A Hermione-Fenrir story that is slow in coming. I was exhausted with all those Fenrir stories where they scare and frighten Hermione yet somehow she is still in love/lust with him and they are mates. I don't like them. So I got the idea to write a strictly werewolf story where Fenrir has to learn to soften his manner for a skittish Hermione.
...
Victorious howls split the night air. The females wagged their tails and gathered at the edge of the woods, eager to greet the hunters on their success. And to feast!
A golden colored wolf edged around the excited females, tail hung between her legs and a slight crouch to her pacing. She wanted a part of the feast too, but knew if she edged forward it could become dangerous.
Her keen ears pricked forward, the first to hear the hunting pack returning though she was the furthest away. So focused was she on seeing if they had a large enough kill, so that she might have some of the leftovers if the other pack wolves were satiated, that she lost focus on her immediate surroundings.
A yelp escaped her when a female wolf with sandy fur and brown eyes snapped at her ear, brushing past her to bump her aside.
Hermione tucked her tail and skittered away, her lips pulling back in a snarl even as her ears pinned back and she ducked her head down lower.
Lavender snapped again, her wolf brown eyes dancing with laughter before she turned back and wove through the pack to the hunters and their kill. Pavarti threw her head back in her own amusement and shook out her black fur as she walked with her friend—her perfectly groomed tail swung and smacked across Hermione's snout as the duo passed.
Hermione sneezed and backed up further from the field, into the shadows, her gold eyes narrowing. The kill smelled so good, but she knew she'd have to wait longer. So she sat in the outskirts, looking upon the pack as it celebrated the hunt's fortune and ate their fill.
A scoff escaped her snout and she lay down with her head between her paws. Her attitude left her for sadness and she whined quietly in her throat.
She was hungry.
They had only caught a small doe.
…
Hermione tossed her mane of uncontrollable curls back and walked through the village with a book in her arms. She ignored the whispers—unnecessary whispers for no one truly could hide a conversation in a village of werewolves—and kept her head high as she retreated from the village to the woods.
To her hiding spot.
"Uph!" her breath left her as she ran into a solid form. Regaining her balance she looked up with wary gold eyes from underneath her curls.
Ronald stood smirking down at her, Lavender and Pavarti tittering off to the side. Harry stood a bit off with Ginevra.
Hermione swallowed.
"Another book?"
She sneered, "Indeed. I'm so glad you recognize one, considering I doubt you've ever opened even the basic regulations packet."
He scoffed at her. "It's no wonder you have no friends here, with an attitude like that. You're a nightmare."
She stuck up her chin, but otherwise kept her posture tight. "Finding a worthy friend in this pack is a hard task, truly. But I have come to think it more to do with present company than any of my own fault."
Lavender blinked, confused. Pavarti scoffed and tossed her sheet of dark hair. "You're such a scholar—it's no wonder you are so weak as a wolf. You should work on that you know."
Hermione narrowed her gold eyes, "My mind is sharp and my body is not so weak. I will get stronger yet. Let me pass."
Ronald bemusedly bowed out of the way, making a flamboyant gesture. "As you wish," he mocked, as if she were Alpha.
She kept her head up until she disappeared in the shadows of the woods, then she ducked it with the weight of her tears and ran. The path to her secret hide-away was well known to her feet, so she didn't need to focus.
There was once a time she had thought she had friends, in the pack. But that was when Remus was still here acting as her Papa. But he'd abandoned her just as easily as her biological parents had when the were-curse had taken her.
And then the others had stopped pretending.
…
Fenrir scanned across his men, checking they were prepared for the journey. He'd picked only the strongest, the ones physically and spiritually strong—and the ones loyal to their mates. He would not have a potential ally using females to weaken his men and tempt them into an alliance that would doom them.
Fenrir, as Alpha for so many centuries, was wiser than that.
Even though he was unmated himself, he was also stronger than any such machinations. He was an Alpha waiting for the one just right for him, and he would make a wise choice so that his pack would continue to flourish.
This trip was two fold—secure an alliance of a pack closer to the human settlements with better resources, and to also scout for any potential mate to be.
Fenrir was always looking—he had been for centuries.
Those centuries had hardened him as a man and a wolf. He was a specimen even in his own pack: he stood a head taller than the next tallest man, his shoulders were as broad as the stocky blacksmith's, and his wolf silver eyes never left him in his human form.
The Brethren well knew what that meant—that meant a were had bonded with his wolf, was one, was strong.
Alpha breathed in deep and let it out slowly through his nose, tasting the air. Then he shouldered his pack and rumbled quietly, "We move out."
Every wolf heard, and the party pared off from their pack to find this Phoenix Clan.
The journey wasn't long, with men experienced to travel and hunting together, and the nine days it took to reach the scout for the Phoenix clan was time spent planning and talking about how they would gather information.
Confirming what would make them reject any alliance.
Fenrir stared at the weak looking wolf they had found as sentry, the blonde little man quivering under the weight of amazement and fear.
"We seek the Phoenix Clan," he rumbled in his Alpha timbre.
"I greet thee!" the man squeaked and excitedly gestured the way before rushing to take it.
Fenrir's lips rolled in a quick snarl before he followed.
The pack, and especially the Beta Romulus, followed in amusement.
So far it was not the best first impression: who put a weakling on sentry duty? Who put a small young werewolf barely aware of pack etiquette to be the first to greet other clans?
It was ridiculous.
But then the pack broke through the woods into a field that opened up into the village. Fenrir's face blanked—the rumors were true, this pack lived in wealth. Every hut was white washed and fresh looking, every garden lush with plants, every face that looked at him was glowing and healthy…and admiring.
He narrowed his silver eyes, until they were only darkness beneath his eyelashes. How quickly he got the make of this pack—they idolized power.
…
Hermione stayed in the shadows of the huts, leaning against the cool wall as she observed the clan bonfire. The Brethren—how they lived up to their name and tales!—sat in military strictness, each guarding a brother's elbow.
Her clan, in contrast, milled about with the excitement of puppies.
She watched the proceedings with wide gold eyes, admiring the contrast of these controlled powerful weres. Alpha Sirius lazed about as if this was some grand party, and indeed the cured meats and ales were brought out.
She scoffed—hardly the first impression one wanted to make to a clan known for their military might. These men would not be given to excess in a stranger's village. But she stayed despite her growing irritation and even embarrassment—she wanted to hear.
But she also wanted to be safe, so it was at the edge she stayed, and she was thankful for the curse giving her keen ears.
The Brethren were asking for a one-week visit, to learn of their pack and possibly speak of an alliance. They wanted a potential ally to send word of Renegades or Hostile packs making any moves in the area. They wanted to find out if this was a good location to gather such information—to make the alliance worthwhile.
How brilliant! Her gold eyes sparkled. Having a system for information gathering about potential attacks would mean less surprises, less chance of the women and children being caught alone. As it was, the Phoenix clan never really worried about such things. Hermione had been with them through several attacks that had devastated the village, and one that had devastated her personally.
But her clan would never put much forethought—though they had good warriors they were more a reactionary type.
It didn't make her feel safer in the least.
And as the gold wolf eyed these newcomers she marveled at the obvious strength to them, the diligence they displayed to protect their interests.
Then she saw the way Lavender and Pavarti tittered and sidled up, flirting with several of the strange warriors.
Hermione figured that the drinks had been passed around enough—no more negotiations would occur tonight. So, rather than see her pack make fools of themselves (and possible see more males fall for feminine wiles she lacked), she edged further into the shadows and made to her hut on the other side of the village.
She didn't see the silver eyes that sharpened on the movement but missed what had moved. Hermione didn't know that something gold had caught the interest of the Alpha.
…
Fenrir marched into the village in the predawn light, his silver eyes taking in everything. This pack was still asleep. After yesterday's celebrations he supposed they were handling their overindulgence in their beds. He sneered.
His pack was awake, but sticking within the boundaries of their claimed resting spot. While this pack wanted alliance, he needed—as a good Alpha—to carefully consider the benefit.
He didn't want to tie themselves to weaklings who would bring nothing to the arrangement, even if they had a good position for information from wizards.
It seemed this morning would not be the time to gather some intelligence, as everyone was resting. He supposed he could snoop around a bit, but no telling slips in conversation would be had for now.
Then his sharp eyes caught movement on the brush line. Narrowing his gaze he focused on the small shifter with a book in her hands as she skirted the village.
He didn't recall seeing her at the bonfire last night, and she looked small and sickly. Tilting his head he strained for her scent, taking in a large draw of air.
Her gaze snapped to his—and it was gold. A familiar glint of gold.
Fenrir straightened as her wide frightened eyes met his. She seemed to crouch over her stomach, to hunch in on herself as she froze. Fenrir narrowed his eyes and approached, staying her gaze and daring her to run from him as he stalked up to her.
Her form was shivering as he loomed up close to her, taking in how small she actually was. And she wasn't sick, her scent was healthy and musky and strong. His nostrils flared at the pleasant smell, but then the acrid salty scent of fear accompanied it.
"Name."
She gasped and drew back a little at his strong command, her wide gold eyes staring up at him through chaotic curls. "Hermione!" she squeaked out.
"Which sire?"
She swallowed and straightened slightly, her own eyes narrowing. "I wasn't born in the pack, wasn't born wolf," she said defiantly and seemed to wait for him to do something. He just waited. She blinked and turned her head slightly, but continued looking at him, examining his expression. "Remus brought me in."
He blinked and humor overtook him. Remus Lupin had been turned by the virus and then brought to Fenrir's pack, but had run. He hadn't known he'd joined this weaker newer pack, but it was good that the wolf hadn't gone rogue. "A strong pup, is he still around?"
Her eyes darted away, "No."
Fenrir stared in consternation down at the female were, admiring her gold eyes even as they darted away from him.
"May I have your name?" she managed in a controlled voice, her eyes just peeking up at him from under her lashes, a bravery steeling her fidgeting.
Fenrir grinned sharply down at her. "Fenrir, Alpha of the Brethren."
Her breath caught as her eyes darted down to his teeth, her back stiffening.
"Hermione," he started, calculating. "How long have you been with this pack?"
"Eight years…" she responded cautiously.
His eyes narrowed. That was long enough time for her to put meat on, to become more wolf in her aspect. While she had the amazing gold eyes that surely belonged to her wolf, her body was still weak and human—she was omega.
Which didn't fit.
Wolf-eyes were never Omega, were never less than beta.
She swallowed and stuck her chin up, though it trembled. Her gaze focused fully on him and her hair swung back over her shoulder.
"Tell me, Lupita," her nostrils flared, "when Remus left."
"Almost four years ago now," she said strongly, though his keen ears detected the waver in her voice.
"That is a long time," he rumbled in displeasure.
…
Hermione swallowed. It was all fine to admire these werewolves from afar, but up close they were larger than any wolf she'd come across. And scary! She had enough self-preservation to want to be as far away as possible.
And then Fenrir had narrowed his eyes at her, and then he'd rumbled.
If she were wolf right now her tail would be between her legs and she'd be pinning her ears back. As it was she felt her pupils dilate, felt the wolf come to the surface ready to run.
Then those silver eyes widened down at her, that predatory fanged grin returning. "Lupita, what gold eyes you have."
She choked and drew back.
"Don't run," he rumbled out even lower, a thrum from his growl echoing down her spine.
Intellectually she knew she should never run from an Alpha, never run from another wolf. Instinctively, she wanted to do nothing else but run. She swallowed and licked her lips, torn. Her mind quickly worked, furiously deciding on the best course of action.
She tilted her chin up and to the side, just slightly. Submissive. "The others will wake soon," she whispered, eyeing the large man. "May I finish my walk?"
His eyes sparked with some humor, and he laughed (which displayed all his very strong shiny sharp teeth).
"I will find you again, Lupita," he warned, and then physically reached out to turn her towards the woods and gently shove her on her way.
Hermione shivered in fear, feeling his claws just brush her skin. She walked with a stiff back into the woods before she broke into a run.
…
Fenrir grinned as the she-wolf ran—for that was what she was doing, even as smartly as she went about it. He'd seen the fear in her, been amused by it a bit, but then he'd seen the intelligence. And then he'd been stunned as she plied to his instincts, soothing any affront by baring her neck the slightest and requesting his permission.
But why would the others waking be her reason?
Silver eyes scanned the huts, noticing her words were true. Rustling was heard in each, some moans and groans complaining of the after effects of imbibing, some feminine laughter…
A village waking up.
Fenrir seated himself at the cold fire, staring into the ashes.
How was it that in this healthy pack his attention was drawn to the runty gold eyed she-wolf? What was it about her that called to him? Why did she hide from her own pack?
And why had her bared neck been so attractive to him?
He sat and waited.
Soon what passed for the elders of this clan amassed, gentle teasing among them. Astonishingly, they bore out more food and drinks. Fenrir held back his sneer.
Then over the general chatter of the amassed wolves, "We shall hunt!" the one named Sirius crowed. He even stood, throwing a fist into the air. "We shall compete!" He roared.
The clan broke out into excited murmuring.
Sirius turned to Fenrir, calculation in his eyes. "Let us hold a friendly competition, a hunt with two parties vying for the best kill. What better way for wolves to impress each other?"
Some females simpered.
Fenrir huffed and stood. The silver-eyed foreigner dwarfed Sirius. Fenrir quickly calculated: this was a challenge, for certain. But even knowing this Fenrir couldn't say no. His Brethren's honor would not stand for it from such weak pack, as pointless as the battle would be.
"We will hunt," he rumbled out his agreement, his eyes narrowed.
Hunting in competition would not do anything for the alliance; if this man truly wanted to soothe the way then they would have formed mixed hunting parties. No, it appeared at least one ego was bruised in last night's conversation.
Well good, Fenrir grinned.
So far only one wolf, a runt at that, had impressed him. Let them try to prove themselves.
He threw back his head and howled out, taking the air from his lungs in a loud call to his brothers. They didn't howl back, but seconds later emerged from the woods silently—"The Pheonix have laid down a challenge."
Romlulus stiffened and glared. Fenrir laughed—"We hunt!"
The Brethren slowly grinned, a menacing predatory expression on each of their faces.
Some of the females blushed.
Some of the males swallowed.
But the deal was set.
Fenrir quickly hammered out the conditions of the hunt with the impassioned Sirius, and then both parties were organized and off.
Fenrir caught a scent, and barked out to his brothers before veering off. They would continue the hunt. He had other quarry. He snuck through the woods, weaving through shadows and dappled sunlight, his feet not making a sound in the rich loam floor.
He came upon her and was startled at her appearance, and his suspicions confirmed. She was in her wolf form—a gorgeous cream and white coat with bronze markings. And her eyes, her wolf eyes, were the same stunning gold as her human eyes.
In the shadows Fenrir narrowed his silver eyes at the runty gold-eyed wolf, watching her slink down along the river. He knew the rest of the pack was waiting for the hunting party to return. A snarl curled one side of his lips, revealing his fangs, as he watched from the shadows.
She didn't notice him, for he was downwind and shadowed at a knoll.
He didn't go out to confront her, more set on watching. Though he was part of the hunting party competing against the host pack for sport, he knew his packmates could take down a suitable kill without him.
The gold wolf crouched at the river edge, eyes intent on the river. She was so still for so long a predatory part of Fenrir awoke, wanted to hunt with her. She would make a good addition to his hunting party.
He waited with her.
She finally pounced, splashing into the river and emerging with a large salmon in her mouth.
Fenrir blinked and tilted his head.
The salmon here had poison flesh—parasitic for the wolves. Surely the gold wolf knew this?
But he watched her carefully eat the head—the nutrient rich and safe portion—before craftily leaving the carcass in reach of the scavengers. Fenrir sat on his rump, reluctantly impressed.
For when the scavengers left all that remained were bones and the fatty rich skin of the fish. The gold-eyed wolf happily returned to her kill and filled her belly with the harmless remains.
He snorted and moved off, pushing his weight away from the river edge and taking one glance back at the wolf happily pouncing back into the water.
Fenrir would definitely keep an eye on her.
…
Hermione happily played and hunted the day away, filling her belly even if not with the nutrient rich meats the hunting parties would bring home. At least she wasn't starving, even if she was still as runty as ever.
She'd heard the haunting howl earlier, read the tone and excitement. It was a hunt: during the day and not during a prominent moon phase? The thought had given her pause, and she'd made note to return that night for the feast—just in case. While she wasn't exactly part of the main lifestyle, if her absence was noticed they could consider it a slight.
Who knows what they would do with that excuse.
So when dusk was spreading soft colors in the sky she ran through the brush, weaving through brambles and around knolls. She knew these woods, so she was back at the village quickly. And just in time.
The hunting parties called out success, their howls being joined by the welcoming howls of the females. Hermione added her own discreet croon, curious.
Their pack had certainly caught a nice boar; he would feed the pack well. Hermione watched her packmates move in, celebrating early.
She stayed back.
Then thunder like rumbling came from the woods, making her fur stand on end. The Brethren came out, dragging a bull moose between four of them it was so large and cumbersome.
The pack broke into chittering—admiration and disbelief—and Hermione dared a small undertone of a croon to congratulate the Brethren, hoping it was hidden underneath her pack mates babbling.
…
Fenrir heard it. He heard it and his wolf raised its head to howl victory again. The Alpha remained silent though, taking in the signs that the Pheonix had prematurely celebrated their hunt.
Pups.
His pack dragged their kill to the center of the clearing, displaying the trophy of their prowess.
He paced on deliberately heavy paws to take the first tear, the richest meat—and made a show of viciously claiming his portion.
Then his pack moved in, clearly warning the Phoenix clan that they would be only granted left over's, if there were any. The slight had been responded to.
Some females dared to pace closer, displaying themselves and whimpering.
Fenrir shook his large silvery grey body and took his portion of the kill. Then, without a second thought, he took his bloody mouthful and left the circle of feasters. The two flirty wolves of this pack tired to entice him to them, but he snarled around his portion until they backed off.
Desperate pups.
He continued to the shadows on the very outskirts of the circle, for there Hermione waited in her stunted form. He knew she was waiting for the scraps of the hunt, and he took pleasure in the way she snapped up from her laying position as he approached.
He set his honor portion of the kill at her paws.
Her breath caught in her lungs and she stared at him, he growled pleasantly at her and then reached to nuzzle her snout with his. Her breath shuddered from her and she whined low. Scared.
But he waited patiently.
Then she quietly crouched over the meat, her gold eyes watching him warily as she reached to take a nibble.
He didn't move until she'd taken a few bites. Then he lowered his head and joined her in feasting on the rich portion. She paused slightly as he joined her, but he continued without qualms and she relaxed for their meal.
When they had finished Fenrir licked his maw and watched her quietly clean her paws. Her posture was still tight and small, but she wasn't watching him warily.
It was a start.
…
Hermione hummed as she kicked her feet in the creek, shifting her weight on the tree that had grown out over the water. With delight she flicked the page over in her book, stretching briefly in the sun before continuing to read about the other creatures. She thought it was fascinating that the Goblins lived in magnificent caves; sometimes she craved the earth around her like that.
With a little giggle she continued reading about several cultural miscommunications—well that was—
"YIP!" Hermione yelped as a shove forced her off the tree into the creek, book and all. Panting and scared she looked up through her sodden hair to the sneering faces of Lavender and Pavarti.
"Well, runt, maybe you should work on your senses."
Hermione glowered up at her, then noticed her quickly soaking book and gave a cry as she rescued it.
Pavarti laughed, "Still chasing book knowledge hmmm? It's no wonder the men ignore you. You're so pathetic."
"Pathetic and Useless, even if you were allowed into the foraging parties you don't have the skills to even take care of yourself."
Hermione huffed and stood in her soaked clothes, "The brook is rather loud, and you purposefully approached from downwind even though the village is upwind from me. Don't claim my senses defunct when you actively hunt a pack member—you're despicable!"
Lavender growled and took a step forward on the bank, but the mud quickly halted her approach. "Ugh, that's so gross," she sniffed and wiped her foot off on the grass.
Pavarti tittered at her friend, but sent a wary glance to the mud. She tossed her sheet of dark hair and sneered at Hermione. "We'll leave you to your…fun. Try not to stay out too late though, wouldn't want to run into anything unsavory."
Lavender laughed and straightened up—"I'm pretty sure even the trolls wouldn't use her bones to decorate their dens. But take care!"
The two wolves left with their laughter ringing through the trees. Hermione stood in the brook shivering, her face going from bitter anger into downtrodden sadness.
Her book was ruined.
As if she needed them to remind her that the pack didn't want her. After Remus had disappeared there'd been no one to shelter her. She well knew what the pack thought of book knowledge—well knew what the pack thought of her.
Fenrir's attention last night had just incited the girls' anger.
Sometimes she just wanted to run.
Remus had so kindly offered her sanctuary, taken her from her parents who didn't know what to do with her. And it had been good while he was here.
But the pack itself didn't value knowledge over more physical aspects, over beauty and virility and strength. And Hermione wasn't anything of that—of course not being fed the choice meats meant she just stayed as runty as ever, and created a never-ending cycle.
She sighed and struggled to the shore in her sodden leathers, wrinkling her nose at the smell. The leathers would stiffen and need to be reworked again, she needed to hide somewhere and fix herself up.
With a groan Hermione realized her hair would be a mess when it dried.
Whimpering she slipped on a few rocks and finished heading for the shore.
When she'd finally navigated the stones and mud she looked up only to come face to chest with Fenrir.
Hermione gasped and startled so she was standing up straight, her eyes wide.
…
Fenrir scowled down at the soaking she-wolf. He'd been following the duo of troublemakers since they'd skirted out of the village. He had noted their forward behavior last night, and then their furtive behavior this morning. And it was good he'd followed them.
Hermione looked miserable.
He took in her sopping hair, soaked clothes, the ruined tome…
With a deeper scowl he approached her, rumbling in his chest as he took her arms into his hands and checked her for bruises or scrapes and then ran his fingers in her cold hair to check her scalp.
She cleared her throat softly and blushed, but well understood this was appropriate Alpha behavior.
Pleased with her ability to stay still under his careful perusal his rumble shifted into a hum that sung in their bones.
Hermione sighed.
"Does your pack have much trouble with trolls?"
She immediately shifted, her posture becoming defensive as he finished checking one of her legs and moved to the other.
It was quiet for a minute before she responded, "Not so much anymore, but when I first came to the pack we had quite a few issues with a clan from the neighboring valley."
"You had trouble with trolls yourself?"
"I was…" she blushed and stuck her chin up with a defensive expression. "I was in one of the far caves. When the Trolls came and everyone was gathered to the safe grounds…I got left behind."
Fenrir scowled. "So those two she-wolves deliberately bring it up when their honor is tarnished by the memory?"
Hermione blinked her pretty eyes up at him, one eyebrow rising. "I was weak and let them make me cry, ran to hide when I did and placed myself in the path of the Trolls. "
Fenrir snorted—"You were a pup."
She looked at him unsurely, didn't seem to agree, but she didn't voice her opinion.
"Come, let's get you dry."
She stumbled along beside him, her skin raised with shivers and her teeth chattering. He rumbled out an unpleasant growl as he led her through the woods.
They broke through the foliage into his camp, several of his wolves standing at their entry. Hermione hunched in on herself, hiding half behind his bulk as he approached the fire.
"Alpha," Romulus greeted, his grey eyes peering at the half hidden she-wolf.
Fenrir grinned angrily, a snarl of his teeth revealing his emotions to his honor brethren. "The Pheonix clan is remiss in their care. We shall clothe her and warm her, feed her, and then escort her back to her home."
Romulus nodded his head.
Timid Hermione was ushered along to a shelter they'd built, the leather canvas let down to give her privacy as a large shift was pressed into her hands. She emerged with an embarrassed flush on her cheeks and her sopping clothes in her hands.
Fenrir grinned at her hair—half dried now it had seemed to double in size, curls going every which way.
"Thank you," she mumbled without looking up at him.
"Hand your clothes here, and come to the fire. Romulus and the men had a good hunt."
She did so carefully, skirting around his wolves and keeping her eyes down. When she came back to the fire Fenrir made sure she sat beside him, with Romulus on her other side.
"I'm Romulus," his beta murmured.
Fenrir watched with careful eyes as Hermione introduced herself and learned of his men, watched as she relaxed, watched as she savored the simple cuts of meat they'd kept over the fire, watched as his men warmed up to her quick wit as it revealed, watched as she laughed and teased and encouraged his rowdy brethren.
Perfect.
Romulus leaned back on his hands, sending his alpha a smirk and a wink.
Fenrir snapped his teeth at him, but couldn't help a grin.
Many thought his clan was all about brute strength and violence. They were wrong. Fenrir and the Brethren were the envoys as they were the strongest, and the rest were left at home to carry on with daily life. This gave a deliberate impression of strength so their pack was less likely to be attacked.
Hermione was actually quite the prize…
And they still had negotiations to conclude.
Hermione stayed in their camp overnight, sated and warm. She donned her dry clothes in the morning and was escorted back home. The Brethren all noted that with each step they took closer, the she-wolf retreated into herself more and more.
They didn't like it.
…
Hermione had never felt so rested, and she'd slept on the mossy forest floor last night! But the banked fires and the Brethren around her had kept her safe and warm…she hadn't woken at every little noise.
She'd begged leave of them as soon as they got to the edge of the village, and now she was carting her damaged shift, and her dirty laundry, to the stream.
Hermione hummed under her breath as she finished her washing, squeezing out the water from the fabric by pressing the shirt onto a smooth boulder.
…