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Like Real People Do - Prologue

A Regulus Black Fanfiction

Prologue

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TW: implications of assault, abuse, cursing, depictions of wounds.

Masterlist. Summary. Trigger Warnings. 01.

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Cleome Kendra Grindelwald never knew the power behind her name, and neither did the werewolf who had bound her to his pack.

"Bring me the girl." The deep voice of Angur Greyback yelled out.

The whole of the werewolf army stood around him heads bowed in submission half of them bloody from the war they were fighting against the centaurs and the wizards.

They were deep in the north of the Forbidden Forest, in a valley underneath the mountains that they claimed as theres. No witch, wizard, or any magical folk besides there slave knew of its existence, or so they thought.

Two of Angur's pack appeared, walking down from a cave in the mountains. Between them, in one of each of their arms were the tied hands and feet of a young girl. She had hair so light blonde it was almost white. The long strands were surprisingly tidy giving her living conditions and reached to the middle of her back. The combination of her light hair against her pale skin acted as if she was a light in darkness.

Her light blue eyes were even more striking than her hair. They too seemed to glow in the dark. Her appearance was so beautiful yet so disturbing. Her alluring blue eyes told dark stories and held nothing but blankness. The wolves that did look into her eyes could only hope to look away soon enough as to not be pulled into a dark world of despair. She had that unforgettable ability .

The light strands of hair that rested against her back are matted with blood and dirt, a mixture that comes from the abuse she endures and the hard ground she sleeps on. Across her arms, torso, and legs were many untreatable scars the came from are array of claws, knifes, and teeth. The ugliest of them all was like a gallery painted across her back. The ragged claws of Fenrir Greyback marked the entirety of skin she had there. They were puffy pink raised scars that looked angry and more joined each day.

Unknown to Fenrir, she had almost gone completely numb to the damage he had done on her back. The skin is so far damaged that only the deeper gashes really cause her pain anymore. The years had hardened her both mentally and physically.

As she was carried by the two wolves towards there alpha she looked weak and helpless. The boneless girl was bound like a rag doll. But what no one knew, not even herself, was that Cleome was the most powerful witch of her time. Yet, she was undiscovered and tied to the most evil being in the world. How that came to be, was all her fault. A stupid reckless decision.

Before her servitude to Angur's pack, Cleome was an orphan. An abused orphan who thought she could run away from her captors, but instead she ran into the arms of a more evil being. How she wished to be back in the orphanage. Where her rations were given weekly and not monthly, where she had a cardboard bed and not hard ground, where she had bruises not scars.

Cleome was thrown by the two werewolves at Angur's feet, she didn't need to wince as her body had grown used to such treatment. The girl quickly settled to sit on her knee's before him. A place where she found herself losing pieces of her virtue, to the blackness of his soul.

"What shall I do for you?" She said in a dead monotone voice. Her eyes stared at his dirty feet and she wished to cover her nose from the putrid odor that he basked in.

She didn't realize her mistake.

Suddenly her vision was spotty and a familiar harsh throbbing pain encompassed her. Angur had struck her across the face with the back of his hand, she was grateful he didn't do worse.

He leaned in deadly close and Cleome could see the black and yellow chips and cracks in his teeth. "Its what shall I do for you ALPHA, to you! STUPID WORTHLESS BITCH!"

He watched satisfied as the girl at his feet cowered away from him and bowed lower to the ground. He could smell her fear, and that seemed to excite him. But as he reached to grab a fistful of her hair pain throbbed in his chest. A reminder of why he had summoned her in the first place. The pack needed to recover from their latest encounter with the centaurs.

"I need you to heal me and the injured of the pack, bitch. Now get started, and afterwards Fenrir requests you."

He ignored her flinch at the sound of his sons name and gazed at his pack as Cleome rose.

The beaten girl stood weakly on her two feet before entirety of the pack. She focused on the smell of blood and the sight of wounds, then lifted her arms out as if she was delivering a gift. Slowly her magic surrounded them all, and each and every injury obtained from battle was intricately healed.

This was not a natural occurrence. In history, no one had ever had strong enough magic to heal wandlessly and no one could ever fathom to heal thousands in seconds. But, without a wand, Cleome did both.

The witch stayed standing before the pack a few moments longer than needed. Her hands still raised as if she was still healing the injured. Cleome relaxed into the few extra seconds of painlessness. The few extra seconds she granted herself before her body and mind were further damaged by Fenrir Greyback.

_____

Unbeknownst to the pack of werewolves happily recovering in the valley, a group of Aurors were hidden in the tall dark trees. They were spread out, some using hover charms while others held tightly to the fresh smelling pines.

Leading them was Fleamont Potter. An older man with kind brown eyes and graying hair, which had come to him about ten years early. Undoubtably due to the duty he had as head Auror, and the stress of having a teenage son.

Holding onto the thin scratchy tree trunk the Auror watched as the young brittle looking witch healed the thousands of injured werewolves. The Potter Lord could hardly believe his eyes. Magic like this had never been heard of. His eyes scanned the other men positioned near him, and there faces mirrored his. Shock.

A soft pop sounded behind him, and Fleamont turned carefully in the tree to see his younger friend Alastor Moody behind him. As usual he had an unstable crazy glint in his eyes.

"Monty, what do we do now? We are no match to face this witch that they have!" He said anxiously as he squinted his eyes, still gazing at the throne Angur sat upon, where Cleome at his feet, was moments ago.

The older man let out a long breath and gently took his glasses off to wipe the lenses on the left sleeve of his robes. "Body language Alastor." He said as he put his round glasses back on his nose.

Fleamont thought that much was obvious. The girl was noticeably afraid of the Alpha, and his treatment towards her only proved as much.

The younger man looked at him confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"That girl is beaten, and frightened. She fears Angur. Fear is not loyalty. She may see our ambush as her liberation." Monty said, but Moody was not pleased.

"She MAY, what if she does not, what if she is loyal to that mutt?!" Cried Alastor, his voice raising a few octaves higher.

Fleamont waved him off and drew his wand to send a message to rest of the Aurors waiting patiently in the tree's amongst him. The presence of this girl had changed there plans. Though they were prepared to end Angur and his son Fenrir today, they needed to rescue that witch. He just hoped that they could kill Angur along the way.

As the soft glow of his spell darted between the trees, he turned back to the valley below.

The girl, no, the child, stood barefoot in the mud, her pale skin painted in blood and ash. Even from this distance, Fleamont could see how she trembled. Her magic crackled in the air, raw and ancient, pulsing with every heartbeat. It was beautiful. Terrifying.

A force of nature trapped in the body of a broken girl.

He squinted as a breeze lifted her tangled hair and revealed a fresh bruise forming along her jaw.

Monty’s stomach turned.

This wasn’t just another mission. Not anymore.

Behind him, Alastor muttered something under his breath, but Monty didn’t hear it. His thoughts were already elsewhere.

He’d thought his role in the world was clear. Protect. Hunt. End the threat.

But now… as he looked at the girl below, something deep inside him shifted.

A thought crept in, unwelcome at first.

What if this was Sirius? What if it were James? Alone. Hurt. Used.

Monty gritted his teeth.

No child deserved this. And he would make sure the girl was taken away from this hell.

With one final scan of the clearing, Monty raised his wand forward. He didn't need to look back to know the rest of his men understood.

With that, he dropped from the tree in a silent, practiced motion, cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. The others followed his lead, fading into the forest with wands drawn and hearts pounding.

None of them knew yet that this mission would change the tide of the war.

And for Fleamont Potter, it would change everything.

Forever.

A/N: Ooooo I hope this story sounds interesting bahahaha.