Chapter Eleven

Pius' warning repeated itself over and over again in her head. What did she have to fear? Hermione distinctly remembered fighting in a deadly, bloody war to make certain that evil released its control on their world. Was the wizard warning her that it still existed and she was in serious danger if she continued asking the questions she did? It hardly seemed possible. All of the peace and complacency she'd experienced over the previous ten years prevented her from believing him without question.

As she pushed her dinner around her plate hardly eating a bite, Fenrir watched. Not one to start a conversation usually, she could tell he was curious by her lack of appetite. She hoped she wasn't insulting his cooking. It really was quite lovely and she'd been surprised how easy it was for them to fall into their routine.

"Big lunch?"

Yet again the man surprised her. Just when she thought she had him all figured out, there was something new to discover. Maybe he wasn't the sort to always fill empty silences with inane chatter and he didn't seem to like to be the one brining up a subject initially, but if his curiosity got the better of him, he would. It was something they had in common.

"Something happen at work today?"

Hermione looked up from her plate to smile at the curious man. How perfectly normal they must seem sitting there over dinner and discussing their day. An outsider would never guess the bizarre history between the couple… of people. She pushed that thought right out of her head. They were not a couple.

"Well, yes actually. I had the strangest conversation with Pius Thicknesse just before I left the Ministry."

Fenrir scowled at the name. She almost laughed. Once she might have found that expression terrifying. In that moment, however, it was anything but.

"What did that tosser want with you?"

"If you must know, I was the one who wanted something from him."

"Can't fathom what that might be. Utterly worthless man. Thinks all the witches want him. Never met a more arrogant man."

"I take it it's been awhile since you last spoke to him?"

Hermione vaguely remembered the former Minister for Magic from the war. Beyond stolen newspapers and random snippets of his speeches they were able to catch on the wizarding wireless during the horcrux hunt, she'd only seen him during the Battle for Hogwarts. Percy used a tricky bit of Transfiguration to turn him into a sea urchin just moments before Fred was killed. After the war when his Imperius Curse was broken, there had been no bit of arrogance left. As he lost his job, his wife, and nearly his freedom, there'd been even less. Fenrir must not have seen how broken he'd become, how low and insignificant.

"During the war, but I can't imagine he's changed all that much. People rarely do."

"You did."

The simple two word sentence hung heavy in the air between them. Neither of them had yet had the courage to bring up the very simple fact that he wasn't the monster he used to be. Sure, they'd danced around references to him being different. Never came right out and said so though. When he didn't immediately respond to dispute her statement, Hermione felt a surge of courage rise up within her. No matter what she asked, no matter what she said, he wouldn't hurt her. Never had she been more confident and sure about anything.

"You said you went home after the war expecting to die. What happened?"

"I didn't."

She sighed, annoyed he wouldn't answer a question with a little more explanation. Had he always been snarky or was that a new development in his personality too? Taking pity on her, Fenrir set his fork down and wiped his mouth on a napkin before elaborating.

"I'm not always intentionally difficult. It's only that my memory can be a bit spotty at times. Not sure why or if it's just a side-effect of my injuries at the end of the war. I had a head injury that should've killed me. It would've killed any other man. I don't know why I was so special."

"Because you're a werewolf?"

"Possibly, but I think there's more to it. I don't even really remember how I got home. There's a big gap of time there I'm missing. Days, I think. Maybe even weeks. I remember being at Hogwarts one second and opening my eyes the next to find out I was in my bed at home. I was certain I was dying."

"From your injuries?"

"Partly, but I also got very sick. Think that's what nearly killed me."

Fenrir rose from the table with his plate in one hand. When he gestured to hers, she chose to keep it. Some of her appetite returned. He moved across the kitchen to clean up the mess he'd made cooking. Worried he was trying to end the conversation, Hermione quickly swallowed the food in her mouth to ask another question.

"What kind of sickness?"

Only the sound of the dishes scrubbing themselves filled the silence at first. Just when she thought he was done talking and would go back to silently staring or uttering only monosyllabic phrases, he answered. There was shame and embarrassment laced amongst his words. Hermione wished she'd been more careful in how she asked.

"Worse than any flu you can imagine. I almost died of the Erkling Flu when I was a child. Lots of children did. This was before there was an effective potion to treat it and the Ministry hadn't been able to control the erkling population yet. No one dies of it now. You hardly even hear about any cases."

While she didn't have the first idea what the "Erkling Flu" was, she could assume it was similar in many ways to the influenza strains that affected Muggles. Most were quite common and rarely deadly for any but the very old, very young, or already infirm.

"I was seven. My dad cried so much during the worst of it, terrified there was no possible way I'd survive, that my mum kicked him out of my room. If she was scared, she didn't show it. She forbid me to die. Told me she would be very cross with me if I didn't keep fighting. She was a very tough woman."

There was a sad, wistful smile on his lips as he thought about his past. Hermione carried her own plate to the sink to clean itself with the others. Standing only a heartbeat away from the man, she didn't know if she should offer him any sort of supportive touch or just leave him to his own thoughts.

"She sounds like it."

Fenrir turned towards Hermione, a happier smile replaced the sad.

"Please don't think too poorly of my dad. He was just more sensitive and emotional at times. His childhood was much happier than hers, his parents more indulgent. Mum had to take care of herself. It made her hard in some ways. I was always much more like my dad until…"

Whether he meant until he was bitten or he became the monster she used to fear wasn't clear. It was hardly an appropriate question to ask. Hermione placed a soft, hesitant touch on one of his large forearms. He didn't shrug her off. A good sign.

"He sounds like my dad. My mum had to be the tough one too."

"It's hard to outlive everyone who ever loved you."

There was such raw honesty in his sad statement Hermione felt overwhelmed. How had she ever thought the man was anything less than human? The faintest flush to his whiskered face preceded him clearing his throat and closing down again.

"Obviously I listened to my mom and didn't die. Even that wasn't nearly as bad as after the war. My fever was so high I had frightening hallucinations. Thought I was transforming over and over again, but Rob said it was all in my head. I couldn't keep any food or water or potion in me. Either I'd throw it up or… I didn't have any control of my body. Never been more exhausted in my entire life. My teeth would chatter and if I tried to talk no one could understand me. I was dizzy and my entire body sometimes shook. It was awful."

He wiped his hands on a dish towel and moved towards the back door, knocking her hand off his arm in the process.

"I'll check the wards around the house and then I'm going to bed."

There was no reason to try to get anything else out of him that night. He'd offered all he would. Hermione watched him leave the kitchen with a disappointed sadness. She hoped she hadn't pushed him too far too soon. He wasn't the sort of person to answer all of her questions just to shut her up and get her to stop asking. If she ever wanted to know the full truth of his past and why he was so different, she would have to be careful how she proceeded.

---

A plate of eggs and bacon waited for her under a warming charm the next morning, but there was no sign of Fenrir. The bed in the spare room was neatly made as always. Crookshanks lay content in a sliver of sunshine on the kitchen floor with a full belly. He wasn't in the back garden or out in front of her home. She hoped he was only off to wherever he usually mysteriously disappeared to during the day and not actively trying to avoid her presence.

Much of her day was spent rereading everything in his files. It wasn't the most exciting use of her time and most would be reluctant to do anything that remotely resembled work on the weekend, but she was obsessed. Between the loads of laundry she always waited too long to finally wash, Hermione reviewed the parchment to see if there was something she might've missed the first time around. Nothing jumped out at her that she hadn't already seen.

By mid-afternoon, she feared she would go mad if she read another scrap. Why she couldn't just leave it alone for a little while, she didn't understand. If Pius was correct and there was something to be concerned about enough to stop asking questions, she wanted to know. Never in her life had she been content just to shut up because it was easier. Something was wrong. Maybe not in that time, but certainly in the past. Why did she have boxes and boxes of files on dead werewolves who were connected to the very operation she was told to stop investigating? Fenrir could be in danger. She could be in danger. It wasn't the time to just give up.

Frustrated, she picked up a stack of the semi-organized file and tossed it back inside the carton. She was reaching for another stack when one of the logs slipped out of the stack. Initially thinking it was nothing but a list of dates and either 'success' or 'failure', a tiny scribbling in the top corner of the page caught her attention. Straining her eyes to make it out, she could only see three letters and then an illegible ink smudge.

"Ser?"

She sat back in the kitchen to chair to think of all the words she knew that started with those three letters. Service. Serial. Sermon. Series. Serious. Serpent. Serum. Serum? The list of dates seemed to indicate something was being tested. Serums were tested. It made as much sense as anything else.

When she laid in bed the night before going over in her mind everything that they'd talked about over dinner, she thought his symptoms sounded an awful lot like a person going through a severe narcotics addiction. Sadly the Granger family was like countless other families around the world. Hermione remembered as a young teenager watching her older cousin Neil change entirely from a funny, slightly awkward, nerdy, happy young man into a broken shell of a person she didn't recognize when he dropped out of university and fell in with a bad sort of group. Her father and her uncle once had to search the worst parts of London in the middle of a snowstorm to find him. She remembered eavesdropping and watching her father break down in tears as he told her mother what he'd seen. Neil's was one of the good stories, if that was possible in such a horrible situation. He'd gotten the help he needed, returned to university, become a hedge accountant, and had a family. But, her parents explained to her in grave detail how terrible the process of withdrawal and detox could be to discourage her from ever even trying an illicit drug. They'd been successful.

The more she rolled the theory around in her head, the more she thought it could be true. She didn't want to bring it up out of the blue to Fenrir. No, that was something that required a little bit of finesse. She would share her theory with Robert on Monday. Perhaps he could provide some insight. Until then, she would try to get her mind focused on something else or she really would lose her mind.

Just as the sun set and the long wintery night of darkness began, the opening of the back door in the kitchen and the return of her unusual houseguest stole some of the worry Hermione had been carrying around all day. She didn't want to admit that the thought of him leaving for good saddened her, but it did. It really did. Fenrir carried a couple of sacks with the name of a popular Muggle chain of supermarkets. Trying to picture the massive werewolf shopping for groceries with dozens of little old ladies only made Hermione laugh. She wished she could see how out of place he must seem.

"You went shopping for me?"

"Didn't have a choice. You're out of food. I didn't fancy eating your kneazle. I've become fond of your wee beastie."

Crookshanks purred and rubbed his entire body against Fenrir's leg putting one of the most genuine smiles she'd seen on his face. Other men in her life pretended to care about her cat simply as a way to score points with his owner. With Fenrir, she knew he was telling the truth. Once he placed the sacks on the counter, he bent down to scratch every inch of Crookshanks in an enthusiastic greeting that pleased both participants. Hermione wondered if it was crazy to be jealous of her cat.

"Is that where you spent all day? A Muggle supermarket?"

Fenrir rose back to his full height to Crookshank's disappointment with an amused smile. She knew she was being too obvious, but she was curious how he spent his time away from her house. Where did he go? What did he do? Why wouldn't he tell her anything? She didn't think he was out there terrorizing the country as he used to. Without knowing all of the facts, however, he could be.

"No, that never takes me very long. Used to it by now. Much easier to shop amongst Muggles. None of them might recognize me."

"How did you spent the rest of the day then?"

His smile grew wider.

"It really bothers you to not know, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't bother me. I'm just curious."

"I wasn't lying when I told you 'nowhere exciting'."

If that was the truth, she didn't understand why he wouldn't just tell her. Why make it a secret? It was annoying, especially considering he seemed to find it amusing to keep her guessing.

"I'm not biting children or killing my enemies if that will put your mind at ease."

While he tried to keep his tone light, she could sense an edge of warning. Maybe he wasn't the same monster she used to see in her nightmares, but he could be if he needed to be. It was a sobering reminder that not everything was her business. Did he not deserve privacy?

"I suppose that's a relief. I owe you a great deal after you saved me from that horrible Muggle. Hate to have to turn you into the Ministry."

Hermione tried her best to replicate his tone as much as possible. Just like his, there was a promise within hers that she wouldn't hesitate to do what was necessary if he crossed her. It felt awkward and uncomfortable until he smiled again, his respect clear on his face. They were equals again. Neither one of them held all of the power. Fenrir nodded his head once and then began to unpack the sacks.

"Good. Never misplace your loyalties for anyone. Fight against anyone who doesn't have your best interests in mind, no matter how old the friendship or strong the feelings. It's a comfort to have an ally, but not a necessity."

Ignoring the parchment she still held in her hands, Hermione continued to watch the man move confidently around her kitchen as she analyzed what he'd just said. It struck her as rather sad to go through life without allies, but she understood what he meant. Better to be alone than to be around someone who put you in danger. She supposed an argument could be made against her dangerous friendship with Harry when they were young. He often put her in very scary positions where she could've easily died. She still couldn't enter Gringotts without first swallowing a calming potion. Harry's friendship was the exception, not the rule. Most people didn't have to fear death when they were with their lived ones. If they did, it was probably a good idea to leave.

She was curious about his past. What was he like before he was bitten? Bits and pieces of his personality continued to shine through even when he seemed to be trying to remain aloof and mysterious. When he mentioned his parents the night before, she didn't even recognize him. Would she have the opportunity to find out more about him or would he one day be gone from her life as swiftly as he appeared?

"Do you have any nutmeg?"

His question caught Hermione off-guard after the serious thoughts running through her mind. It made her laugh. The corner of his mouth twitched as if he fought back a smile.

"Do I seem like the sort of person to have nutmeg? You've seen inside my cupboards."

"Do you not know how to cook or do you simply choose not to?"

"I don't know how to cook because I choose not to. There never seemed any reason to learn. I work too much."

Fenrir scoffed, not unfriendly, and muttered something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like 'I've noticed'. Used to hearing the same, she shrugged her shoulders.

"I've never had a reason to rush home. It's always been empty."

Crookshanks mewled loudly. HIs squashed face scrunched up even more in an expression that could be described as nothing but pure disgust.

"Think you've insulted your wee beastie."

As they both laughed, Hermione dropped the parchment on top of the table and stood. Somehow she doubted she would get any closer to solving all of the mysteries within his file that evening. It could all keep just a little longer.

"There's a little shop a short walk from here. I'll go get you some nutmeg."

"Are you sure? It's freezing outside."

"I'm sure. I could use the break. Been sitting at that table for hours."

His warning about the weather was uncomfortably true. Wrapped in a heavy coat with thick gloves and a scarf, by the time she made it to the shop, she was still half-frozen. The entire walk had been miserable. A chilly drizzle of rain soaked her clothes through. Tempted to cast several warming and drying spells on her entire body when she entered the relative warmth of the shop, there were far too many Muggle witnesses to do so safely. All she needed in her life right at that moment was an investigation by the Improper Use of Magic Office. Sometimes she regretted her decision to live amongst the Muggles. She didn't exactly feel like she belonged there anymore.

Even in a small shop it took Hermione several minutes to find any nutmeg. Why Fenrir needed it she had no clue. What did one even need a spice like nutmeg for? She thought she remembered seeing her Granny Granger once use it in a pie, but beyond that she didn't know. She couldn't even remember what kind of pie it was. Ask her what potions used stewed lacewing flies or acromantula venom as ingredients and she could offer an intelligent response. Recipes calling for nutmeg? Not a clue.

With the blasted spice finally in hand, Hermione moved towards the front of the shop. Needing to step out of the way of an elderly man with a heavy cane, she stepped into an aisle she didn't plan on. Shelves were filled floor to near ceiling with any possible kind of wine one might want. Seeing her favorite, she picked it up. Almost at once she considered setting it back down. Was it a good idea to bring alcohol into their bizarre arrangement? Would Fenrir think too much of it if she brought wine home? Think they were on a date? After only a few seconds of deliberation, she decided she didn't care. One bottle was hardly enough to cause trouble. Maybe Fenrir would hope she'd strip again.

Torn between laughing at that stray thought and imagining what would happen if she did, Hermione's mind began to travel down ever more inappropriate paths about the man sleeping across the corridor. Was it wrong? She couldn't help but feel every single decision she'd made in regards to him since that first Friday night he saved her had been illogical and wrong. Normal people didn't fantasize about the monsters of their past, did they? Sometimes she feared she was under the influence of a severe befuddlement charm. What else could explain it?

The queue to pay for her two items was mercifully short. With a warm smile form the young woman behind the counter, Hermione accepted a flimsy plastic sack. She thanked the woman and braced herself to return to the cold. As much as she still missed the snowy winters of Scotland, she would've preferred staying inside during the harsh weather. There were too many Muggles around to allow her the chance to Apparate home without being seen. Besides, she often felt lazy when she resorted to magic when it wasn't necessary. The walk home wasn't too far and if she sped up, she'd be warm again by the time she was home.

Every step closer to home forced another thought of Fenrir in her mind. It was maddening to be so singularly obsessed. What would he think if he could look inside the depths of her brain to see the depravity within? She was certain she would drop dead of pure mortification. But, she supposed there was always the possibility that he would like what he saw. He'd been amused and even a little intrigued when he found out she'd been asking Robert about the mating habits of werewolves. And even as he lectured her about how inappropriate it was to ask her assistant questions about sex, he cheekily suggested she ask someone else instead. Only a daft fool wouldn't have understood he was offering to answer them himself.

She couldn't deny she'd only been more curious since that morning. What would it feel like to open herself up completely to the werewolf? Ten years earlier it would've been her greatest nightmare. A lot could indeed change in just a short period of time. Hermione wanted to see what he looked like beneath his clothes, touch him, lick him. Was it his preference to retain all of the control or did he enjoy lying back and being the more passive lover from time to time? Would his touch be rough and passionate or gentle and reverent? What did his mouth taste like? Was there enough wine in the bottle she carried to make her brave enough to find out? Would Fenrir push her away if she was bold enough to…

A heavy force slammed into Hermione's back nearly knocking the air out of her chest. She stumbled, nearly tumbling face first onto the pavement, but was somehow able to keep her footing. Unsure what hit her, she spun around only to have a gloved hand close tightly around her throat. She tried to scream out, but a combination of the pressure on her throat and sheer terror rendered her temporarily mute. Just like the horrible nightmares where she couldn't speak or call out no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get anyone's attention. Her attacker waited until she turned a corner away from any kind souls who might've been sympathetic to her plight.

It was tempting to berate herself in the middle of that horrible predicament for allowing her attention to wander so far she didn't see her attacker coming, especially after being attacked only a few weeks earlier, but there wasn't time to wallow in her regrets in the moment. She was only a few minutes' walk from home in a usually safe neighborhood. She'd walked that same path to the shop countless times before without incident. It was still only early in the evening. If it hadn't been winter and dark so much earlier, she would've passed by at least half a dozen homes where the kids were playing in the front gardens. Peacetime made her take her safety for granted. Later, when she was safe, she could lament her human tendency to be imperfect and make mistakes when her mind was otherwise occupied.

Fearing there wasn't adequate time to drop the bottle of wine and small jar of nutmeg to reach her wand, Hermione closed her fist around the neck of the wine bottle. The plastic handles of the sack were still wrapped around her wrist as she swing the bottle with all of her might towards her attacker. Missing his head, she was able to knock him hard enough in his neck that he fell backwards. Nearly pulling her down on top of him, he released his grip on her throat. Before he landed hard on the pavement, his hand grabbed the sack, pulling it off her wrist. Uncaring that she lost it, Hermione took off running.

"Better hurry home to number four-five-three, Hermione Granger!"

Her attacker's words stopped her quite literally in her tracks. Evidently she wasn't just a random victim of a near-mugging. Daring to look over her shoulder, she could see the man still sprawled on the ground. The light from a nearby lamppost illuminated his face. Certain she would never forget the Muggle who attacked her in the alley, seeing him trying to smile and get back up was all the motivation she needed to keep going.

She ran so quickly she was home before she knew it. Glad to reach its safety, Hermione pulled the door open with shaking hands and slammed it shut behind her with such a force a frame fell of the wall. Immediately Fenrir was in the room still holding a wooden spoon dripping with whatever he'd been stirring. His blue eyes were wide.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry. I dropped the nutmeg."

The shaking in her hands travelled to the rest of her body. Fenrir threw the spoon down as he crossed the room. When he placed both of his hands on the outside of her shoulders, Hermione allowed her head to fall against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his middle, breathing in his scent and finally feeling safe again. Though taken aback at first, it took Fenrir only a second or two to envelope her much smaller frame in his embrace. She sighed. How was he able to calm her down when he was supposed to be a monster?

"What happened? I could smell your fear when you walked in."

"I was so stupid. I wasn't paying close enough attention. I've always been safe here. You were right. The Muggle came back. He must've been watching my house, following me."

Despite being held in the arms of another who was guilty of the same behavior just a short time earlier, the thought of that horrible Muggle watching her from the shadows terrified Hermione, made her skin feel as if it was crawling. Unlike Fenrir, she knew he was there to hurt her. Imagining what might have happened and cursing herself again for being so reckless, she started to cry. Fenrir tightened his hold. She could almost hear him clenching his jaw.

"I'm going out there to find him and when I do, I'm killing him."

"No, please don't leave me alone."

It should've struck her as significant that the thought of him walking away from her right then was much more frightening than his promise to murder on her behalf, but it didn't. Not in that moment. She was still in shock.

"We could go to my house. You could bring your wee beastie for a few days."

It was tempting, very tempting. But as much as she wanted to see where he lived, she didn't want to be driven from her own home. That felt more of a violation than anything else.

"No, I don't want him to force me out of my home. I don't want that damned Muggle to have that sort of power over me."

He sighed.

"Bloody Gryffindor. All right, but if that arsehole comes anywhere near this house or you again, he's dead."

Hermione didn't have to wonder if he was serious. Feeling more at ease with each passing moment, she was glad he didn't rush to break their embrace. He kept holding her until her heart-rate returned to normal and the rest of her tremors finally stopped. How much longer he would've continued was something neither of them would ever know.

"Damn!"

At the smell of smoke coming out of the kitchen, Fenrir gently pushed her aside and ran towards the meal he'd been preparing. Shouts of spells mingled with the angry mewling of Crookshanks made Hermione laugh. Perhaps the loss of the nutmeg was no longer important. The last of the tension disappeared when the werewolf returned with a sheepish grin to ask her if she liked pizza.

Fenrir somehow managed to convince her after dinner to take a calming potion and a hot bath. When she stepped into the bathtub she thought she heard a door open downstairs. A short time later when she looked outside her bedroom window she saw his familiar form in his old spot watching her house again.