There were some last minute changes, which explains the extra day, hope it was worth it. enjoy!)

Previously on Intentions to claim

(It was at this moment that Fenrir could practically feel the ring of death eaters tense even more. Tension this thick enough to cut with a knife.

With a final heave, Wormtail threw the bundle of …was that a body? Into the boiling rolling cauldron that than erupted in a series of sounds, smells and colours, the tension building.

Fenrir knew then, that this was what they'd all been waiting for. The moment had arrived.)

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Dark and poisonous, the sludge like smoke crawled out of the boiling cauldron, crawling across the ground with skeletal-like fingers looking for something to grab onto.

A scent resembling that of death, decay and mould filled the air, causing ones stomach to roll dangerously.

Fenrir watched silently, horrified as first Worm-tail took a bone from the grave at the young boys feet, his own hand, and then ruthlessly the blood from the arm of the young boy all the while smiling maliciously whilst cradling his ruined stump.

Slowly then, a large dark roiling form rose from the cauldron, the darkness rolling back and forth, in a way that resembled churning water during a thunder-storm.

Smoke surrounded the mass of fluidly moving flesh, bones popping in and out of sight.

Fenrir sucked in a harsh, painful breath; watching as the dark bundle fluidly unfolded and expanded, limbs reaching out from the main mass, portions of black retreating from pale looking skin.

Thunder sounded and the wind howled, much like a wolf insane, the elements adding their voice as if protesting itself, against the rise of the most powerful dark wizard of their time.

The… body - if it could be called that – lowered to the ground, legs in a stance a shoulder width apart - with still growing feet and toes almost completely grown.

Arms hanging loosely to the sides.

And finally a pale delicate looking head with defined jawline and cheekbones rose from the body like a turtle extending its neck.

The pungent smell of sweat, excitement, fear and even guilt all culminated together; a rising brick wall that Fenrir metaphorically smacked his face on rose into the air, clogging his lungs as surely as the rising horror at watching the progressing events did.

Both feet touched the ground at the same moment that two pale lids lifted to reveal two ruby red snake eyes.

The dark lord had risen.

Everything reached a startling crescendo then.

Lightning and thunder roared even louder than before. Both the ground, the trees and the surrounding gravestones shook as if in the presence of a fully grown mountain troll traipsing about.

Death-eaters all around the circle were terrified and humbled at the same time (probably assuming it was the dark lords' magic causing all the noise)

Fenrir smirked to see that –even from his vantage point a good distance back – the majority of the death-eaters were also shaking and trembling.

For the first time in 13 years, Fenrir heard the voice of the most powerful dark lord in Britain.

"None of you came to look for me. A disappointment I find myself surprised to see. There were more than signs, and more than rumours"

Fenrir turned his eyes from the surrounding death-eaters back to the now reborn dark lord, watching as he spoke with Worm-tail – who was cringing all the while, fearing reprehension, possibly for something he'd said or done – before replacing his hand.

Slowly Voldemort moved toward the dead body lying on the ground a few feet away from the young boy now struggling against the gravestone angel, before rubbing his foot over the boys teenage face, eyes wide open and staring blankly.

It was then the young boy spoke, or yelled really.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM!"

Fenrir noticed the boys obvious care for his dead friend and pondered on it.

It was then that Voldemort turned to the boy, finally paying him some attention. Speaking quietly to him before throwing a harsh "crucio" at the boy causing him to scream his voice hoarse.

"Funny what a few drops of your blood can do in my favour."

Fenrir watched as blood slowly began to drip from the boy's nose down onto his lower lip.

Then it was like a pure ringing silence filled the clearing in that one moment. Everything just went quiet and peaceful. Despite the trees still shaking and the wind still buffeting him, it was like both the screaming noise and the pungent all-encompassing scents had been carelessly brushed away like the gentle approach of dawn easily brushing off the final touches of the night.

Like a choir of angels singing, combined with the smell of an innocent newborn babe, the smell lulled him, called to him, beckoned him forward.

A scent he had only heard about as a child. A scent wondered about and yet never experienced, yet instinct told him clearly like an electric shock to his system, a faded memory rose.

It was a lycan bearer.

Almost a myth, a legendary like creature. Not seen or found for hundreds of years. Well before the werewolves were hunted to near extinction out of fear and discrimination.

Fenrir had never seen or encountered a lycan bearer. Only heard stories about them from his father, who heard stories from his father, and his father's father and so on. Wonderful stories that talked about wizards or humans who could – after being bitten by their mated partner - shift at will, who could harness the magic of nature and who could give birth to pure-blooded werewolf young, rumoured to be more powerful than most other werewolves, born to lead.

It was almost absolutely impossible to have any pureblood werewolf genes – or even being compatible with the lycanthropy - after being so diluted for generations, never heard of for the last few hundred years of anyone having any more than that, let alone enough to be a lycan bearer.

The possibilities if he mated the lycan bearer were endless.

The respect and power he could garner from other wolf packs alone for having the lycan bearer as his mate and potential mother of his children would be fathomless.

Not only did he now stand a chance at become top-alpha of Britain's werewolf packs, he also stood the chance to chance the attitude toward werewolves altogether.

And a bonus on top of that is that not only would he never have to kidnap or bite wizards and humans to increase his pack from now on, but all of his biological children would be amazingly stronger, faster and with magical abilities other young bitten wolves didn't.

An extreme advantage that also occurred when and if he mated the lycan bearer was that due to the pure werewolf gene, they would be strong enough to carry the pups' full term, therefore ensuring the utmost health for them.

The lycan bearer rained pretty much supreme in a werewolf pack. They almost immediately rocketed to alpha partner. They also increased good attitude in most werewolf packs, increasing good vibes through-out.

If only there were more lycan bearers in the world, then the werewolves wouldn't be so disliked in the world. Not so hated or feared or otherwise ostracised so viciously by either wizards or humans (few as there were humans that actually knew about them)

With more lycan bearers the werewolves would never need to bite or infect another werewolf for the rest of their lives. It was only for the cause of increasing their otherwise severely depleted numbers that they attacked and bit people. It was unfortunate but it was the price they had to pay because it was their only option to continue their survival and the survival of fellow werewolves around the world.

He decided then and there that he would take the bearer away. They would be his mate, his only and claimed only by him. He would kill anybody who tried to say differently or dare try stop him.

One of the first things he had to consider though was that the body that the boy so clearly cared for had to be taken with them.

With that, Fenrir growled lowly in the back of his throat, a rumbling echoing growl, not loud, but penetrating and was rewarded a moment later with a shadow detaching from the darkness. A wolf.

"Take your pack and hide the body. Bring it back to the pack and let them know to keep it safe, prepare it for burial. Tell them I'm coming back with someone very important."

The wolf gently butted its nose against Fenrir's face, rubbing the side of it's muzzle affectionately on his before padding off into the darkness.

Next though, he had to find a way to reach the boy, cut him down, save both their lives and escape safely with enough time to warn his pack so they could all leave and start over.

Now usually he'd immediately jump up and just run out but he couldn't risk any injuries for himself or the boy. He had to be careful. Which was new to him. He could practically feel his wolf crawling around in his head, prowling, and waiting for the moment to be let loose.

The first step to any of this was to get closer without being noticed, at least until he had a better vantage point than where he was currently, closer to the boy.

This was going to be absolutely impossible. But he loved a good challenge.

Keeping his ears perked and listening, he glanced toward his left and the nearest group of tombstones. He'd go there first.

Lifting his head a little, he peaked out around the side of the tombstone currently hiding him and watched as Voldemort addressed worm-tail. Fenrir then gaped with an open mouth as a slither of silver folded into a hand and attached itself to Worm-tails bleeding stump of an arm.

Staying fully alert he used the advantage of the attention being elsewhere and began to edge out before he scurried to the cluster of graves, ducking behind one that was closest.

Looking to his left again he could just make out the profile of the young man. Slumped against the angel's stone scythe holding him against its own body, his head lolling in a clear sign of unconscious.

The boy looked so peaceful despite being covered in blood.

Peaceful, that is, until Voldemort levelled a cold, calm and calculated "crucio" at him in a bored manner.

Fenrir later would say he almost could feel the exact moment he lost control, his wolf completely blasting through the wall between man and wolf, his teeth elongating, his nails sharpening, his hair shortening and becoming rough and bristly.

He launched himself forward with enough force he wouldn't have been surprised if the grave stone he had been hiding behind shattered.

"Voldemort!" the hoarse grating yelled practically thundered out of Fenrir's mouth before he could stop himself, with the sound of an earthquake deep in an echoing valley; simultaneously attracting the attention of both the death-eaters and the young boy to his rapidly approaching figure.

Voldemort turned to the side, cursing Fenrir for interrupting his rightful revenge.

He didn't care one ounce. He moved quickly to stand in front of the boy, his eyes never leaving the dark lord but also carefully noticing the large group of death-eaters that had drawn their wands.

"….. Fenrir. You were not included in this. You are not welcome and I confess myself... Disappointed though. I thought of all my followers you would be.. Most eager, for my reign, you must want revenge with how the wizards have treated you and your kind." the dark lord almost hissed in a snake-like manner

Fenrir scoffed.

"How the wizards have treated us wolves is the reason I allied myself with you. But I want the boy" the grumbled

The dark lord seemed to ponder this for a moment, his eyes narrowing in consideration until he swung his wand out, causing the angel to drop the boy.

He coughed and tried to crawl behind the gravestone before collapsing.

"Surely, there are many other…. Little ones you can change. This boy is mine. For thirteen years I've waited for this moment. His mud blood mother kept him from me but no more. Why this boy? What makes the boy who lived so special to you?"

"I have right to him, he is a Lycan bearer. He belongs to the wolves." Fenrir growled.

Even wizards had heard of the magical power of a Lycan bearer so Fenrir wasn't surprised when several of them gasped or took several steps back.

The boy whimpered behind him and Fenrir ached to turn and see what he looked like.

"Your mind is muddled Fenrir, he is not yours to take, even if you were a loyal follower, which you aren't. And even if you deserved it, which you don't; you still aren't taking him. Now because you have shown what a valuable asset you are, I will allow you attitude pass, for a price."

"I am the alpha of the most powerful werewolf pack in all of Britain. That boy belongs to me, he is more wolf then wizard and so belongs with my pack. As possibly your best Ally, I should have been included. As it is you ignored me, thinking it was perfectly fine. I have sacrificed the safety of my pack and myself for your cause both before your fall and during. The only reason I allied myself with the death-eaters was because I was promised my pride, safety and the ability to follow my traditions and life style without being hunted. You're trying to deny an alpha his biological right over some damaged pride and you want me to sacrifice even more just so it can assuage your pride? No. I refuse. I deserve to be acknowledged and respected or the reasons I allied with you will have become null and void."

At this Voldemort froze, his red eyes flashing , but Fenrir was not a man to back down and instead puffed up his shoulders, making himself appear bigger and more intimidating.

"The boy must die!" Voldemort hissed manically.

Like some unseen signal, the group of death-eaters surged forward without prompt, curses flying left right and centre, causing Fenrir to curse and turn, diving behind the gravestone angel, scooping up the boy, who, after being hit with a stray curse promptly fell unconscious anew.

Leaning back across the gravestone holding the angel, Fenrir growled when he felt a curse barely graze his shoulder, cold numbness slowly spreading down his arm.

"Kill Greyback but leave the boy alive!" Voldemort screamed.

Lucien help him! Fenrir grabbed the boys wrist, which he found thin and malnourished – He'd have to fatten him up if he was going to carry any pups at all – closed his eyes, cleared his mind and went to apparate away when a howl rocked the graveyard.

Eyes shooting open Fenrir saw coming around the edge of the gravestones ahead of him was.. his shadow, with the boys wand in it's mouth, followed by more shadows dragging the body behind.

One more curse fell out of his lips as he realised this would help him gain favour with the lycan bearer. Lurching forward Fenrir all but carried the boy with his good arm, before snatching his wand off the ground where the shadows had dropped it and placing his hand on the boys body before finally apparating away.

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To be continued

Feel free to leave a review and any ideas you have or mistakes you've noticed

Adopted with permission from Callisto' s story "Wolfs' intent" with the intention to rewrite and complete.

The Harry potter characters are not my own.

This story is not my own.

Thankyou