Disclaimer: I do not own the works made use of herein, none of the Harry Potter features or characters belong to me. I make no money from this work. (Basically, if you recognise it, it's not mine.)

Warnings: Rated M for situations, LOTS OF swearing, violence, sexual scenes, minor character death, graphic descriptions of murder victims, references to cannibalism, torture...


Apples and Oranges

Chapter Eight


Hermione's first impression of Abigail Sweeting could only have been summed up as 'wild'. The girl, somewhere between eight and ten by Hermione's judgement, was a redhead with sharp little teeth and intelligent eyes that followed her about the room as she moved to take a seat beside her. Her hair was it's own, feral entity, not unlike Hermione's at that age, flying around her head in a nimbus of red-gold curls. The girl listened carefully as Mary-Rose, who'd insisted on being present for the interview, chatted kindly about what was about to happen, but her unnervingly pale eyes stayed on Hermione.

She took up very little space on one side of a sofa, curled into the juncture between the back and arm, her arms and legs curled in right. Harmless. The very picture of innocent youth. All the same, Hermione felt as if she were being hunted, prey, as she came closer.

"Abigail?" she asked, her tone gentle. "I'm Hermione Granger, from the Ministry. I'm here to ask about the man you found in the Loch."

Abigail gave a suspicious growl, warning Hermione to step back, and the woman shot a pleading look at Mary-Rose. "Abigail…" Mary-Rose warned, and the girl frowned.

"Miss Mary says you're here to help," Abigail said, expression querulous, her lips turned down at the corner. "Why do you want to know about Mr. Turner?"

Hermione would readily admit she was shite with kids. She always spoke to them like they were adults, which served to piss off the parents and confuse the child. For the sake of the investigation, however, she'd try.

"I help by catching the bad guys," She told her seriously, bringing her notebook from her pocket. "To do that, I need to learn everything I can about the people they've hurt. Bad people hurt Mr. Turner, so I need to know all about him, you understand?"

Abigail's lips pursed in a very adult motion. "But I didn't know Mr. Turner. He didn't like children very much. I just found his body, and he didn't look very much like Mr. Turner then. He looked like Stanley did after the last full moon - remember, Miss Mary? Angus had torn him all up 'cause he was sniffing about Mrs. Carla and his face was all -" her little brow furrowed as she searched for the word, "-shredded!"

Hermione blinked in surprise, her eyes sliding across to Mary-Rose, who grimaced. "There was another murder?"

"Not a murder," she replied defensively. "It was a full moon and a territorial dispute - there are provisions for them in the legislation."

"Not for killing people!" Hermione replied, her whisper somehow shrill.

"We didn't kill 'people'," Mary-Rose hissed back, "He killed a werewolf, which is legal. Werewolf on Werewolf fights can result in death without consequence as long as it occurs on Pack territory. That's the law - we rule ourselves."

I know that! I wrote the damn thing! Hermione took a deep breath. She had written it, yes, but she'd never considered the real life application. How many fights ended in death, here, without any legal repercussions? She closed her eyes for a minute, took another long, deep breath, and pulled herself back to the present.

"You weren't aware it was Mr. Turner at the time?" She asked Abigail, who'd watched their discussion avidly.

She shrugged. "Di'nt think it were no-one. Too busy screaming. Alpha says it was Mr. Turner, and Alpha never lies."

Hermione leaned forwards, her elbows on her knees as she tried to form the question. "Did you notice anything… odd about Mr. Turner when you found him?"

Her little face squeezed into an expression of utmost concentration. "Like as how he was all squishy? Or d'you mean like he were holding that-" she broke off, flushing bright red.

"What, Abigail? What was he holding?" a feverish feeling broke over Hermione's skin, adrenalin telling her that this was something important.

The little girl avoided her eyes, looking at the floor. "Di'nt think it were nothin' important," she muttered. "An' it were so pretty, too."

"What was it?" Hermione pressed, shooting a concerned look at Mary-Rose. Whatever it was, it was clearly important if it distressed the girl so much.

"Don't tell mum, please? I didn't mean no mischief, I swear!"

"Oh, honey!" Mary-Rose cracked, hurrying over to comfort the girl, who was close to tears, now. "Don't you worry, I'm sure Auror Granger is the most discrete, aren't you, Hermione?"

She didn't need the hardness of the woman's tone to prompt her, already nodding as she added, "as long as you tell me everything, Abigail, anything you tell me will remain just between the three of us, your Alpha and the Ministry."

Abigail looked between the two of them and gave a firm nod, seemingly coming to a decision. One shaking hand reached up and dug around in the wilderness of her hair, pulling out a thin, sparkling object. "Oh, Abigail," Mary-Rose sighed, her disappointment palpable. This proved to be the final straw for a visibly distressed Abigail, who promptly burst into tears.

"Mum won't let me have one," she wept holding it out for Hermione to take,which she did, wandlessly and wordlessly conjuring an evidence bag for the girl to drop it in. "She's says they're whore's jewellry, an' no daughter of her will be caught wearing it!"

Anger darted through her and she turned to Mary-Rose, who was stroking Abigail's shoulders soothingly. "Later," she mouthed, and Hermione nodded briskly.

"And Mr. Turner was holding it, you say?" she asked, lifting the bag to examine its contents. It was a long, silver hair grip, the colour tarnished from the water, though Hermione could tell that Abigail had made a valiant effort to clean it up a bit, which had her pursing her lips in disapproval. Lifting evidence from it now would be a trial, but not impossible. It was pretty, if not her style; the end was adorned by a sparkling butterfly, its wings engraved and decorated with various shades of pink and purple, the body formed of clear beads cut to look like diamonds. It was good work, infused with magic, though Hermione wouldn't be able to tell what the spells were until she had the chance to do a forensic analysis.

"Sorta. It was caught in his pocket, too." Abigail wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "D'you think it'll help?"

She was dubious on that point, but to make the girl feel better, she nodded. "It might be just what I need. Thank you, Abigail."


The corridors were lit by the soft late afternoon light, and Hermione was wondering exactly how long it would take to do her next interview. It felt like she'd been working for days, now, though it had only been a matter of hours. She'd been closeted away with Peg for only a half-hour, and searching the bank had taken twice that before she'd left. Did she have time to reinterview Madam Scarlett, she wondered. It was a bit late to go to anyone else.

"Auror Granger!" Mary-Rose had followed her out of the room and stood just behind her, looking apprehensive as she folded her hands in her long skirt. "I just - are you going to punish Abigail for what she did?"

"Abigail?"

"Yes," she took a step forward, her eyes pleading. "I know evidence tampering is serious, I understand that, but… can't you please keep her out of it? She didn't know what she was doing, and if her mama finds out…"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at this mysterious 'mama', already feeling antipathy towards the woman the girl feared. "And who is her mama - mother," she caught herself, inwardly rolling her eyes at her slip.

"Emma Patterson, but she's not that bad, just protective of her daughter. One of Isbeil's crowd." Mary-Rose sighed, sweeping a strand of hair out of her face. "It's a delicate situation. Abigail is to be mated to Michael, that's Charles' eldest, when she's old enough, so Emma likes to keep her close, but Abigail keeps getting into mischief and Michael says if she does one more thing wrong he won't have her. So, you see… he can't know about this, and neither can Emma. Please."

This was far too much information for Hermione, who simply couldn't process anymore Werewolf weirdness that day. Groaning at being dragged into another difficult situation, she simply shrugged. "I won't tell her," she promised.

"That doesn't mean I won't," another voice said, silky, amused. Dread, thick and noxious, dropped into Hermione's stomach as Isbeil detached herself from a shadow and stepped between them. "Mary-Rose, you're dismissed," She said, flicking her fingers at the woman without breaking eye-contact with Hermione.

For some reason Hermione couldn't discern, Mary-Rose actually looked to her, as if for permission, before she acceded to that 'request'. She gave her a nod before she'd even realised what she'd done, and was gratified to see that Mary-Rose looked as shocked as she did at the action. Isbeil eyed her with that same dark, malicious glint that she'd had that first night and Hermione couldn't pretend it didn't exist any longer.

"That mating will happen," she said as an opening, the announcement brusque even as they were cloaked in velvet by her accent. "I want it to, and that's the only reason I'm letting the child's behaviour pass. But, listen to me, Miss Granger - that is my decision, not yours." She bared her teeth in a facsimile of a smile, full lips curling back. "You're sticking your nose in where it is not wanted, now, little Auror. You don't belong here. Keep to yourself, do your investigations, then leave. As soon as possible, if you please."

"But-" nope, the woman was already stalking off, her lithe movements intimidating all by themselves. Hermione's emotions were torn between anger at being so readily dismissed, and reluctant admiration for the woman who was able to run this crazy, crazy place.

Finish the investigation, get out of here. It sounded good.


"Hermione!" Hermione's head whipped around at the call, seeing Lavender bouncing towards her down the hill, full of exuberance. "Hi!"

"Hi, Lav." She waved, just about able to keep trepidation from her voice. She could face off against any number of criminals; one chirpy blonde, however? Especially if that blonde had grown up living in the same room as her and therefore had been there for most of her embarrassing moments. Half-cat? She saw it. First crush? Laughed her face off at that. First period? Well, actually, Hermione had dealt with that much better than Lavender herself, what with the other girl's mother being the way she was, but it was still a point. "What can I do for you?"

Lavender huffed to a stop next to her, bending slightly, her hand clamped tight to the stitch in her side. "You'd think being a werewolf would at least make me fitter, eh? But no. Are you off into the village? I'll join you. Got to get to work." She grinned brightly. "Me, work! It's crazy, isn't it. I always thought I'd just get married and raise a few kids, make sure yours had someone to terrorise at school."

Hermione had to admit that she, too, had some difficulty picturing effervescent Lavender as a diligent worker, but it took all sorts, she supposed. "Were you up at the castle?"

A surprisingly puckish smirk tipped Lavender's plush lips. "Oh, yes. I saw you leaving and thought I'd join you. More interviews?"

Hermione nodded absently, in her head already attempting to list the interviews in the most helpful order. Then, all of a sudden, she realised that, well, Lavender.

"You live here," She said abruptly, turning on her heel to face the other girl, stopping them both in their tracks.

Lav looked at her oddly. "Well, yes. For several years now. What, did you think I was just visiting? Because I know we were never all that close, Herms, but surely even you know this isn't the sort of place I'd choose to spend my time." She flailed a hand at their surroundings. "I mean, come on. Rustic might be back right now, but, really. Look at the mud!"

Stopping herself from rolling her eyes took painful amounts of effort. Lavender was so - well, daft. There was no other word for it. Not everyone could be clever, of course, but surely they could all be normal? "No, dear," she said in a mild voice, because she'd heard once that loud noises and quick movements could set her off (or maybe that was bears, but surely the principle was the same?). "I've just remembered that I need to interview you."

"Me?" Something flashed across her face that Hermione didn't quite catch, quickly hidden behind an expression that she could only describe as ditzy. "Why me? I didn't know the man. Mayhew, was it?"

Suspicion curled inside her gut, though that might have been the habit of years catching up to her. "Matthew, Lavender, and you must have known him. There are less than a hundred people in this village; it's a fraction of the size of Hogwarts, and Merlin knows you knew everyone there." Perhaps she was a bit sharp, but she was getting awfully tired of people 'forgetting' his name as an excuse not to tell her what she needed to know. It was disrespectful, not only to her, but also to the poor guy downstairs. No matter how much of a pervert he was purported to be, he'd still died in a manner no person should ever have to suffer, and Hermione was tasked with bringing that person to justice. A mission she would fulfil, no matter how many heads she had to crack - or skeletons she had to drag out and dust off - to do it.

Lavender tipped her blonde head to one side, the chips of rock in her headband glittering in the dimming sunlight. "Maybe I ran into him once or twice," she allowed, rolling the words about her mouth. "Like you said, it's hard not to, in a place like this. I didn't know him, know him, though - we never spoke. I know some of the women had problems with him - too grabby, too flirty - but he didn't try any of that with me. Not that he ever got a chance," she added, quickly, her eyes skittering away from Hermione's to stare over the village. "I'm not… they're weird about unmated females here, so I stay mainly with the women. Much easier company, if I'm honest."

Hermione had found the very opposite to be true throughout her lifetime, actually, and she knew that as a teen Lavender had never lacked for male companionship, either. Here, where her scars were not the shameful taboo the wizarding world considered them, Hermione would have assumed she'd do well. On the grand scale of lies she'd been told, however, this one barely registered, so she let it slip away. For now.

"Weird how?" she asked instead, following Lavender's gaze as she gave a cheerful wave. Mairie Silk, from her stand in the centre of town, waved back at them hesitantly. Hermione couldn't see her expression from where she stood, but she got the impression that the woman was somewhat confused by the attention. "You and Mairie are close?"

"Not really," Lavender smiled, still waving for some unfathomable reason. It was getting awkward. "But the farmer's market is tomorrow morning, and she'll be going into town. If I'm nice enough, maybe she'll take me - I desperately need more ribbon." Thankfully, she finally dropped her hand. "And just weird. Mated females are like treasure around here, and they make up most of Isbeil's crew. Carla's an exception, she's actually pretty cool. The rest of them swan about like they own the place, and their males fall at their feet to do their bidding - when they're not dragging them off by their hair to fuck."

Lavender gave a somewhat wistful sigh, staring in a different direction, now, longing written across her face. Hermione shifted her gaze to there, too, but she could see nothing but a cluster of huts. "The unmated girls, though," Lavender continued, her tone clear of any emotion but her usual empty perk. "You have to understand that women only make up less than a third of the population here. We're in demand. All the time, we're either being courted or propositioned or fought over, and the mated couples are always watching us, waiting for us to join their ranks." She gave a bitter shrug. "I didn't think I'd ever say this, but all I want to do is work and make a life for myself. I'll mate for love, not because I'm desperate for companionship. That's an uncomfortable position to hold in a community where most of the women compete to mate the strongest male, the best hunter, the most virile, so I keep to myself."

Realization flowed over Hermione, like a slowly unfurling flower. "That's why they look up to Isbeil," she murmured, thinking about the scary, dislikeable, nearly violently sexual woman whom everyone seemed to respect. "Because she won the lottery in mating Simidh."

"Lottery?" Lavender queried, then shook her head. "Doesn't matter. You're wrong, anyway. Well, partly. The unmated do, yes, but everyone, everyone looks up to her because of who she is. Strong, powerful - she's a witch too, you know - and an Alpha at heart. She and Simidh are a True Mating. Equal in every way. That's why people adore her."

Hermione sensed the sour note and followed it to its source. "Not you?"

"Not me." There was a palpable warning there, ending that line of questioning. "But, yes, anyway - that's why Scarlett does so well. The men have 'urges', and they can't always wait for one of the females to become receptive, or the full moon to work them off. Scarlett claims it takes the edge off of their more primal urges to have a place of ready relief, keeps the town calm, but Isbeil tells us it makes the males more likely to simply take what they want rather than asking nicely. I don't really have an opinion, but…" Lavender smiled, taking Hermione's arm and pulling her along as they descended into the village. "I have to say, there are a lot fewer fights than there used to be."

"So she does run a brothel?"

"I didn't tell you that," Lavender said slyly. "I kind of like her, so don't get me in trouble, please."

"Of course not," Hermione smiled. "Any tips on how to deal with her, then?"

Lavender gave her a narrow look as they reached the village. "Don't be so stuffy. She'll hate that. And drop the 'little girl lost' look, too; all it does is make us want to eat you. That's not who you are, so just leave it." She gestured over her shoulder. "Anyway, I live that way, so I'll be off. See you at breakfast?"

She skipped off without waiting for a reply, which was good, because Hermione was still stuck on the 'little girl lost' comment.

"Bitch," she muttered, glaring off in Lavender's direction. And to think that girl had been growing on her.