131Chapter Three
They'd been on the move all night. Hermione hadn't wanted to waste any time, she knew the Death Eaters wouldn't sleep unless Voldemort gave the order, let alone ease up for even a hair's breadth on their current preoccupation of werewolf hunting. Realistically, he was letting them sleep, as the bulk of his minions collapsing from exhaustion would only hinder their ability to fulfill his orders, and their precious Dark Lord was nothing if not self-serving.
She lost herself entirely to her pondering as they walked along, side-by-side. The sounds of the woods at night and the steady cadence of their own footfalls against the tightly-packed earth of the forest floor in her ears had a lulling affect that helped her sink fast into her thoughts.
How funny it was that the perfect hunters, the tireless ones, the ones he really could've pressed into service in any way he saw fit had he only kept his promise to create a world where they would not be persecuted, were the very creatures he was trying to kill off. He could've done anything, she suddenly understood. He could've ordered them to kill any of their own kind who stood against him; everyone on the side of the Light claimed Remus Lupin was the only 'good' werewolf, the only exception to the rule, but she knew in her gut that couldn't be true. If the Lupins hid their own son's condition and tried to help him and hide it as best they could, didn't it stand to reason that others out there had lived with the same circumstances?
Voldemort could've ordered them to thin the herd themselves and then had the Death Eaters focus on the surviving members of the werewolf army—after participating in the Battle of Hogwarts and going up against their own, the numbers would have been decreased. Still the Death Eaters would've had a fight on their hands, but it certainly would've been an easier task than hunting down the survivors on both sides. Werewolves were nothing if not scrappy, after all.
Her features pinched in thought. What had become of those other hidden werewolves on the side of the Light? Had any of them been close enough to hear Voldemort's death decree? Were they in plain sight, hiding behind the assumption that no one knew they were werewolves, or were they acting out of self-preservation and precaution, gone on the run now, just as she and Fenrir had?
The snap of a twig under her foot brought her out of her reverie, the dry, crisp sound echoing strangely in the silence.
She realized as they made their way closer to the location of the Tonks house—walking just inside the tree line of a forest-edged road that looked as though it hadn't seen traffic in years, reminding Hermione of background scenery in some post-apocalyptic film—that she had no idea what information about the end of the War had even reached the people of Wizarding Britain.
She also realized that she hadn't actually met Andromeda Tonks before. Well, this was bound to be a spectacularly awkward introduction, wasn't it? Not to mention painful . . . was she going to be the one to inform Andromeda that her daughter and son-in-law had been casualties? She thought her heart might stop in her chest at the sudden weight of sadness and anxiety pressing on her.
The sound of Fenrir sniffing at the air stalled her footfalls and yanked her out of her woes. She turned to look up at him, his features sharper, starkened by the light of their wands in the darkness. Still she couldn't get over how different he looked now that he was cleaned up and permitted a normal diet . . . now that he was simply healthy. Despite the vast improvement to his appearance, he seemed somehow more feral just now as he tipped his head back to pull in long, deep lungfuls of air through his nostrils.
"We should set camp."
His abrupt declaration threw her. Glancing along the wind of the night-shrouded road barely visible past the trees, she shook her head. "Wait, what? No. It's only a few more miles! We're nearly there." She'd never been there before, neither had he, which was why they'd been forced to travel on foot; she only had an address to go on and the hope that she get to them before Harry even had the chance to weigh whether or not he should come for Teddy.
"We won't reach the house before the rain reaches us."
"Rain?" She turned around, trying to catch the scent of salt in the air, herself. "I don't smell anything."
He snickered, which earned him a scowl from the witch. "Think you would, with that little human nose of yours? You're a cute one. We're just slightly upwind of it."
Folding her arms under her breasts, she simply frowned up at him. She knew he was right. Even if it wasn't for the fact that her sense of smell was nothing next to his, there were other factors clouding it for a creature with a less-developed nose—the brittle asphalt of the road so nearby, the foliage, the woodland animals, the rich, dense soil beneath their feet. "Fine. How much time do we have 'til it's on us?"
"Not long." He cast his gaze skyward. "Few more minutes and you'll be able to pick up the scent, too. We can maybe make it another mile before the sky opens up on us, but it's wiser not to wait to get shelter set up. Storms can be unpredictable."
"Hang on," she said, her eyes widening. "Storm? I thought you said rain."
"I did." Fenrir shrugged, curling his lip a bit as he shook his head at her. "There's rain in a storm."
Throwing back her head, she groaned as she let him guide her a bit further away from the road in the search for a suitable spot to set the tent. "Yes, Greyback, there's rain. There's also winds and lighting, and—"
"In my defense, I never said we were only expecting rain, I just said we wouldn't reach the house before it starts." Again he shrugged. "I thought by setting up now, we'd have time to make fortifications to wait out those other troublesome elements you've so helpfully listed."
"I hate you," she muttered while she opened her little beaded bag and started extracting the necessary items to re-enlarge so they could make camp.
"I'm certain that's what you tell yourself," he said with a smirk as he turned away and started deeper into the woods.
"Where are you going?"
He looked back at her over his shoulder, speaking as he moved. "Thought I'd hunt us up a few things. Might be stuck 'til sun up and I wouldn't want my stomach to rumble and spook you. I'll be back by the time you're done setting the tent."
Hermione ignored the bit about her potentially finding his growling stomach scary; she was pretty sure—now that she was getting to know him a bit—that he couldn't help but find people's fear of him amusing, especially since he was so constantly cognizant of the source and until now had been unable to act against it. Maybe he had to find humor in their terror, she reasoned. Maybe it was the only way to survive his circumstances emotionally.
Shaking her head, she pushed aside this consideration. This was not exactly the time for thinking she might be starting to understand Fenrir Greyback, and she certainly didn't have the desire to ponder that any longer, either.
She was well aware she'd never be able to help with hunting even if she wanted to—the animals were seeking shelter from the impending storm just as they were, if not already safely tucked away. After all, hadn't she noticed the woods had gone quiet only moments earlier? There'd been nocturnal forest sounds, and then there'd been silence, but she'd been too absorbed in her own thoughts at the time to make the distinction. Without a keener sense of smell like Fenrir had, she'd be useless in tracking down anything. Besides, she wasn't sure she had the heart to actually kill any of the animals herself.
"Sure." She nodded and turned back to her own task. That seemed fair. Strange that she should so easily strike a balance in workload with Fenrir Greyback, but there it was.
Harry and Ron had both been content to let her put in the bulk of the work when they'd been on the Horcrux hunt. From picking where they set up to casting the wards, even preparing meals though none of them had any idea how to survive on what was around them. She tried her damnedest and she'd known her efforts were barely palatable—it was sustenance and it hadn't poisoned any of them and that was the best they could all hope for under their abysmal circumstances, but one would swear those boys had expected her to whip up some gourmet feast when they could hardly scrounge together shrubs.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slow, Hermione reminded herself this was not the time to fret about what had once been. She also recognized that by getting angry at Harry about things from the past that were flippant by comparison, it spared her. It distracted her from having her heart broken all over again by his betrayal.
"Oh," Fenrir said as he ducked into the tent, startling Hermione as she set to lighting the kindling in the firepit, "going Spartan again, are we?"
She frowned, looking about. It was a little more of a snug fit than what she'd typically set up during all those months traveling with the other two—it would probably less painful for her if she avoided directly thinking their names whenever possible—but it was only her and Fenrir. The other difference was that she'd wisely created an open space above the fire, magically protected so that it would let the smoke out, but not the elements in.
And it was precisely the same set up she'd used while nursing his clearly ungrateful lupine arse back to health. It was a very basic lodge with a low floor, wooden beams to fortify the walls, and bedding on either side of the fire, far enough for personal space, yet close enough to the fire to keep warm. The nerve of him, sounding like it was paltry!
"I beg your pardon? What's wrong with it?"
He shrugged, bringing his kills—small game, but she guessed he made the choice based on what was easiest to catch with the pending storm, and what he thought she could reasonably stomach watching him skin and gut—to the fireside, he hunkered down. "Nothin'." He went on as he retrieved an ancient-looking blade from his boot and started preparing the cooling bodies. "Just figured someone like you preferred comfort, is all."
Hermione towered over him, which was only possible due to the fact that he was currently seated on the floor, and propped her fists on hips. "Someone like me?"
The werewolf seemed oblivious to her touched nerve, going on in a conversational tone, "I'm not wholly unfamiliar with Muggles—unlike those pure-blood bastards you're more used to spending time around, apparently—and you, I dunno, carry yourself a bit like you might come from the posh side of town."
"The posh side of . . . ." Her echoed words just slid off as she gaped at him. "Well that's just . . . ." Her parents were both dentists, a profession at which they were each quite successful. "I . . . ." Had she not been a witch, her parents could've afforded to send her to any Muggle school she wanted. "But . . . ." And it was hardly as though they lived in a mansion, but she supposed that yes, compared to some, her upbringing had been . . . financially comfortable.
"Oh, shut it," she finally huffed, shaking her head at him. Sometimes she forgot that the last nine months of willingly roughing it did not change the previous eighteen years of having it relatively easy. "The choice of the tent's interior spell was a question of conserving my energy, not luxury. There's a fire, cots, and for the sake of convenience, utilities in the far corner behind that wall there." She pointed. Yes, she'd even thought to install a door with a latch on the inside.
"Have my presumptions offended you?" he asked, his tone mild, the question nearly lost in the soft, wet, suckling sounds of his knife working through the animal's flesh.
"Is it that obvious?"
Fenrir glanced back at her, one of his villainously arched brows raised. "Now you know how it feels."
She swallowed hard, understanding what he meant to get at, but he didn't seem to understand who he was talking to. "I may come from a slightly on the posh side background in the Muggle world, but I shouldn't need to remind you that in the Wizarding world, I come with a hateful label, too. I may not be deemed 'savage' or 'half-breed', but there are still a boatload of unpleasant judgments and distinctions that come with being born a Muggle in our world, Greyback; still that temptation some people have to call me something else to my face when they hear the word 'Muggle-born.' So thank you, but I didn't need your little lesson just now to understand what it's like to be unfairly judged for reasons beyond your control."
His broad shoulders drooped a little and he frowned as he returned his attention to preparing his kills to go on the fire. She was correct, of course—what Bellatrix had done to her that night at Malfoy Manor? Mad bat might never have gotten away with doing that if Hermione Granger had been even a half-blood. Now? Now the Wizarding world was moving into a frightening new era for her, one in which her very existence wasn't just a blight to some, but an outright and completely legal death warrant.
"I suppose you're right." He nodded. "So let's make a deal, then?"
Hermione gripped her wand tight, her knuckles drained of blood with the force behind it. "Go on."
"We move forward with no more presumptions about one another."
Her chestnut eyes darted about and her lips pressed into a thoughtful line. "That's it?"
Again, he nodded. "That's it. We might be stuck together a while, if we want to keep the tension to a minimum, it makes sense to avoid getting on one another's nerves however we're able. So, we want to know something about each other? We simply ask."
She forced a deep breath. "Okay." Flexing her fingers, she loosened her hold on her weapon. "That sounds perfectly reasonable." In fact, she was a little annoyed with herself that she'd not been the one to come up with such a simple solution. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get those wards in place before the rain hits. I'll leave you be with . . . that," she said, waving to indicate his current task.
"Of course you will."
She shook her head at him, keeping a retort to herself—she couldn't exactly argue the fact that she would have an easier time eating if she didn't have to watch the process by which the food she was about to consume went from dead animal to grilled meat. "Be back shortly," was all she managed in reply before she turned on her heel and headed out of the tent.
He cast his gaze upward, eyeing the thick blanket of deep grey clouds rolling in overhead through the vent in the tent's roof. "It'll be a miracle if we don't kill each other before the Death Eaters find us," he said in a low, growling murmur.
Hermione awoke in a fog, uncertain quite what had disturbed her. Blinking hard a few times, she slid her wand from beneath her pillow and breathed a quiet, "Lumos." It was purely reactionary, as there was still just enough light from the flames that hadn't yet died out in the firepit to let her make sense of her surroundings.
Folding back her the top of her sleeping bag, she sat up and looked around. Fenrir's cot on the other side of the pit was empty. She pretended the thought that he'd left didn't fill her with panic as she scrambled out of her own cot and padded across the floor of the tent. Rapping her knuckles against the bathroom door, it jostled back and forth a bit at her knock, clearly unlatched, the space beyond empty.
"Where could you have . . . ?" Her voice trailed off as she turned away, noticing a dark pile just inside the tent's opening.
Brow furrowing, she moved toward it. Far too small to be a collapsed werewolf, as she neared it she could see what it was—a pile of leather and boots beside it. Kneeling closer, she confirmed what it was—Fenrir Greyback's robes.
A distant howl echoed outside the tent and she immediately shot to her feet. As she bolted for the tent's flap to rush outside, she crashed into Fenrir as he was coming back inside.
His considerably sturdier form dominated the collision and she was knocked backward. It seemed to take each of them a moment to register what, precisely, had happened. He fixed confused amber eyes on her as she gaped up at him from the floor, her palms braced on either side of her as she tried to force her lungs to take in air.
"What the—? Oh, for the love of . . . here." Fenrir frowned, still a little confused as he reached a hand down to help her to her feet.
She was forced to admit to herself that she was in a bit of a daze, either from her impact with the ground or her impact with him, she couldn't be sure. That must be what it was that stalled her to accept.
Stripped down to nothing but a pair of tattered leather trousers, the waning orange illumination danced and dipped across the lines of muscle in his arms and torso, brightened the strains of yellow in his amber eyes and softened the ridiculously rugged angles of his face. She'd never seen him look like this before—never imagined he could look like this.
Hermione pushed aside a little fluttering stir in her gut that threatened to swoop lower in her body and slipped her hand into his. With a quick, simple tug she was on her feet, perhaps even in the air for a split-second, given his effortless strength and her comparatively slight build.
"Thank . . . thank you," she said after a moment, needing to force a gulp down her throat. "What, um, what were you doing out there? Did I hear a wolf howling?"
He snickered. "There's no wild wolves in the UK anymore, Sweetness, only werewolves. But yeah. I was trying to get a bead on others who might be out there."
"Wh—?" She was so shocked at the inherent danger in what he'd just done that she couldn't form the entire word. "Isn't that dangerous, then? Most people know there aren't wild wolves anymore. If someone of a mind to hunt us is close enough to hear, won't they realize—?"
"As far as we know, the Death Eaters are the only ones carrying out the kill order and we've put plenty of distance between us and them so far—the Ministry, even under the Dark Lord's rule, won't have time to drop cleaning up his messes to assist with that—and all they'd hear is the howl. They wouldn't get from it the information another werewolf would."
"Like actual wolves," she started with a nod, "you can determine one another's location based on a howl."
A half-grin curved his lips at her already having some insight on this. "And if they're in any sort of distress—wounded or lost."
"Did it work? Did you hear anyone? Because that sounded like it was far away."
"Yeah." Fenrir frowned again, pensively, and shook his head. "Not sure who they were, but they sounded unharmed. Think they might be moving on. We'll head to where I heard them after we check in on the pup in the morning."
"You think they'll still be there?"
"No idea, but maybe knowing there are other werewolves in the area, they'll leave something behind only we can follow."
She shifted her weight, left to right and back again as she stared up at him. Perhaps it shouldn't be a surprise that their current circumstances would unite the fractured species across battle lines so they might all achieve their common goal—survival. Even so . . . . "I, um, I have to think, given your reputation, they might not be inclined to accept any aid from us."
He chuckled, a deep, rich sound, and tapped her one tip of her nose. "That's why you'll do the talking if we do encounter them face-to-face, of course."
"Of course. Okay, but why did any of this mean you had to run about barefoot and without your robes?"
"Oh, it didn't." Those massive shoulders of his moved in a languid shrug. "Just like the wind on my skin and the earth beneath my feet."
"Ah, all right then."
He lifted a brow at her. "You can take your hand back, now."
The witch blanched, her eyes shooting wide. She sincerely hadn't even realized she'd left her fingers resting in his all this time.
Snatching back her hand, she hmphed her way over the her cot. "Well, I'm quite awake, now, thank you, and if the storm has passed, then we should really be on our way. With you fully clothed, if you don't mind!"
Holding back another laugh—oh, no, that would just antagonize her further—he picked up his robes and pulled them on. It was certainly better he not tell her that he could easily smell the true source of her irritation with him.
Hermione stared back at Andromeda—the elder witch's eyes were red rimmed and visibly tear-filled, despite how damp her cheeks already were, as though there was no end to them—and shook her head. Perhaps she didn't understand what she was saying, after all they'd just delivered some very upsetting news. Maybe Andromeda Tonks was in shock and unaware the meaning of the words she'd just spoken.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I must've misheard you."
"No." Andromeda swallowed hard and dabbed a tissue against her cheeks. "No, you didn't. I know a place I can hide with Teddy, but I fear traveling with him. If you've survived the War while . . . while Dora and Remus did not, I have to believe you have strength enough to protect him while I go and secure the area."
"This is madness," Fenrir said, his whisper barely audible. So, what? He cleaned himself up, looked somewhat civilized, and suddenly people thought he was to be trusted with infants?
"It is not!" Andromeda snapped, her expression shifting from heartbroken to fierce in a blink. "If they come for him, of course they'll expect him to be with me, wherever I've gone. If they catch me before I get to safety, who knows what'll become of him. However, I did much research on werewolves as soon as Dora told me she was with child. I know how to leave a trail only one of your kind can track," she said, her gaze unflinchingly on Greyback's. "I'll get to safety and then I'll contact you. Just a moment."
Andromeda didn't wait to see if either of them had any more questions or objections, rising from her seat and hurrying from the room. Hermione and Fenrir exchanged a look in her absence.
"Now we're surrogate parents?"
Hermione could only shake her head, utterly speechless. After a few heartbeats, she managed to scrape together enough coherent thoughts to form sentences. "It'll . . . it'll only be for a few days. She's right, it's probably safer if she get herself settled wherever she intends to hide with him, so she can be certain it is, in fact, safe, and then we bring him to her. We know how to cover our tracks."
"You think we'll be able to travel with an infant?"
"We are both perfectly competent people, I'm sure we can figure it out!"
Greyback propped an elbow on his knee and dropped his chin into his palm. "You know, outpacing the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, and the Boy Who Lived seemed doable—dangerous, but doable. Now I think you just might be overestimating our combined abilities."
"Here." Andromeda, oblivious to the argument, came back in on rushed footfalls. She pressed a coin into Hermione's hand, not Wizarding currency, but something large, worn and Old World, Roman, perhaps? "I've spelled it with a—"
"Protean Charm?" Hermione nodded. "I'm familiar, I've done this myself."
"Then you already know how it works. Once I'm positive the safe house is secure, I'll send you the location via the coin."
"I'm still not sure this is the best—"
"Please!" Andromeda clamped both of her hands around one of the younger witch's and met her gaze, just as unflinching as when she'd looked at Fenrir a few minutes earlier. "I've already lost my daughter. I've lost my son-in-law. I can't bear to lose Teddy, too. Please!"
Hermione felt the burn of tears welling up in her own eyes in response to Andromeda Tonks' pleading. She ignored the softly hissed curse that tumbled from Fenrir's lips. How hard a request this must be for her, Hermione couldn't even imagine. "Okay, we'll take him with us. But if anything happens to you, if you so much as think someone is following you, use the coin. Anything that compromises your safety, or makes you have to change plans, let us the moment you're able."
"I swear it."
"I can't believe she talked us into this," Fenrir said as they reached the area the other werewolf's howl had indicated.
If not for Hermione's beaded bag with its extension charm of fuck-all, they'd have had to carry so much extra. Woods were not easy traveling with a child so small, and the witch and werewolf took turns carrying him. Teddy slept most of the way, the only thing visible above the dark material of the sling was his tuft of turquoise hair. They'd stopped a few times to feed and change him, but they were both determined to not actually stop for themselves until they were setting camp for the night.
"I can't believe you didn't fight harder."
Fenrir shrugged, about to explain himself when a small building came into view in the distance. There was a heavy scent of water here, and Hermione didn't need a werewolf's sense of smell to know that it would cloud any attempt to track by scent. The treeline cleared to reveal the narrow shore of a lake. A few meters out, atop a small embankment was a squat, rectangular building. Perhaps it had been a guardhouse to a larger property at one time, but now it was simply . . . there. The door was intact and the windows boarded.
His silence continued as he led her through the shallow water and up to the guardhouse. He didn't have to tell her, she already knew whoever'd been here had moved on—probably at first light, if not immediately after they'd answered Fenrir's howl. They were all thinking the same thing. That to stay alive meant needing to stay on the move, even if this location seemed an ideal hideout for a few days.
With Teddy in tow, that just might have to be the case for them.
He pried open the door, cautioning her to stay back as he drew his wand and stepped in ahead of her and Teddy. Hermione's entire body was tensed as she waited for word from him, her own wand drawn and her free arm tight around the slumbering baby. She was exhausted, but she knew she'd never get a wink of sleep unless she felt they were as safe as they could realistically make themselves.
"Clear."
Some of the tightness in her shoulders and upper back eased as she lowered her wand. Holding Teddy close as she could manage, sling or no sling, she stepped inside.
She was surprised to find the place, while visibly broken down and having seen much better days, was not in truly deplorable condition. They possibly could make due here for a few days just as she'd thought, especially with a charm or two to straighten it out, meanwhile the outside would still appear as though no one had set foot here in decades.
"This will work," he said, nodding, as though reading her thoughts—managing Teddy's care would be much easier if they were someplace stationary as they waited for word from Andromeda.
"I think so, too. We should get to work clearing this place up so we can all get some rest."
Fenrir nodded once more, looking about as the one-floor house straightened and cleaned itself up under the combined sway of their magic. They transfigured the totally unnecessary desk left behind into a crib. The cots and bedding—once Hermione withdrew them from her bag and re-enlarged them—Fenrir set up on either side of the crib while the witch changed and fed the baby one more time before settling him down for the night.
Or, well, what she hoped was for the night; she was fully cognizant that a lot of infants weren't able to sleep straight through from bedtime to morning.
After they were settled in for the night, the guardhouse warded and charmed to the teeth, Hermione felt herself drifting off. Maybe she'd finally get a good night's sleep for the first time in God only knew how long.
That was until Fenrir's voice split the darkness. "I never answered you earlier."
Her brow furrowed as she darted her gaze about the shadowed beams of the ceiling. "About what?"
"Why I didn't fight harder about taking the baby with us."
"Oh." She twiddled her fingers over the top of her stomach, a terrible feeling in midsection—cold and clawing—that she wouldn't like where this was going. "That hadn't actually been a question."
"No, I know, but still, there was a response for it. I just . . . I suppose I was grateful for the distraction of finding this place so that I didn't have to say it right then."
The air felt very still then, like a thing that had weight where it pressed to Hermione's skin. "Say it now."
There was a sound of Fenrir Greyback forcing a gulp down his throat in that still, silent, weighty darkness before he answered, "I picked it up from his scent the moment she brought him into the room. This baby's going to grow up a werewolf."
