Chapter 1
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
The breeze of the night air covered her like a blanket. She allowed her lungs to be filled to capacity of the cold air with deep breaths. Standing alone under the midnight sun allowed her to feel at ease. The fresh scent of the forest and nearby flowers gave her an aroma that relaxed her. She only could calm down and loosen up in solitude, and she could not get that surrounded by her classmates.
She understood why they hovered her. She spent the past year on the run searching for dark artifacts, only surviving one day at a time. Her two best friends decided to go right into Auror training without completing their N.E.W.T.s and for the first time she was by herself.
Except… she wasn't really by herself.
Everyone tried to befriend her. Hermione Granger. War Heroine. Brightest Witch of Her Age.
It's all rubbish to her. She missed the days where she was known as the bookworm. Classmates understood not to approach her in the library, unless they we're looking for homework help. Now she couldn't have a free moment to herself in the castle unless she was in her room.
Even then, she was constantly interrupted in her Head Dorm by Ginny and Neville checking to see if she was okay. She always gave the same answer.
Yes. I'm fine. I'm sleeping okay.
Except… she wasn't really okay.
She was pretty sure her friends just accepted her answer because she's Hermione Granger. She is a strong, capable witch. She won the war, there's no reason for her to be plagued by dreams.
But every night she would try to close her eyes to sleep and her dreams were harassed by the dead and fallen. She dreamed of that tormented day where she was tortured within an inch of her sanity. She usually woke herself up with her own screams, drenched heavily in sweat, and her body trembling.
The trembling wasn't uncommon, however. Her limbs still frequently shook due to prolonged exposure of the Crutatious. Hermione had never been one to wish ill will on anyone, but she would give anything to awaken Bellatrix LeStrange from the dead and kill her again slowly.
The only other person who left her alone was the head boy, Draco Malfoy.
She had to give him props for coming back to school. She and Harry fought hard to keep him out of Azkaban, especially after he didn't identify them willingly at Malfoy Manor. Looking back over the years, Hermione noticed he usually stayed out of her way. Only antagonized Harry and Ron.
In fact, the last time she could remember him calling her a mudblood was the 3rd week of November in their fourth year after the first task of the Triwizards Tournament. She rounded a corner quickly and bumped into him, knocking over all of their combine belongings. They helped each other up, and she felt him linger with his hands on her hips a touch too long. As if he noticed the same thing at the same time, he jumped back and growled, "Stay out of my way Mudblood. Never put your hands on me again."
She didn't reply. How could she when she noticed there was no venom dripping from his lips?
In fifth year, when he was in the Inquisitorial Squad, she noticed him always lurking around the corner from the Room of Requirement. Yet they were never caught until Marietta Edgecombe ratted them out. Hermione smirked to herself thinking of the SNEAK written upon her face that will never fade. The bitch had it coming to her.
That was not the point though. The point was, if Malfoy always knew when they were meeting and where, why were that not confronted with the Umbitch prior to then?
Sixth year was the worst year by far for Hermione. By October she noticed the platinum blonde's pale skin greying. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He didn't even go out of his way to antagonize Harry or Ron. Even though Harry was obsessed with finding out whether or not he was a Death Eater. Hermione always defended him, knowing there was something eating up the boy, and the last thing he need was Harry Potter on his arse on everything he did.
She knew he was marked. Not that she ever told Harry, and she didn't even regret not telling him. She heard crying behind a tapestry during her patrols and she hid around the corner to see who it was. She wasn't expecting Draco Malfoy to walk out with red rimmed eyes running his hands through his messy locks.
He looked so… Human.
She had noticed blood dripping through his white oxford shirt and she watched him carefully roll up his sleeve. She had to cover her gasp, not because of the fact his pale skin was marred with a symbol of her death wish, but because of the slashes the ran through the magical tattoo. She watched him sigh, say a quick healing spell, and walk away.
She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him he didn't have to be alone in whatever he was doing. But then she remembered Harry following his every move, and that damn map.
She did what she could, however. She learned his schedule quickly, and left food in his normal study spot in the library often. Occasionally she would leave a small vial of dreamless sleep. She even felt her heart warm when she saw a smile smile tug at the corner of his emotionless face when he received his small gifts.
She spent the rest of the year watching him. Yearning to reach out. But then the fatal night happened with Dumbledore. She heard Harry's version of the story over and over, and every time she couldn't help but imagine that he was forced to against his will. Hell, he couldn't even go through with it. He lowered his wand.
He refused to identify them.
His tormented face.
Every night in her nightmares she would find solace in the silver eyes staring her down with a twisted look on his face. She watched his mother hold his hand and his father place a hand on his shoulder.
He wanted to help. He wanted to help her.
She was glad he didn't, otherwise he would have been murdered on the spot. Or perhaps, tortured for a while and then killed. Or be forced to watch his parents be tortured. She could never be sure what the sick bastard would do. She thanked Merlin everyday for Voldemort's demise.
She never knew how to bring the subject up to him. She wanted to tell him how he helps her through her nightmares, but it was always tricky to bring up the war. In most cases, the best thing to do was avoid it at all cost.
She knew he didn't come out of the war unscratched. She knew he had demons in his closet as well. He looked at her most times with a longing look to discuss something, but he always turned away and avoided her gaze. He gave her polite greetings, and occasionally would sit in silence with her by the fire to read at night.
His gaze burned through her, though. Anytime he was watching her, she could feel him. She couldn't understand the sensation, but she could always feel his piercing grey eyes on her. In the library, class, their tower, just anywhere. Most of the time she tried to hide her blush and not acknowledge the fact that she knew he was staring.
The quite nights with him helped, but she always felt the night call to her. She loved to hear the sounds of life surrounding her, to balance out all of the death she saw. She loved to take off her shoes and wiggle her toes in the grass, feeling the earth beneath her feet.
She learned to meditate over the summer, and she found that it helped her tremors and ease her mind. She tried to spend an hour outside every night. Headmistress McGonagall knew, of course. She was able to receive special privileges due to the fact she fought in a war before the age of 19, but she made the Headmistress call it Head Girl privileges.
This night in particular she felt compelled to go into the forbidden forest. There was an opening of a beautiful meadow that she found and laid down in. She looked up and basked in the glow of the full moon. She listened the birds chirp, the frogs croak. She heard rustling of trees and knew the creatures of the night were out, but she didn't feel afraid.
It wasn't until she heard a particularly low growl when she felt her senses finally kick in. She perched herself on her hind legs to sweep her gaze around the edge of the clearing.
She came face to face with a pair of glowing eyes. Yellow, golden irises. Eyes she immediately knew were a pair of werewolf's eyes.
She couldn't run, that would only send the wolf into defense mode and attack.
She couldn't approach the wolf, again it would feel threatened and most likely attack her.
So she stayed still, as still as she possible could be. The only thing she could hear was her heart throbbing in her throat and her ragged breath alarming her that she was afraid.
When the werewolf sauntered into the clearing she came face to face with a beautiful creature. She was mesmerized by the silver and white fur adorning its body. She immediately felt the need to run her fingers through the soft fur and bury her nose into his body.
She didn't know how, but she knew it was a male. Maybe it was the way he showed an heir of dominance over her.
She watched as the wolf slowly approached her, and still showing his sharp teeth. She stayed on her haunches and lowered her gaze in an act of submissiveness. She felt a warm breeze and knew he was close enough to smell her.
She hoped that maybe he would sniff her, find that she was no danger to him, and go on his way.
She was not expecting the slow lick on her neck that sent a shiver down her spine. His tongue felt smooth, unlike the rough tongue of her feline companion, Crookshank's. She felt him nuzzle into the curve of her neck and she turned to look him in the face.
He looked her over curiously, trying to figure out her next move. She couldn't tear her eyes from his yellow irises as she reached her hand slowly forward and ran her hands down his neck.
Soft. Silky. Wonderful. Were the only words she could find to describe how his fur felt.
She felt a bit braver and sat up with her legs crossed in front of her. She looked away from his gaze and back to the night sky. She traced constellations with her hands as she talked about each one.
She felt a warm body curl around her back protectively, and felt him rest his face on her thigh. She leaned into the warmth and stroked the werewolves head. She swore she felt him hum.
She never felt safer than she did around her wolf.
Her wolf. She though again. She didn't understand why it felt so right for her to think that.
She laid down and snuggled into the body heat. She felt his soft breaths raise her head on the inhale and fall on the exhale.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
She opened her eyes after a couple moments and realized it was morning. The sun was shining bright over her face and she listening to the peaceful harmony of the creatures in the forest rise from their rest. She turned and noticed her wolf was gone. In place however, was a small transfigured pillow and blanket wrapping her.
Someone nearby was her wolf. And they cared enough to make sure she was comfortable once they left. That thought melted her heart. She wished she knew who it was, but set her mind on researching more about werewolves in the meantime.
She strolled back toward the castle and realized it was the first peaceful night of sleep she had since 5th year, before the battle at the Department of Mysteries. She felt well rested and rejuvenated for once, and all she wanted to do was thank her wolf.
She entered the head dormitory and stopped briefly outside Malfoy's room. She brought her hand up to knock on the door to check on him, until she realized it must still be unnecessarily early. If the yells she heard at night from his room were any indicator, she would say he also had dreams plagued with nightmares.
She turned around and walked to her room, not before she looked back quickly to his door and felt a sudden compulsion to see if he was okay.
That wasn't important now. She would think about that later. For now she had research to do so she could find her wolf.
A/N: updated 6/6/18