AN: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. I am simply using it for a fic. Enjoy!

Seeker for the Montrose Magpies.

Prompt: Incorporate Borgin and Burkes into your story.

Supervising Nobility

Fenrir walked down the dark alleyway, his eyes moving from left to right, right to left, and back again. This was no place to be caught unawares, and for a wizard of his reputation, such a thing would be downright humiliating.

The blonde in front of him was shuffling a bit too slowly for his liking. They could not afford hesitancy — not when the Dark Lord had tasked them with something so important, and certainly not when tonight was a full moon. The risk of disappointing the Dark Lord and incurring his punishment in the days following a transformation was enough to make Fenrir growl and shove the young cub — wizard — forward.

Draco Malfoy was an unimpressive specimen at best, but when he was placed amongst his blood-thirsty family counterparts (namely, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and even his mother, Narcissa Malfoy), he proved to be… even more pathetic. Fenrir didn't want to think of how he would shape up before a werewolf, when even in his human form, the boy could hardly walk straight with Fenrir watching him.

That was the reason Fenrir had been tasked with supervising the child — supervising being a fancy word for babysitting, in his opinion. It hadn't been entirely unexpected. Fenrir knew the Dark Lord thought his kind was worth less than the hem of his robes, but being tasked with something so low was an insult, to say the least. It was best that Fenrir remembered his only motivation for staying in the Dark Lord's service was the benefit of the pack — his pack. Hurt pride, or the centuries-long desire to prove the worth of his kind, could not, and would not, get in the way of the rewards they would reap from servitude.

But then again, that didn't mean he wasn't going to have a bit of fun with the boy.

It was almost amusing. The cubs in his pack craved his presence — soaked it up as he walked by — but this boy… he flinched every time Fenrir movement was a little sharper than the fluid pace he was keeping. The tales of his escapades had evidently reached the young Malfoy's ears.

That would only make removing the little colour that was left on his face even easier, thought Fenrir with a small chuckle. Draco jumped at the sound.

They reached the crooked little shop right on time, Fenrir barging past Draco — who let out a squeak — to be the first to enter. Borgin and Burkes was not an establishment for the light-hearted. If a shuffling little wizard were to enter and ask for the items they required at the immediacy the Dark Lord required them, he would be laughed out of the shop.

The door slammed on the wall behind it as it opened, making the items jingle satisfyingly. It was almost misleading. Should someone close their eyes, they could imagine them similar to the windchimes that were hung on the porch of Malfoy Manor. Fenrir only hoped Draco wouldn't be stupid enough to try to touch any of them. They looked innocuous enough, but each and every one of them were in Borgin and Burkes for a reason.

Chancing a glance behind him, he saw that yes, Draco was stupid enough to try to touch them.

"Boy!" he roared, and the young wizard almost jumped out of his skin, then scurried over to the counter where Fenrir was waiting.

A portly, balding wizard in an ostentatious set of robes did the exact same, paling as he saw his customer. Fenrir was glad. For starters, they could not afford a trip to St. Mungo's or the Cursed Artefacts department. Secondly, time was running short — not to mention, it would all be far too difficult to explain to an Undesirable. The blue sky outside was slowing fading to orange, and although the sight would usually induce euphoria, today, it caused his anxiety levels to spike.

"H-How can I help?" stuttered out Mr Borgin with wide eyes that looked bug-like in his round head.

"How can you help? Do you know who you are addressing?" asked Fenrir, deliberately keeping his voice low with a hint of an edge to it.

Mr Borgin gulped, beads of sweat visible on his forehead. The man's nervous attitude was quickly beginning to grate on Fenrir, and the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing was almost teasing him to try and tear it out.

Almost as if he had noticed what Fenrir's eyes were focusing on, Mr Borgin raised his hand to his throat slowly — as if that could even begin to protect him — and said, "Unfortunately, I do not, sir."

Fenrir smiled, letting the edges of his mouth stretch past his canines so Borgin could get a good look at them as he spoke. "Fenrir Greyback."

All the colour left the wizard's face. The urge to laugh was almost overwhelming, but Fenrir rather suspected that Mr Borgin might faint if he did. An unconscious wizard might be amusing, but it was only going to extend the amount of time they had to spend in the shop.

"Listen to me, Mr Borgin," said Fenrir, the formality rolling off his tongue mockingly, "I require some items from you. I do not care if they are reserved. I do not care if they are ready to be dispatched at this very moment. I want them, and I am going to have them before I leave your shop. Do you understand me?"

Borgin nodded, looking pained, and Fenrir grinned, having caught the look of horror on the young Malfoy's face from the corner of his eyes.

"I'm glad. Now, this is what I need."

It was a mere ten minutes later that Fenrir and Draco left the shop, the items in hand — specifically, Draco's hand. If the boy had to come along, he might as well be put to good use. They were in no rush this time, but the success of his negotiations in the dark little shop was enough to spur him on to try and get back to Malfoy Manor as quickly as possible. The Dark Lord would surely be pleased with him.

"Hurry, boy!" barked Fenrir, trying to get Draco to stop his shuffling once again. He had known the boy was pathetic, but honestly, if he couldn't do a simple pick-up job, what would he do when it came to something truly dangerous?

There was no change in his pace, and Fenrir turned back to face him. He could only just see the wizard's sullen face over the top of the parcels he was carrying.

"Did you not hear me? I said hurry, not shuffle, you imbecile!" roared Fenrir.

This time, the young Malfoy lurched forward in his haste to catch up with the werewolf. If the boy was ever put in his charge again, Fenrir thought, the Dark Lord would surely be expecting Fenrir to kill him. He didn't have the patience to 'supervise'. Although, he did have to admit that it was amusing to exercise his power.

The sky was an inky-black by the time they reached Malfoy Manor, and Fenrir had resorted to shoving the young Malfoy every couple of steps to hurry him. His legs were shorter than Fenrir's, so even his quickened strides could not keep up with the older man.

Never before had Fenrir made any attempt to contain a transformation, and his skin was crawling with the unnatural sensation of suffocating his natural instincts. It was maddening; he felt as if he could tear his own skin to shreds and still the irritation would not cease.

In an attempt to push past the feeling, Fenrir strode forward, but the movement caused a bolt of what felt like lightning to shoot up his leg, forcing a howl from him.

Draco stumbled forwards, spinning round simultaneously to look at Fenrir with a mixture of shock and horror on his normally sullen, porcelain face. It spoke volumes that Fenrir couldn't even bring himself to be smug about eliciting such a reaction from the boy.

Instead, he ground out, from between teeth he could already feel growing, stretching and tearing his gums, "Get inside!"

But the boy's efforts were futile. The sheer horror of the sight before him had him stumbling backwards in shock, and Fenrir knew there wasn't any way Draco was going to make it inside in time at this rate. He was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

As always, his mind added as an afterthought.

A roar tore itself from his throat as he lunged forward; the sheer effort of holding back his transformation caused what felt like every muscle in his body to cramp up. Scooping up Draco with a sweep of his arm, Fenrir cringed as he heard the sound of fabric tearing and felt a dull sort of tug at his nails. He charged forwards, distance not an issue for his elongated legs. He was metres away from the door when it opened to reveal Narcissa Malfoy. Practically throwing Draco into his mother's arms, Fenrir bounded away, allowing his transformation to take over.

It was the closest thing to relief he could have experienced at that moment in time. A howl escaped him, and it was all that felt right.

Fenrir awoke the next day, limbs aching like they never had before after a full moon. It took mere moments for him to register his surroundings.

Black walls surrounded him, light from some source glinting off them and making him squint. This was the Dark Lord's "consultation room". Events from the night before flashed through his mind, and he cringed at the thought of the punishment awaiting him for endangering the young noble.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he heard the sound of a quiet clicking on the floorboards. Fenrir cringed, recognising the sound, but knowing that turning around would aggravate the situation.

The footsteps stopped. "Crucio," said a hoarse whisper.

And this time, an entirely different sort of howl was pulled from his throat.

What felt like hours later, but could have been days, Fenrir was finally dragged from the consultation room by his arms and left outside the door. Limping awkwardly, every step bringing a new rush of pain, he hauled himself up to his chambers in the manor. He winced as he analysed the state of his bloodied and torn attire. Picking off the scraps of fabric, Fenrir dipped his head to lick his wounds, but something caught his eye.

Slowly lifting his head, for if he jarred it he couldn't imagine how much noise he was going to make, Fenrir turned around slowly to scan the torn parchment on his bed. Moving his eyes left, right, and left again to ensure no one could see what he was doing, Fenrir picked up the parchment and unravelled it, reading two simple words:

Thank you.