Chapter 01.

"What should we do with them, boss?" The scrawny wizard asked. Behind him stood a small handful of teenagers with tears in their eyes as they awaited their fate. Fenrir Greyback was surveying the abandoned warehouse loft, his back turned to the group. He kicked an empty beer bottle before turning to the gathered people with an expression of boredom.

Fenrir had earned his reputation as one of the most gruesome werewolves know to Europe by brutal force over the years but found himself acting more as Voldemort's boogeyman for wayward wizarding children. As leader of the Snatchers he enjoyed the hunt for rounding up those on his "list" but the other responsibilities of the title were nothing more than a chore.

"Hmm," his gold eyes went to each face of the captured teenagers, the scent of their fear radiating off their bodies. He could sense their hearts began to race even harder as he took a step forward. The crunch of glass and rubbish beneath his boots was the only sound in the room.

"Are any of you muggleborn?" He asked. All five teenagers shook their head violently, Fenrir noticed one of the girls among them was visibly shaking in terror.

"Don't lie to me, kids," he warned in a low stern voice. He took a few steps further until he was towering over them like the grim reaper himself. In many ways he knew the resemblance was uncanny: dressed in black, just like the sickle-wielding figure of myth, Fenrir held their lives in his scarred hands. He sniffed the air, all for show of course because he didn't need to inhale hard to pick up the scents of the room. "I can smell a liar."

Which was a bluff.

He could discern when someone was afraid, when they were aroused or even when they were sick among other details but reading a scent was not quite the same as force-feeding someone veritasum. He couldn't read minds but he could read behaviors. And humans, he found, were predictable creatures. However none of that was common knowledge to many outside the pack, least of all a handful of terrified children.

The girl that had been whimpering in the background was now crying hard although desperately trying to hide her tears. She was, in fact, muggleborn he surmised. None of the other teenagers made eye contact with her. Her heart rate was elevated more than anyone else in her company, her gaze diverted. To the other Snatchers, all wizards, these sort of details went unnoticed-as they had countless other occasions.

"Very well," he eventually said after a long silent moment. "You will all run back to Hogwarts and should any of my men catch you again I promise I won't be so lenient."

The teenagers nodded, whispering promises to Fenrir before they were ushered out of the space by the other Snatchers. It was anyone's guess if the students would go back to Hogwarts but Fenrir did not care for their fate. If they were foolish enough to get caught again then that was their fault not his.

As for the muggleborn? For her sake it was especially wise to avoid Fenrir's path. His mercy was limited compared to Voldemort's that was quite simply non-existent. He doubted that the Dark Lord would have been particularly happy to hear his resident werewolf was letting muggleborns walk freely. Letting the muggleborn go had been a passing whim. However, Fenrir blamed his growing apathy for the disregard to the wizard's wishes and less to any growing conscience he might possess.

"What now Greyback?" One of the Snatchers asked.
"Go back to headquarters and await my further instruction," the werewolf responded. The wizards all nodded in affirmative and suddenly disappeared as they Apparated away. Fenrir lingered in the abandoned space for little while, embracing the silence and solitude briefly before he too disappeared. His patrols weren't over for another hour but Fenrir needed a drink. Or two.

When he reappeared Fenrir was standing in the familiar streets of Nocturne Alley. It had remained unchanged over the years and that was part of why Fenrir liked it. There were very few things the werewolf enjoyed about the concrete jungle that was wizarding London but the seedy part of town always had a level of charm that endeared itself to him. For one thing no one batted an eyelash at the 6' 3'' werewolf as he walked through the streets and not a single witch or wizard looked up from their drink when he entered the Pewter Claw.

He sat down at a stool towards the far end of the bar. There was a short exchange between the werewolf and the bartender followed by a tall glass of ale put in front of him. Fenrir didn't hesitate to take a long sip, the cold beverage was a welcome relief to his parched throat.

Apparently playing the boogeyman to wayward students takes a lot out of a werewolf, Fenrir thought to himself. Becoming the leader of the Snatchers, Voldemort's branch tasked with rounding up enemies of the regime, had originally been a temporary gig. A favor for the deranged wizard in exchange for more land for his pack. In the early days of Voldemort's victory there had been plenty for Fenrir to do and executing his enemies was no trouble to him. So much of his people's blood had been shed by the hands of the Order, returning the favor was the least he could do of what remained of them.

Most of those who had resisted Voldemort were dead but the scattered few that remained at large proved to be the source of immense ire for the Dark Lord.

Your mission is done when you bring me her, Voldemort had hissed and Fenrir merely nodded, knowing that any further challenge to the Dark Lord's order might cost him more than he wished to give. Even now, sitting in the bar Fenrir couldn't help but sense the wizard's foreboding presence in the background of his mind as he replayed the order over and over.

He took another swig from his pint.

Bring me her, the voice echoed again and again until Fenrir forced the thought from his head.

Hermione Granger, so named the brightest witch of her age according to many sources, was unsurprisingly a difficult adversary to catch. All traces of the witch disappeared after the Battle of Hogwarts and if not for the lack of body at the scene Fenrir might have thought she had died way back then. But the whispers of her existence were enough for Voldemort to continue seeking her, or rather, have Fenrir hunt for her.

To his credit, Fenrir had tried to track her down over the years. Whatever she had done to cover her tracks impressed even Fenrir. While her capture meant his own freedom the werewolf had to admit he was intrigued by her skills at staying hidden.

But there was another detail that interested him even more: her scent. Even now Fenrir recalled her distinct scent from the time they first crossed wolf within him stirred at the memory as both man and wolf grappled with the mystery of what was so captivating about her.

And there was of course the memory of Malfoy Manor incident. That's when it had started.

The dreams. The turmoil between the wolf within him and the man that, usually, considered himself in control between the two. Fenrir convinced himself that the sensation he felt was the void of an incomplete mission. He was tasked with finding Hermione Granger and once she was located the fracture between his wolf side and mortal mind would be mended.

I will feel whole again, he thought.

After a few more pints Fenrir paid his tab and left. While he convinced himself he was sober enough to Apparate his senses felt dull and just to be safe he decided to walk home instead. It gave him an excuse to stretch his legs and let his mind wander. Curfew was in effect all through the city and the streets belonged to him.

The lantern posts dotted his path and their light cast an unnatural orange glow to the cobblestone sidewalks. He didn't much enjoy city life. It was loud, chaotic and the scents were overpowering and unnatural for his heightened sense of smell. But his duty to Voldemort kept him here even when he preferred roaming the forests. When he closed his eyes he envisioned ancient trees and a darkness of night that swallowed everything. He felt the dead leaves beneath his feet and the smell of wet earth. . .

Fenrir was deep in thought as he walked and didn't realize his feet had taken him in the opposite direction of his home until he scanned the streets and didn't recognize the signs. The werewolf muttered several colorful expletives, trying to figure out where he had wandered. Unbidden, a feeling of unease washed over him so powerful it nearly took him off his feet. Fenrir wanted to blame the alcohol but knew the truth as the wolf within him stirred to life. It's violent snarls rose like a cacophony in his mind and set his hair on end.

"Show me your identification, witch," came a muffled voice. Fenrir moved towards the voice completely on instinct, as though his his entire body was on autopilot. "I could have you thrown in jail for breaking curfew."

"Let me go!" The woman yelled, thrashing against the Snatcher's grasp.

He spun around an alley corner and saw a small woman pinned against a wall by a Snatcher. Fenrir recognized the Snatcher as one of his own men. It was a wizard named Carver, known more for his brute strength than anything else.

Carver gave the witch a violent shake that made her head slam against the wall. Fenrir became incensed at the sight. Get ahold of yourself, Fenrir commanded himself but the order was directed at his wolf side. The animal within him was going berserk and for the first time in the werewolf's very long life he actually feared himself. He didn't have control and it didn't make sense.

Fenrir was no stranger to violence so what had the wolf so riled escaped him. The werewolf took a tentative step down the alley.

"Eh who's that?" Carver turned at the presence of Fenrir. "Boss, is that you? I was just questionin' this witch but she don' want to-"

Before Carver could finish his sentence the witch struck Carver in the stomach with her knee. The Snatcher released her, cursing angirly. She dropped to the ground and Fenrir discerned she was looking for her wand. In an instant Carver had recovered and kicked the witch hard enough that she was thrown against the brick wall with a sickening crack. The Snatcher was just about to strike her again when Fenrir's vision went red.

There was a flash of blinding light and when it faded the Snatcher was no more than a crumpled heap. Dead. Fenrir had not registered the wand in his hand or even heard himself utter the words Avada Kedavra as he took Carver's life without hesitation. The perceived threat removed the wolf within Fenrir settled back into the backseat of his mind. Fenrir was still trying to grasp how the situation had unfolded that he nearly forgot about the woman on the ground.

Only she wasn't on the ground anymore. She was advancing towards him and as she stepped into the lantern light he recognized the witch instantly even before his nose picked up that familiar scent.

"It's you," were the only words he could express before she raised her wand and struck him down. Darkness clouded him instantly as Fenrir slipped into unconsciousness.

The werewolf awoke in an unfamiliar location. It was an industrial flat of some sort with the minimal amount of furniture necessary to sustain a person. The curtains were drawn over the large windows but his instincts told him it was morning. He blinked several times to regain his equilibrium and became quickly aware of the chains around his body and the stinging sensation they evoked as they brushed across his skin.

Silver. He gave a tug on the chains but they were firmly secured to the wall behind him. Well isn't she a crafty one, Fenrir remarked to himself. A dash of dark humor was the werewolf's long time companion. It had kept him alive in worse situations after all.

"I should have killed you," Hermione said flatly. Fenrir glanced up to see the vision of the witch entering from a nearby room. She was dressed in a dark blue blouse and jeans but had retired her leather jacket to a nearby chair.

Her first clenched but she made no motion to grab the wand holistered at her side. Dark eyes narrowed at the werewolf and there was something in her gaze that intrigued him even though he didn't need to read her mind to understand the malice behind her expression. It was clear she had changed since their last encounter so many years ago and in many more ways than one. There was a hardness to her features that had not been there before and gone were any remains of a youthful innocence. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her hair was cut short. The woman before him carried herself with measured caution and quiet lethal confidence.

It occurred to him that it was no wonder he had never been able to find her over the years. Fenrir had been searching for prey when really he was hunting another predator all along.

"Yes, you should have." Fenrir agreed. He shifted his head to focus his gaze on the peculiar witch, ignoring the pain it caused as the silver chains dug deeper into the flesh around his neck and arms. "So why then didn't you?"

That was a good question. Why hadn't Hermione killed him while she had the chance? She had taken down plenty of Death Eaters after all and he would have just been another name to cross off her mental list. And the fact didn't escape her that every moment the werewolf spent breathing meant a possibility he could break out of his chains and kill her.

But she could not ignore that he had rescued her first, even going so far as to kill one of his own men. The Snatcher that had cornered her had been stronger than her and had he been able to land another kick she doubted she would have lived through it. As it was she had finished off a bottle of dittany to heal her broken ribs.

Hermione herself had no reservations about killing her enemies, not after all they had stolen from her, but she did have her own sense of morality to uphold. It was the only thing Hermione believed kept her from being just as terrible as them. So for now Fenrir Greyback lived.

"Because you saved me and I want to know why," Hermione said. She sat on a chair just outside of his reach, her posture rigid even as she leaned in.

He shrugged but it was difficult to feign nonchalance as the sizzle of the silver burned into his skin. Years spent in the werewolf detainment centers had built him a high-tolerance for pain but even Fenrir had his limits and clenched his jaw to keep himself present.

"Tell me," she said and there was an undertone of a threat behind her words.

"Or what?"

"Or I kill you right now," she said matter-of-factly.

Fenrir laughed and Hermione jumped at the sudden sound of his booming voice. Her frown deepened in annoyance with herself for her reaction but also the fact that the werewolf was not cooperating.

Perhaps he sensed from Hermione's expression that her next move would not end in another idle threat because after a moment of silence to consider his words, Fenrir spoke.

"I don't think I could have let you die even if I wanted to, witch."

This was not the response Hermione could have anticipated and briefly Fenrir saw the surprise in her face before she quickly hid it behind a mask of neutral indifference.

"Explain," she said.

Fenrir knew that was going to be her next request. Even so he wished he could have offered a better answer than "the wolf made me do it" when it came to why he saved her. He wasn't sure why he had walked in the opposite direction of his home, why his heart had begun to race even before he saw her. However he was beginning to put the pieces together. Fenrir was cold and calculating but even he was surprised by his actions. Killing Carter had never crossed his mind but something primal in him had responded to Hermione's danger.

Just like before...

"They say you don't get a choice who you imprint on", he said quietly, almost to himself, as he slowly realized what had happened. He couldn't mask his own disbelief. Fenrir's eyes went to the scar on Hermione's throat. It was faintly visible, a silver line where Bellatrix's dagger had left it's lasting mark years ago. An expression of remorse shadowed his face at the sight of it. Hermione did not understand his expression nor his words and she wondered if the werewolf had gone mad.

"I ignored my instincts back then but I don't think I can do that again," Fenrir said, leaving off the last part of his sentence I don't think the wolf will let me. With a sigh he said: "I will do my best to explain."