AN: Apologies in advance if anyone received multiple alerts for this chapter. I had some difficulties posting it.

Chapter Three


Draco Malfoy stared at the curly-headed woman as if she weren't real. The witch had not stirred in two days' time and if not for the barely-there rise and fall of her chest, he would have thought he had shagged her to death.

He, on the other hand, had recovered the following morning after their vigorous coupling; the perks of being an Alpha. But every time he left his tent and re-entered, she remained buried in the midst of his furs. He brought dried rabbit from last night's roast and left some beside the bed, but still she had not stirred.

The morning before the full moon, she finally awoke with a groan. Stretching her arms out, she gingerly rolled over, and winced as she shifted her weight to her side. The witch visibly jumped when she finally noticed him squatting across the way. She pulled the furs closer to her person in worry that he would take her again. He could smell her fear and a bit of arousal, too, as she took him in within the daylight.

There were no need for mirrors within the Forest, and he gathered he looked every bit of the beast that had shagged her most ardently two nights ago. He licked his lips at the thought of taking her again, but there wasn't a need. He had accomplished what he set out to do. She smelt sweeter, more alluring, like baby jasmine, mixed with the headiness of his tent.

And she was ovulating no longer; nor would she for the foreseeable future.

He pushed the dried rabbit wrapped in cloth towards her. "You need to eat," he ordered, watching as she came to a sitting position on the bed.

She stared at the portion before lifting bloodshot eyes to him. "I'm not very hungry."

He frowned at her response. "You're too frail. You need to eat."

Now, she rolled exasperated eyes. "You need not to order me around." The wolf within him blanched at the blatant disregard for his command.

Seeking to cover her modesty, the witch tried to stand from the bed and wobbled with the attempt.

"You're weak," he said disgusted with her frail state. "You need to eat."

"Ugh, I need to use the loo," she complained instead, effectively ignoring him, as she gingerly tested her weight to one leg and then the other.

He smirked as he noticed the dried evidence of their coupling all over her thighs and stomach. His cock jumped at the sight of her lean frame, tarnished with his essence and her blood. But to her earlier point, he looked around the sizable tent and shrugged, as if this place was suitable enough for her biological needs.

She had caught his meaning with alarm. "I will not relieve myself in here. That's disgusting."

"Suits me fine," he admitted as she made a face at the admission. "You can't expect to go outside," he warned.

"Why not? I'll have my wand." She picked up her wand he had long deposited by the bed.

The daft witch was as reckless as she was ignorant. Malfoy stood from his crouch as he lectured what she ought to know, "It is too close to the full moon. My scent on you is not strong enough to provide protection," he said, as he swallowed disappointment. Curiously his wolf was displeased with this as well.

Ignoring this, the brunette witch lifted her wand over her person, but before she could say the spell, he halted her. "Don't!"

She paused, giving him a meaningful glare. "I'm covered in ... in grime, among other things," she said with an uncomfortable grimace.

He sneered at her, "My wolf doesn't know you from Merlin. I will tear you apart if you're not marked in my scent. The pregnancy is too early to discern and there are no guarantees that I won't harm you. That my pack will not harm you. Your wand does little against a werewolf on the night of a full moon." She lowered her wand as she accepted his explanation as valid.

"I'll walk downwind of the pack," she explained as she pressed her knees together in urgency, still hoping to venture out of her own. "Certainly, that should help." She stuffed her feet into her trainers and repaired her torn shirt. Luckily it was humid beneath the forest's canopy as she stepped out of the tent, so little clothing was needed.

But he could not leave her, not yet anyway. He was invested in her safety for the time-being as he followed out behind her. He found her looking down at the valley where his pack currently played, frolicked, and generally enjoyed each other's company before tonight's full moon. His tent was situated on an outcropping of large tree roots above the valley where he could watch over them all, yet was far enough removed if he wished for privacy. "This way," he ordered to her back as he led the way around his tent barefoot. He pulled his wand out of his chest harness and set off. He did not turn to see if she followed, but he could smell her alluring scent of jasmine mixed with smoke as she kept her distance.

"I'm not surprised you order people around like this," she stated from behind him.

"I'm not surprised you're ignorant of pack dynamics," he countered back.

They walked in silence before she resolutely stated, "I'm not a part of your pack." As if he needed the reminder. She continued, "There are people waiting for me. My friends," she trailed off.

He looked over his shoulder to see her magically healing a bruise on her arm, a bruise he put there. "But the children you carry are pack. And I'll be damned if you get yourself killed before they're born."

"Children?"

He said nothing to her astonished question, which only prompted her to pester him more.

She hurried to match his quick steps, though he noted with a satisfied smirk, that she struggled to hide a faint limp. "You can tell there's more than one already?" she asked, astonished.

"There is more than one heartbeat, yes."

"But… but it's too early to know. How can you possibly know?"

There were some things she was not privy to know. She was not a werewolf and what she could not learn from her precious books about werewolf pregnancy, he was not about to share with unkin. She might carry werewolf blood but she was not his marked mate, nor kin. So he choose silence instead.

"But it would take several more weeks to be sure!" she said amazed, as she lifted a hand to her flat stomach over her shirt. "Your hearing is far more impeccable than I'd thought."

"We are not some specimen to examine!" he bit sharply to quiet the beginning of her scientific theories. Her observations sounded like research to him, like an outsider looking in. The wolf within stirred that he make her submit, right there and then. She was unkin, prey meant to be hunted for sport, or pleasure. He had to remind himself that she was carrying his blood, so he could not harm her, but her curiosity about his kin disgusted him.

"I don't think your species are some laboratory specimen to examine. One of the wisest men I knew was a werewolf. You have thoughts, and feelings, and rights as much as I do," she spoke quietly as she walked beside him. "This is new to me," she sighed the admission. "The one person I could have spoken with about the experience is dead, and… and I don't know what to expect, but it seems you do."

Satisfied that they were sufficiently removed from the collective nose of his pack, he threw his head towards a large elm tree, unexplainably bothered by her admission. "There," he indicated with a lift of his chin.

"…Thanks."

She gave him a petulant stare, obviously waiting for him to turn around. Blasted witch and her modesty. It wasn't like he hadn't shredded it two nights ago in front of his pack. He smirked recalling how much she had liked it, had begged for it. The witch would never admit, but she had lost herself just as much as he did. Maybe there was a bit of beast within her as well.

But he turned around, lest the witch soil herself.

He inhaled deeply as her sweet scent tickled his nose. Unbeknownst to her, her scent and body composition had begun to change already. And there was so much more to come.

He heard the fly of her jeans zip as she emerged from the bushes. She performed a spell he did not recognize to send a message to the friends she mentioned earlier. Gooseflesh on his neck prickled as she addressed part of the message to someone named Ron.

The witch did not say where she was, but that she was safe, and was working on something that would assist the Order. She closed by saying she would send word again soon. But all he could focus on was the way she said another man's name. He did not like the way she said his name.

"When we get back you should eat," he repeated a bit more gruffly as they started back towards his tent.

She rubbed a weary hand over her face and into her hair. "I'm not hungry much."

He pierced her with a fierce look.

She sighed as she began her explanation, "There wasn't much to eat during the war. You learn to rely on small, infrequent meals. I guess the habit's carried over."

"You'll need your strength to make it through the fever," he shared reluctantly, as if it hurt to share another piece of werewolf lore with the witch. She was still very much an outsider and a stranger to him. An alluring stranger, but unkin nonetheless.

"The fever?" she parroted back.

"The old crone told me while you slept." He suppressed rolling his eyes at her blatant curiosity making a return. But wisely, she kept her mouth shut and let him continue when he was ready. "She's the oldest living member of our pack and the last surviving human who had been born to a full-blooded werewolf."

"But I thought werewolves couldn't sustain a pregnancy?"

"They can't," he assured her. "Her mother was a witch, impregnated by a werewolf. However, she was bitten in the last month of pregnancy and was forced into birth during her first shift."

"How awful."

"The mother survived long enough to wean the pups, but succumbed a few months later. Her children have all passed on except the crone."

"Does she have a name?"

"I only know her as 'the crone'," he explained as if that was enough. "No one cared enough to ask."

"So what can you tell me about the fever?"

He unconsciously rubbed the top of his left shoulder where the remnants of Fenrir's bite marred his skin. No, the fever wouldn't be as nightmarish as what he had to endure at sixteen, but it would be jarring enough. "Understand that you won't just carry my children - you'll carry the future of the pack. They will be strong, quick, they will have wolf's blood. Ergo, you will have wolf's blood. Your body needs to shift to carry a werewolf pregnancy to term. Your immune system will break down and rebuild itself. If you survive, your biology will have altered and the pack will be guaranteed you can carry to term." He did not tell her that the alteration would be permanent, that she would change as a result of the wolf's blood, and that she would never be able to carry another man's child. But then again, she was unkin and effectively offered her services.

"If I survive?" she scoffed at the possibility, as if the fever was something trifle to deal with.

"I've heard of instances where the witch didn't survive." That shup up her arrogance, as her gaze narrowed in determination. "Like I said, you need to eat."

Resigned, she plucked a curl behind her ear. "When will this happen?"

"A bit after conception," he said softly then, somewhat emphatic to the pain she would endure. Because he had endured something painful and world-changing too. "Maybe a day or two at the most." Which by his calculation, was imminent.

She grabbed his arm in alarm. He flinched at the touch, shaking her nervous hand off. "But you'll be indisposed with the full moon," she realized as brown eyes widened. "Am I to care for myself? What if I need aid?"

He shrugged and began walking once more. Because he had been left alone to deal with his shift. No one had come to his aid, then and she would find little aid, now. "I told you not to come here. And just so we're clear, if you die, our deal is off."

She snorted, somewhat accepting of her fate, "How noble of you."

"Practical, I'd say."

"So, the full moon is later tonight," she stated the obvious.

"I'll leave with the pack before moonrise," he assured. "Stay in the tent. There is no Wolfsbane here, witch. No need remind you what happens…"

"Yes, I know," she finished before he could.

"I'll not harm you," he replied as they approached his tent. He followed in after her, a relic mannerism from a previous life. "If I should return in my wolf's form, don't be alarmed, I'll might be curious, but…"

"Submit to you. Don't make a show of dominance. Yes, yes I know."

"My pack will not come in my tent. So don't leave, witch." He could tell she hated being ordered about, but knew she valued her life more. She would stay put for the time being.

"Why do you call me, witch?" She asked, though not in annoyance or anger as he expected, but in genuine curiosity. She tilted her head at him as she waited for his answer.

"That's what you are," he stated, with a pointed brow. If she were kin, she would no doubt be grinning ear to ear, knowing she had caught him. His heart began to pound in fear as he thought back to his introduction to the pack two years prior.

Boy, or whelp, they called him. So much to the point where he began to answer to it. To the point where he thought it his name. Any time, or name, before pack did not exist to him, they said. And after two years immersed with werewolves, he believed it. Two years of eating, hunting, and fucking like a werewolf. His life before the turn became a daydream of a time long forgotten. Pushing the confusion that came with her question to the recesses of his mind, he frowned in silence.

"Do you know… Never mind," she quickly halted herself, as if coming to a conclusion he hadn't realized.

He cleared his throat. In his first time as Alpha, he grew uncomfortable in his own skin. "I'll leave the rabbit here. You can produce water from your wand until I return."

She nodded, settling onto his fur bed with nothing to do but wait. She reached for her beaded bag and pulled out a book, no doubt paging through the parchment for a section on werewolf reproduction.

He had made his way to the tent's exit when she called to his back, "My name is Hermione." He stilled, his back stiff as the name triggered something in his mind. "You used to call me Granger." The rustling of pages told him she had returned her attention to her text. As he continued passed the cloth barrier of the tent's exit, he tested the name to himself.

Granger. It sounded completely foreign and familiar at the same time.


When he returned a short time later, the witch, Granger, turned over, agitated in her sleep. It would be the last time before moonrise. As he moved quietly towards her, he noted her breathing grew shallow and her skin was warm to the touch.

The beginnings of the fever were upon her, then. Malfoy grunted approvingly as he lowered his pants and took his semi-flaccid cock in hand. Unabashedly, he allowed images from their vigorous coupling to take ahold of him as he jerked himself off right over the dozing witch wrapped in his furs. He thought of the tight fit he had molded to him and soon, released himself over her cheek, her shoulder, and middle as she slept. Lowering to his knees, he generously smeared his seed over her bare skin, assuring she would not be harmed this evening. Again his wolf stirred beneath his human skin, dying to rut the female once more before the shift.

He paused as he rubbed his seed over Granger's flat, for now, middle. She shifted again, groaning low in her throat as the fever intensified. His pups were forcing her body to accept their werewolf blood.

"Keep my pups safe, Granger." He wasn't by any means religious, but he needed her to be there when he returned in his human form.

What seemed like many full moons ago, Malfoy had battled and defeated Fenrir under the light of a full moon. The first order he gave as Alpha was to skin the former Alpha and have his pelt made into the bed cover said witch was now burrowed into.

Fenrir had never mated, had never produced a child for the pack, and had lost his pack to what he called a boy. And now, proof that he, not Fenrir, was the true Alpha lay wrapped in Fenrir's fur.

His wolf howled in elation as Malfoy rose from his crouch beside the feverish witch... Granger. It was time to greet his pack – they would be much to celebrate this night.


an: How clever is Hermione to figure out that Draco had forgotten her name? After all, it's been two years of nothing but werewolf life for Draco, it's bound to have an effect on his psyche. I can't wait to share more with you soon ~ Thank you all for the support.