He hadn't taken much convincing. Sure, he'd been staying on the up and up, following the rules. Of course, he was—he didn't fancy a one-way ticket to Azkaban—but since the war had ended, there had been a gnawing hunger inside him, quiet but insistent. He had a craving to fuck shit up—drawing blood and breaking bones—one he didn't know he had until he was no longer able to explore it.