this man but at least half a foot. Again, just another variable that should have put Rhys at an advantage. He spoke loudly, slurring certain letters as he spoke. The familiar words left his gargantuan mouth while his cronies laughed and jeered behind him. Rhys was a half-breed. Why didn’t his mother just put him down like the dog he is? Gringotts should send him to a remote corner of the world and leave him there. Certain things triggered him more than others. The mention of his mother made Saffron put a hand on his shoulder. Rhys’ hands were balled into fists in his lap, shaking from the building rage. The other Cursebreaker, Archer, stood along with Saffron telling Stump and his gang to leave.

"That’s enough Stump. Why don’t we all just call it a night?" Stump laughed. "The dog can speak for himself, can’t he?" Stump insisted, taking a few steps forward. Archer and the other Cursebreaker also stepped forward, but Stump’s cronies forced them back as they moved forward. The loud sound of an empty glass hitting the table rang in Rhys’ ears, and as he saw Stumps’ grubby little fingers in his vision, he wondered if the table would break under his weight. Rhys’ head ached like the pressure was building up behind his eyes. Saffron was right, Rhys should’ve stayed sober, or he wouldn’t be frozen to his chair right now, afraid to move because he knew what he was capable of without just enough whiskey in his system and the right amount of anger.

Rhys could be volatile; he lacked control over these emotions, which had plagued him his entire life. From his younger years at the orphanage dealing with the older kids to Hogwarts. But Rhys wasn’t that scrawny little kid anymore.

"You can speak, can’t you? Or do you only bark?"

Rhys could smell the alcohol on Stump’s breath. Suddenly, Rhys stood up, his eyes glaring at Stump. ”Back off, Stump.” And after forcing himself to pause, Rhys looked at his friends, and they all knew it was time to leave. Rhys needed air and distance before he did anything stupid.

Stump stood up and laughed again. When he was done, he scoffed and shook his head. For a second, it looked like he would back off, maybe he’d had enough fun for one night, and Rhys could calm down before he did anything stupid. Saffron let go of Rhys’ shoulder as Stump turned, and even Rhys’ posture softened for a moment after Stump turned and took a few steps. Everybody began to relax a little, but he stopped, turning back around again.

While he wobbled just slightly in place, his eyes moved to Saffron, Archer, and Rhys. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask." Stump slowly stepped toward Rhys, which made him appear unbalanced. Each word that left his mouth was preceded by that smug and condescending smile.

"What’s this I hear about you snagging yourself a McGonagall? I couldn’t believe it when father told me—" Stump’s palms met with the table, each emitting a loud hammering thud under his weight. Saffron glared at the other man, but Stump’s eyes and attention were on Rhys as they entered a staring contest. Repeatedly, Rhys told himself that it didn’t matter what he said. None of it was new. And the second that group and their leader left the pub, Rhys would acquaint himself with a bottle of whiskey.

It was fine. Stump would back off like he always did. Rhys just needed to keep his composure—"–because there’s no way such a distinguished family would bother with the likes of some mutt who only knows how to play fetch for the bank." Stump sneered as he moved closer to Rhys. Saffron stepped forward to place herself between them, but Stump ignored her completely. "I’m warning you, Stump. If you don’t step back—“

And in an even lower voice, Stump continued pushing a button already at its limit. Rhys knew better than to go for his wand, and his other friend Archer began to step forward and reached for his wand. Stump’s goons all stepped forward, and there didn’t seem a chance of this situation diffusing. As Rhys’ gaze locked with his enemy’s dazed eyes, he kept telling himself to be patient. Stump would back off. He always did. Rhys just needed to breathe—

"It’s all in the pedigree, you see? I would’ve thought ol’ Minerva would’ve taught her some sense. But clearly, this girl’s just some floozy without any standards. Fitting since your mother clearly didn’t have any either."

Rhys didn’t remember when it happened. He only knew it did, and Saffron filled him in on the details much later.

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