Fenrir Greyback worked his jaws, chewing hard on the chunks of innards, savoring the sensation of flesh being crushed between his teeth.
He was in an excellent mood. Those enticingly scented pieces of offal seemed to become Wizet's face, torn apart again and again in his imagination.
This was not only because he was enjoying a feast, but because he knew he was about to break free of his restraints and escape this damned laboratory.
The thought alone made him tremble with excitement. Even the memories of what Wizet had done to him no longer seemed quite so painful.
In fact, when that excitement intertwined with those memories, he almost wanted to laugh—to sneer at that smug Wizet, who believed he had everything under control.
He could practically picture the stunned, idiotic expression on Wizet's face when he returned to the laboratory after Christmas break, full of confidence, only to find nothing but shattered shackles scattered across the floor!
The more he thought of the expressions Wizet might make, the wider and more vicious Fenrir Greyback's grin became.
Lost in his excitement and fantasies, he felt time passing far faster than usual.
After stuffing himself full, he felt better than ever before. He was ready to welcome the rising full moon and transform into a werewolf.
This would be a werewolf transformation unlike any before. He could sense with unparalleled clarity that the werewolf form he had dreamed of was no longer beyond reach.
All he had to do was take a deep breath and close his eyes, and he could see that werewolf form.
That form floated up from the depths of his soul, struggling upward with all its might, as though it too were waiting for the full moon to climb high into the sky before merging with