[Author's Note ]
There are two things I cannot seem to get away from: writing this pairing and having the setting take place in winter. In my defense, I don't see much of it living in Hawaii so it has some novelty. At any rate this little oneshot was inspired by the holidays and I hope you enjoy. If you are new to my fics and interested in reading more of this pairing I recommend the fic Savage Heart. It's lengthy but it dives more into Fenrir's characterization.
The Wolf's Compass
By Clementine Mack
Millicent Bulstrode appreciated solitude far more than most witches her age and social status. But at 26-years-old she had seen enough of what pureblood wizarding high society had to offer and decided she wanted very little to do with it. Which was why she had come to find herself in a remote forest cabin, a blink in the landscape of ancient fir trees and large black mountains. She was enjoying her morning tea when the gentle tapping sound of her family's owl drew her attention to the kitchen window. Unlatching it the enormous creature fluttered in on a gush of cold winter air. Gilgamesh was a stately great-horned owl with specs of black dotting his long brown wings, he peered at her with yellow-gold eyes as he dropped the letter at her feet.
"Help yourself, old man," Millicent said, nodding to the nearby perch where his food and water awaited the avian familiar. The witch at once recognized her family's crest stamped into the envelope with an obsidian wax. She opened the letter and her father's scrawling penmanship greeted her even before she read the contents :
My dearest beloved Millicent,
I have gathered word that you do not intend to join us this year for the holidays. Your brothers and I are disappointed in your decision and I ask that you reconsider this choice. I do not need to remind you that it has been a century-old Bulstrode tradition for us to celebrate the Yule season with our friends and family. This year's gathering will be at the family manor ….
Millicent paused, already bored, and set the parchment aside. She could have guessed the rest of the letter, perhaps nearly word for word, as her father had sent her the very same letter so many other times before. Depending on the occasion she could gauge his level of disappointment by how often he used the words "family" and "tradition".
"He has two sons, what more could he want?" Millicent asked to no one in particular. After all, she was alone in her remote cabin save but the company of the messenger. The animal ruffled its feathers in indifference, clearly the matters of witches and wizards were of no concern to an owl. In truth, Millicent knew her father's intentions were mostly benign. He wanted to see each of his children happy, or rather happily married, and leading successful lives. For Millicent's two brothers they had achieved as much, choosing women of good heritage and staking claims in the magical world's political arena. Millicent, however, had yet to obtain such feats of accomplishment neither having chosen a husband nor career. While Mr. Bulstrode wouldn't care much if his only daughter ever pursued the latter, finding a suitable husband for her was one of the aging wizard's greatest concerns.
I am going to die an old spinster just to spite him, she thought to herself and smiled inwardly. While her school friends had all gone on to enter respectful courtships or work with their family's designated paths but Millicent wanted something more than what aristocracy had to offer her. She wanted adventure, to live close to the land and bathe in the lakes. She dreamed of the wild winds in her hair and the sunshine on her face. Millicent wanted to feel the bare earth beneath her feet and feel connected to something much larger than herself. It was why she chose to come here so often; to escape the stifling air of her family's high society expectations. It was world she had been born into but wanted very little to do with.
This cabin was her sanctuary from the civilized world, hundreds of miles from prying eyes and the judgemental glances of kin. Millicent, in her youth, had been told this was a phase she would grow out of: trade her breeches for a corset and fine silk gowns. But Millicent was beginning to believe that this was more indicative of who she was meant to be: a wild woman.
Millicent looked at the clock. The early morning sunshine was drifting through in fine beams of light across stone-laid kitchen floor. "I better get a start on today," she said as she took one last swig of hot tea before going to her room to change. She dressed in a pair of thick pants and linen blouse beneath several layers of emerald wool. Putting on a pair of gloves she tucked her wand in a leather holster at her hip and set off to tackle her morning chores.
Hunting was, as her friend Pansy would often say, utterly barbaric. But out in the remote terrain of her home it was a necessity that Millicent surprisingly enjoyed. Setting traps and foraging from the land had been a family tradition on Millicent's mother's side of the family. And Millicent was grateful that she had learned what she could from the fiery woman before she passed away. While Millicent's father never liked to divulge his late wife's status as a muggleborn, Millicent secretly relished that at least a part of her spoke of a heritage beyond stuffy ballrooms and bearing children.
She trudged through the snow carefully, reminding herself that she would need to conjure up some sort of snowshoes before the next storm approached if she were to trek much in the winter weather to come.
Suddenly Millicent heard a loud crack followed by a thud. She retrieved her wand and casted her gaze in the direction of the sound. It could not have been more than a few yards up the way and thinking it might have been one of her snares she set off to investigate. Millicent expected to find perhaps a rabbit or fox not, to her surprise, a full-grown man laying face first in the snow. His groans of pain were muffled by the blanket of snow beneath him.
"What in Bloody Merlin," she cursed as she rushed to the stranger's side. Millicent rolled him over to get a better look and saw the man was slipping in and out of consciousness. Although badly wounded, she surmised his injuries were not on account of the snare that had merely tripped him. His lips were a sickly blue hue and contrasted the deep crimson of the blood on his face and tattered clothes.
"Where did you come from?" She asked and was not surprised when she received nothing but incoherent mumblings in reply. All she could hear him say with any clarity were the words "No... ... Mungos…."
"Well I suppose we should first get you out of the cold then," Millicent said. There wasn't to be much time for her to ask him why he did not want to go to the wizarding hospital. If they didn't get to a warmer place he wasn't going to survive. She grabbed his arm, closed her eyes, and envisioned the warm interior of her cabin. In a single pop! they vanished only to reappear on the floor of her home's living room.
By now the stranger was completely unconscious, his breath haggard and slow. The witch knew she had precious little time if she was to keep her new visitor in the land of the living. She pointed her wand at the fireplace and with a couple muttered incantations flames burst to life nestled in the brick wall. Removing her wool overcoat she put it over him as she darted off to the kitchen.
Her heart was racing as she fetched a bowl of warm water, washcloth and the small first aid kit she kept beneath the sink. Millicent returned to his side with a sharp exhale as she surveyed his wounds. The burns and abrasions looked to be the work of hexes not animals which only made Millicent wonder more why he had not wanted to go to the hospital. She cleaned the injuries with carefulness, dipping the cloth in a dittany concoction.
A fugitive perhaps, she wondered with piqued curiosity. Under the bloodstains Millicent could see the stranger was unconventionally handsome. His tan complexion was marred with numerous scars of various stages and partially hidden behind a beard. Calloused hands, while scratched and bruised, spoke of a man living a life far beyond the kind she was used to mingling with.
"Who are you?" She murmured although the man did not stir even as she continued to put a dittany on his wounds. The healing salve set to work mending the injuries but Millicent knew that it might not be enough. She had done all she could but only time would tell whether the stranger would survive.
Using a levitation spell, she gently transported her guest to a spare bedroom. The room had once belonged to one of her brothers but had long since been abandoned by its former occupant. The large bay windows drew in the winter sunlight between the filter of the room's gray curtains. She guided the unconscious man to the bed with her wand, draping the heavy down comforters over him. Already his skin color was beginning to show signs of life, the warmth of the home and the dittany healing properties had returned a tinge of red to his face. Millicent nodded to herself, pleased that her fast-acting decisions would hopefully mean a full recovery for stranger.
When the injured man woke many hours later he was at once disoriented. Having no recollection of how he came to find himself in an unfamiliar room, he sat up quickly only to find that the movement caused wracking pain to splinter across his body. From the window, he could see outside the day sky had been relinquished to a dark cloudy night but he still didn't know yet where he had found himself.
The last memory the stranger had was running from the Aurors. They had corned him down a Muggle street alley. In a hastey moment of desperation he had attempted to apparate away with no clear destination in mind. Having been self-taught for most of his magic skills, apparating had never been his forte.. But the ability to appear and reappear in desired locations was considerably more dangerous when the user didn't know where they wanted to go. But deep down he knew it was the wolf within guiding, acting on the instinct of self-preservation, them to this location. But why?
As though the tendrils of fog unveiled the memories of the afternoon, he recalled stumbling through the winter forest scape. On any other occasion it would have felt like coming home but weak from his injuries and exhausted the frozen wonderland seemed like certain death.
Until someone rescued him. He only vaguely could see the shadowy figure but it had been a woman's voice that spoke to him. Again he felt the tug on his mind that something had drawn him to this place. Where had his magic taken him and why? He remembered fighting against the unconsciousness hoping his words would be clear enough for the person to understand. Don't take me to st. Mungo's. Escaping the clutches of law enforcement only to find himself back in their custody seemed like an equally terrible fate for a man who had vowed never to see the inside of Azkaban.
"Oh good, you're awake," came a voice from the doorway. There stood a petite young woman, he guessed to be in her mid-twenties. She had shoulder-length brown hair and a piercing look in her gaze. Full lips cambered in an amused smile with her cheeks blush from a recent jaunt into the outside cold.
The stranger sat up once more, this time more slowly and with therefore slightly less pain in the process. "Where am I?"
"In my home," she offered as she stepped into the room. With a flick of her wand the lanterns adorning the walls sparked to life and the room was suddenly aglow in an orange hue. "We are currently hundreds of miles from any town so you can imagine my surprise at tripping over you this morning."
The stranger said nothing and Millicent guessed he was weighing his options in the situation. The both came to the same conclusion: in terms of options the man did not have any in his possession.
"My name is Millicent, by the way. You are welcome to stay and rest up here. Whatever sort of trouble you are in doesn't matter much to me so long as you remain a polite guest," she said and there was an undertone of intensity that the man understood quite clear. Despite her short stature there was nothing slight or meek about the woman's presence.
"Thank you," he said quietly, too tired to consider any other option at the moment other than to accept the hospitality. He knew once he was fully healed he would be off but for the time being the man was grateful for a warm bed. After a moment of hesitation, he added. "Fenrir. You can call me Fenrir."
He saw a minute flicker of emotion flash across her face before disappearing behind a rehearsed mask of civility. It was such a strange, subtle reaction. He had anticipated alarm. Terror even . But her response was muted, as though she had recognized the name but chose not to be put off by it. Perhaps she was indeed nonplussed by "whatever trouble" he was in or Fenrir thought darkly perhaps she would walk into the next room and summon the Aurors to cart him off to Azkaban. If that were to be the case he knew he was doomed having hardly the energy to keep himself upright.
However the trail of his thoughts was cut short by Millicent's cordial reply and accompanied smile, "it is a pleasure to meet you Fenrir. I will let you get some more sleep now and bring by supper in a little bit."
It was two days later before Fenrir had the strength to walk about properly. In that time he mostly slept, each time waking up with the dread that Millicent had turned him in. Only the witch was true to her word; if she did know of his past she did not act on this knowledge. Instead she brought him fresh clothes in the morning and several meals throughout the day, pausing only briefly to inquire about his health before returning to her chores. From the vantage of his window he often saw Millicent crossing the yard to disappear into the deep forest paths.
What a curious witch, he remarked, surprising himself at wanting to know more about the mysterious woman who had rescued him. It was the middle of the afternoon and Fenrir gathered his strength to walk down the stairway just as the front door flew open. Millicent carried a bundle of firewood piled up in her arms so high her face was obscured. She set it down by the entryway and jumped at the sight of Fenrir.
"Gave me a scare there! But I am glad to see you up and about. Has the dittany been helping?"
"Yes, thank you," he said. Nodding to the stack of wood that laid haphazardly on the floor, Fenrir asked, "can I help you with that?"
"Oh sure but I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself further...," she said even as her guest was already grabbing up the wood to stack in it's proper home by the fireplace. He winced, regretting the bold gesture of trying to lift anything in his weakened state. Millicent, to her credit, made no remark about his expression but she did regard him with concealed curiousity; it had not taken much for her to make the connection on his first day under her roof that the man currently stacking firewood in her living room was the feared werewolf Fenrir Greyback. But even so, she couldn't see how the tall man in front of her was supposed to be one that haunted children's nightmares. He was nothing like what she had envisioned. The illustration in her school book clearly depicted a feral half-human half-wolf creature with black soulless eyes staring back from the page. In reality, the werewolf's eyes were like sapphires and while his blonde hair appeared unkempt, he was distinctly human in features.
But as for why Millicent did not call law enforcement upon discovering her guest's identity, the truth was quite simple: she had mingled with witches and wizards all her life that had likely done many heinous crimes on behalf of Lord Voldemort. It was an open secret among high society of the families that had ties to dark magic and the Bulstrodes were no different. While her father had not been one of the Dark Lord's upper echelon he had carried out the Death Eaters biddings like any other pureblood wizard from their circle.
In other words, they were all culpable to some degree or another. Including Millicent.
"Is something the matter?" He asked turning to see her staring. Millicent blushed in mild embarrassment and shook her head.
"Tea?" she asked. Hanging her coat up by the back door she stepped into the kitchen. "You seem to be recovering fast by the way."
He nodded and took a seat at the kitchen nook. Millicent couldn't help but notice how out of place Fenrir seemed at the table; even in her brother's old clothes he didn't appear entirely of this world: the glint of an untamed soul in his blue eyes betrayed Fenrir's identity. It fascinated Millicent far more than she wish it did as her mind brimmed with questions. Where does the most feared werewolf in the wizarding world typically reside? What sort of life did he lead?
"My kind heal faster than wizards," Fenrir said plainly and Millicent froze as she set the kettle on the stove to heat. Her heart was beating fast as the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. He was baiting her, at once trying to see how she would react and also force her to acknowledge her guest's true nature. Not to be intimidated or reveal the thread of fear coiling around her mind, when Millicent turned towards her guest she was donning a remarkable nonchalance.
Interesting, Fenrir thought to himself.
"I didn't know that about werewolves," she answered as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. Her gaze matched his own and Fenrir broke into a mischievous grin. He could smell her fear but she hid it well. For this the werewolf had a newfound respect for his host which wasn't something he routinely bestowed on others.
"There is very little accurate knowledge about us in the wizarding world," he said with a shrug. "Now my question is if you know who and what I am then why am I still here, witch?"
"Well for one thing I found you half-dead in the snow. I am morally ambiguous, not heartless," she retorted. "Secondly, you haven't given me a reason to feel threatened. Unless I should be afraid of the big bad wolf?"
"Yes," he replied just as the kettle began to whistle causing Millicent to jump slightly in her seat. She scowled and Fenrir smirked.
She went to the stove and pulling two cups from the cabinet proceeded to pour the tea. "Spare me the dramatics, Fenrir. You are welcome to stay here for as long as you would like. It is as simple as that. If I were to turn you in I might as well turn in my family, our friends and half the people in my father's rolodex."
Millicent set the cup in front of him. "But so help me if you try to bite me I will hex you into last year."
Who is this woman, Fenrir thought as he took a sip.
After their initial conversation on the subject, the two actually fell into a peaceful routine across the preceding days. Fenrir relaxed, worrying a little less each day that the witch would turn him over to the authorities. As he regained his strength, his wolfen senses improved as well and from that something peculiar began to occur. There was gentle nudge in his mind that constantly reminded him of Millicent's presence. Even when she was out of sight this sensation pulled him to her. In his very long life the werewolf had no experience with this though and it puzzled him.
Somehow time seemed to pass irrelevant to the pair and the days became weeks. Millicent did not mind Fenrir's company. He was a willing help around the property and had a sharp sense of humor that matched Millicent's. As his strength returned Fenrir accompanied her on hunting excursions, surprised to find that the woman was quite adept in her survival skills.
"My mum was muggleborn," she said when he asked the origins of her abilities. "She taught me everything I know about being out here, much to my father's annoyance might I add. He thought it was unbecoming of a witch to sully her hands with the outdoors. Those two, I swear, couldn't have been more different people."
Fenrir reset a trap with equal ease to Millicent's approval. "And you live out here alone?"
"I stay out here as much as I can," she said, stepping over a fallen tree trunk. "I have a loft in london but I mostly rent it out. I can't stand the city life personally. Give me the solitude of the forest any day. And besides how else will I perfect my eccentric hermit persona?"
She paused turning to face Fenrir. He stopped abruptly nearly running into her, his tall form towering over the witch. "Now it's my turn to ask you some questions."
In the time Fenrir had been staying with Millicent he had offered very little about his life or past. She knew he liked his bacon undercooked and that he sometimes sang to himself in another language while chopping wood (Fenrir was unaware Millicent was privy to that second piece of information).
"Is that so?" He asked with an amused expression before relinquishing. "Ask away."
"Where are you from?" She asked, continuing back down the path as the snow crunched beneath their feet.
"I grew up near Galdhøpiggen," he replied. "It has been many years since I have seen my native land. This place reminds me of it."
"Do you miss it?" She asked.
"I miss the simplicity," he said and nothing more. The truth was that his allegiance to Voldemort had been costly and Fenrir had sacrificed a peaceful existence long ago to serve his pack. In retrospect, it seemed for naught now as his former packmates were long gone. However, returning to the wild felt like being able to exhale for once in a very long time.
"I understand," Millicent said quietly and something told Fenrir she actually did comprehend his sentiments. Perhaps better than any other individual he had met before. He was baffled by the feelings this woman invoked.
"Do you have any family?"
"Not anymore," he said with a shadow in his expression. The glimpse of sadness betrayed a vulnerability Fenrir didn't readily show others. "My family died a long time ago. After the war what was left of my pack fled to survive."
"I see," Millicent said, going silent. She had not wished to stir up any ill feelings but it was clear her line of questioning was not heading down a pleasant road. "Can I show you something?"
She stepped off the game trail and began moving southward deeper into the forest. After several minutes the landscape gave way to a breathtaking mountain range. The mountains were stained with shades of pink and purple from the shadows, stark contrast to the sunrise sky of vibrant orange. Far below them was a river not yet frozen over, deep aqua hue glistening as its cold waters flowed.
"Beautiful isn't it?" Millicent smiled as she inhaled deeply.
"I couldn't agree more," Fenrir replied but in that moment he wasn't looking at the sight. His eyes were on the woman before him. Millicent looked up just as Fenrir turned his gaze quickly to the view in front of them.
Even with his eyes shut Fenrir knew the exact position of the moon in the sky above. As each evening drew closer to the full moon he could feel the wolf within him begin to stir from its slumber. As the sun went down the werewolf would become restless. He was nearly back to full strength but that did not mean his next transformation wouldn't be more taxing than usual. His magic, while replenished by the moonlight, had been drained severely in healing his extensive wounds.
He knew he should have left by now. Millicent had been a gracious host but staying under her roof seemed like it was only a matter of time before he was found by the Ministry. And to his surprise, he didn't wish for her to get caught up in his mess. He actually cared about her fate. The werewolf was reluctant to admit to himself that he found her endearing. She was brazen and unapologetically herself but most of all Fenrir could see a kindred spirit in her.
A flicker of movement outside caught his attention. He recognized Millicent's burgundy cloak and watched as she raised her arm. Balancing on her forearm was her owl, it's great wings expanding as it took flight. Without thinking he ventured out to join her.
"Can't sleep either?" She asked as she stepped outside. She was transfixed by the bird's flight but pulled away as Fenrir approach. "I don't have the heart to send him back to my family's manor. He loves it out here."
"I suppose we are just a bunch of nocturnal animals," Fenrir said with a wry smile. Millicent laughed and Fenrir enjoyed the sound of her voice.
After a long silence Fenrir said the words he didn't want to say: "I must go soon."
The witch pulled her cloak closer around her small frame as if to shield herself from both the cold as well as the disappointment.
He could see her lips tighten in a disapproving line. They both knew this moment was to come and yet neither wished for it. The guise of the injured guest and the gracious host was only to last for so long. But Millicent had begun to savor their time together and was reluctant to see him leave. "What if you stayed here?" she asked, struggling to voice her feelings on the matter. "I know it isn't much but…"
"I am not good company to keep."
"Says who?
"Says the one who is a wanted man on several continents."
"You are safe here though, Fenrir." She said gently, taking his hand. The warmth of the gesture caught Fenrir off guard but he couldn't pull away from the earnest eyes looking back at him. "Please. Stay."
Why did he have such trouble saying no to her? After a long pause he kissed her forehead. "Okay, witch. I will stay."
"Tell me again what we are doing?" Fenrir asked. He was carrying a large axe over his shoulder, still trying to fully grasp what sort of plan the witch was devising in her mysterious mind.
It had started over breakfast; they were discussing the fact that Yule was just around the corner when Fenrir revealed he had never celebrated the holiday. Not as a child and certainly not as a grown man living on the run. From the moment Millicent learned this detail she had set to work transforming the cabin into the very image of the holidays with decorative plaid ribbons adorning the walls, floating candles hovering in the rafters and the smell of cinnamon, pine and clove wafting in the air. Despite her admission that she was terrible at most spells, Fenrir watched the witch transfigure gold bells from pinecones and crystal ornaments from icicles on the porch all morning.
"We need a tree for Yule," she said simply, inspecting each pine tree they passed with a sort of scrutiny Fenrir found amusing.
"Need? Do we really need one, witch?"
"Yes, wolf. You cannot have a proper holiday without one."
After a long hour of searching Millicent eventually found one to her liking. Once they were back at the cabin (with Fenrir lugging the massive tree because Millicent had forgotten her wand), the tree found it's new home in the living room. It didn't look like much to him and he couldn't understand why the perfectly good tree couldn't have stayed outside but Fenrir was not going to say as much.
Promptly after setting up the tree, Millicent asked Fenrir if he could get more tinder for the fire. He obliged but when he returned awhile later the inside of the cabin had reached its final transformation. The tree was now adorned with beautiful ornaments of all shapes and sizes and standing beside it Millicent had traded her normal attire of breeches and a blouse for a simple dress.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"Of the tree or the witch?" he asked with a grin.
"Both," she said as he stepped forward.
"The tree is nice but the witch is prettier."
They were standing inches apart now and feeling the warmth between them Fenrir felt that same nudge on his mind as he had before so many times since his arrival here. Without thinking he kissed her. There was no urgency as Millicent reciprocated the embrace.
Fenrir thought of the moment that had brought them together and the lingering question of why he had apparated here of all places. It was then it occurred to him: It was as though his inner self knew all along where he truly belonged. The wolf's compass was true. It hadn't helped him escape, it had been taking him home.