AN: Thank you for all of your reviews! I'm glad that you like the story. Soon, we'll find out more about our wolfish friend, meanwhile you can enjoy this chapter :) If you spot some mistakes, or have some suggestions, feel free to let me know. I don't bite ;)

'Ranulf' from Wikipedia: "masculine given name in the English language. It is derived from the Old Norse name ReginĂșlfr. This Old Norse personal name is composed of two elements: the first, regin, means "advice", "decision" (and also "the gods"); the second element, Ășlfr, means "wolf"."


The wolf kept following Hermione everywhere and she was grateful for that. After that day when the animal found water for her, she decided to trust her odd companion entirely. For some reason he was helping her and she wasn't stupid, she needed any help she could get, even from a wild beast. It was easier to march now, because the wolf was bringing her meat and showing her a way to the streams. When the rain came, he guided the girl to a small cave. It was evident, though, that he wasn't going to help her find a town. Hermione came to conclusion that the wolf was merely keeping her alive, observing her every step, not interfering with anything. When she decided to go further north, he just followed her, wandering off from time to time only to find food, water or shelter for the night. The beast's presence seemed to keep other creatures away; Hermione didn't see any of them since her companion joined her.

"It's good to have you, you know that?", on one evening she told the animal, who looked at her with mild interest in return. She liked talking to him; she missed other human's company. Dolohov's grandmother was a very talkative person; it was funnily quiet now, when she was no longer around. Hermione caught herself on missing the old lady a few times. She grew quite fond of her, despite everything. Babushka was kind and cared for her.

'Stockholm syndrome', Hermione scolded herself whenever such thoughts came to her. The old lady could be kind to her, but she was still aiding her grandson in abduction.

'But she's not evil.', Hermione kept thinking. 'It's not that simple. He's her only relative, she has to protect him.'

If there was one thing that Hermione learned about Dolohov's family, it was the fact that they were extremely protective of one another. They stuck together, no matter what. Babushka loved her son and grandson despite everything. She reminded Hermione of the warmth of her own mother and a home she had possibly lost forever.

Hermione buried her face in her hands, sitting in a small hollow that the wolf had found earlier. Such thoughts often came to her at night, when she sat wrapped in her blanket, trying to warm herself up by the fire. It was so difficult, to be alone in these forests. She missed Ron and Harry, her family and Hogwarts. She wished with all her might that Voldemort had never been born and that none of these terrible things had happened to them.

She jumped slightly in surprise, when she felt a new source of warmth beside her. It was the wolf.

He snuggled close to her, lied down and looked at her with his strange, dark grey eyes. She had never seen a wild animal do something like that. With hesitation, she put her hand on the wolf's head; seeing no objection she stroked his fur. He closed his eyes sleepily.

Soon, Hermione found herself cuddling to him, sleep quickly overtaking her. He was so warm and his heartbeat was so steady. She felt safe with her new friend.

"I should give you a name...", she whispered into the fur. It felt silly to always refer to her companion as "the wolf". But what name would be good for a creature like this?

Ranulf. A perfect name for a wolf. With a sigh, the witch fell asleep.

The next morning she woke up with new hope. Her stomach hurt a little from eating only roots and meat, but overall she felt quite good. Ranulf ran off somewhere, but Hermione was already used to this. He'd come back eventually. The sun was shining for the first time that week, so the girl packed up her small camp and resumed her journey. The landscape was becoming more and more hilly. It seemed that Hermione's presumptions were correct; she was getting near the mountains and further away from the capital. Now that she thought of it, going south would increase her chance of getting help in going back to England. There were lots of tourists by the sea; someone had to know English. Italy was within a stone's throw from Vlore, Albanian coastal city. Hermione wasn't naive, though. Dolohov probably had the same thoughts as her. In the first place, he'd go to the capital and places where a lot of people are living. The girl didn't regret her choice; she was safer here, in the wild, than she'd be in the crowd. The crowd in London didn't protect her from being kidnapped.

Ranulf came back, the sky became dark and it was high time to set up the camp again. Hermione kept repeating in her head, that she was another day of journey closer to her friends. She could only wish that she'd reach the borders soon. She hoped it wouldn't be protected rigorously. The land wasn't inhabited by many people, so who'd bother to cross the borders in the mountains? But then again, it was possible that she won't have to break the law to escape. Maybe she'll find someone who'll understand her language and will help her.

Hermione munched a piece of roasted meat, thinking over every possibility of leaving the country, when she heard the noise. Immediately, her whole body stiffened. She listened more alertly, without moving an inch. Did the smell of food attract some animal? Ranulf had disappeared somewhere again, but it couldn't be him returning; the sound was surely made by something bigger. Not human for sure. Humans didn't growl like that.

The girl once again regretted not having a wand with her. She felt extremely vulnerable without it and with Ranulf gone; she was just like a small child, lost in the darkness. She got used to his company during the two weeks they have spent together.

There was another low growl, this time louder than the previous one. The small fire wasn't helping in recognizing the shape that lurked in the darkness. The creature was close now; Hermione could hear its breath. The witch froze in the spot, but deep down she knew it was useless. The beast saw her, she was sure of it. Her breath became quick, her heart raced in her chest. She had heard a similar sound, few years back. A growl that made her hyperventilate in panic.

A werewolf's growl.

Soon enough, the shape came closer to her; she could see the gigantic head and big, yellow eyes of the creature. Its jaws were covered in blood; it must have eaten not long ago. That wasn't big consolation; the werewolf was looking at Hermione like a predator watches his pray. Such huge beast could devour an animal his own size and still be thirsty for blood. Would it eat her or just bite her and turn into one of its kin?

The beast shifted suddenly and jumped near the girl. She gave a loud shriek and started to run for her life. It was no use, but she couldn't just stand there and wait to be killed.

'That's it', she thought frantically. That was the end. Nothing could save her now. If only she had a wand...or stumbled across a wizard. She'd gladly exchange the werewolf for Dolohov. At least the Death Eater wouldn't rip her to pieces. Probably.

The girl kept running, but her legs were slowly starting to give up. Long days of walking had taken their toll on her. She gave another cry, urging her body to move faster. Suddenly, she tripped over a root and fell to the ground with a loud thud. The force of fall knocked the air out of her lungs. Those few seconds that it took her to regain her breath and sit down were enough for her pursuer to catch up.

The werewolf's teeth were bared; Hermione could see the saliva and blood dripping from them.

"No", she whined. There was no strength left to scream. Besides, in what would screaming help now?

The girl could only sit and wait as the werewolf prepared to pounce upon her. She shut her eyes, hearing the beast's grunt.

Then, everything happened so quickly, she had hardly any time to register.

Another beast, smaller, jumped on the werewolf and started to throttle it. It did so with such precision, that the opponent could only struggle, its throat held firmly by the other one's jaws.

"Ranulf", Hermione whispered, covering her mouth with trembling hands.

Her companion kept fighting with the monster, growling viciously. The witch managed to get up with difficulty and started to slowly limp away. She didn't go far; her body was too exhausted to work properly. She leaned on the tree, panting heavily. She observed the fight, hoping that Ranulf would be alright. He was smaller than the werewolf, but bigger than most wolves. He had used the moment of surprise and bitten the other beast on the throat; it was the best thing he could do. That way, he could press the enemy to the ground and immobilize him. The werewolf fought with all its might, but Ranulf didn't let go, despite of his injuries. Hermione prayed that he'd manage to defeat the monster. Some part of her didn't want the werewolf to die; it was after all a human being, a cursed one. The smiling face of professor Lupin floated in her mind. She shook off those thoughts. This was not a place for pity; either the werewolf dies, or she and Ranulf get killed.

Soon, the strength started to leave Ranulf. The wolf was after all smaller than his match. The monster attained the upper hand and threw the animal to the ground. Hermione cried out when her friend fell with a pained yelp. He got up quickly, though and resumed the fight. He ran off a bit before stopping and growling threateningly at the werewolf. The monster was angry; it seemed that it decided to kill the girl's guardian first, before taking care of her. He went after the wolf, which in turn ran off a little further away, before coming to a halt once again.

'He's pulling it away from me', Hermione realised. The thought brought new tears to her eyes. How a simple wolf could be so intelligent? Why did he care so much? At first she wanted to call after him. The girl didn't want to lose her new friend. She stopped herself just in time, though. There was nothing she could do to help Ranulf. He, on the other hand, wanted to help her in escaping. It would be foolish to waste his efforts.

With a heavy heart, the witch tried to walk again. With small steps she limped away. She couldn't return to her camp, in case the werewolf would find her there later. Without her things and Ranulf, chances of surviving were scarce, but she had to try nonetheless.

After some time of limping, the girl fell to her knees. She wasn't going to give up, though.

"Must...go...", she groaned, crawling ahead. Her whole body ached terribly, but she was used to the pain by now. Her clothes were torn in many places, her hair dirty and tangled, her skin covered in muck. She lost a few pounds during last days; her cheeks became hollower.

That's how the man found her the next morning, sprawled on the forest cover, unconscious.


The pillow was very soft, the duvet warm. Hermione's mind was slowly waking up; her body still couldn't move, though. She wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep again. Something fluffy chafed against her head. A cat.

She didn't want to open her eyes. The air smelled of tobacco; Dolohov was probably smoking by the window. In her head, she could see his stormy face as he breathed the cigarette smoke out of his nose. The tobacco... He had found her, after all. She was again in his bed, waiting to be berated. Hermione snuggled further under the duvet. She didn't want to hear his curses right now. Taking a deep breath, she decided to fall asleep again. Something was off, though...Slowly, the witch's mind was starting to work properly. Did Dolohov find her? The smell wasn't right. The pillows in his bedroom smelled of his cologne and soap, the one Hermione was lying on smelled of washing powder.

She finally opened her eyes. This was not Dolohov's bedroom; this was not the cat Lyov chafing against her. This one was brown, smaller. There was an unpleasant feeling in Hermione's chest. Could it be disappointment? Surely, her mind was still playing tricks on her. She nearly jumped out of the bed, when someone addressed her.

It was a girl around her age; she had black hair and was a little bit chubby. She smiled at Hermione and repeated the thing she said earlier.

"I don't understand", Hermione answered with hoarse voice. She hadn't noticed the girl and the other woman in the room earlier. The woman had to be a relative of the black-haired girl; they looked similar. She observed Hermione closely with a worried look.

"You're English?", the black-haired girl asked Hermione, with astonishment. The witch couldn't believe what she had just heard. There was someone who understood her!

"Yes! Yes... Oh, I'm so glad that someone finally understands me! Please, I need help-"

"Wait! A bit slower. I can't understand everything. I learned at school. Not good at it.", the black-haired girl said slowly, with strong accent.

Hermione smiled broadly. It would suffice. The older woman said something to the black-haired girl. She nodded and addressed Hermione once again:

"My name is Elira. This is my mother, Gezime.", here she pointed at the older woman, who smiled kindly at Hermione. "My uncle Bashkim had found you yesterday in the woods. What happened to you?"

The witch took a deep breath. She had no idea if they were Muggles, so she decided to pretend to be one just in case.

"My name is Hermione, I'm from England. Back in my country I was kidnapped by a... criminal."

'A freaking, murderous Death Eater', she thought before continuing.

"He brought me here, to Albania. I've managed to escape. I've been lost in the woods for a couple of weeks, I need to return to my country...", slowly the girl's voice began to crack.

"Please, help me", she whispered at last. Elira quickly translated her words for her mother. After a moment of conversation between the two, she told Hermione:

"We've heard that there are men who take young girls and then sell them as prostitutes. We can give you food and shelter, you will be safe here. Maybe my uncle could take you to the capital, to the embassy. These bad men won't find you here. But the final decision belongs to my uncle. He's the head of the family."

The witch thanked her hosts and fell on the pillows, exhausted from emotions and her previous encounter with werewolf.

The werewolf...

"I have a question", she said suddenly, as Elira busied herself with folding some blankets. Her mother went out of the room. The black haired girl looked at Hermione expectantly.

"Did your uncle... Was there someone else, in that place where he had found me?", the witch asked with hope.

Elira furrowed her brows in thought.

"No, I don't think so. Uncle didn't tell us anything."

Hermione gulped. Maybe Ranulf was safe, after all. Maybe he managed to defeat or flee from that monster.

Elira observed the other girl closely.

"If you want", she said with a smile "you can ask him yourself. He'll want to speak with you later."

Hermione nodded and thanked. She felt a strange, unpleasant feeling in her stomach. She grew very fond of her wolfish friend. He had saved her life, more than once. At the thought of his body torn to pieces by a werewolf, she felt sick and extremely sad. How could it be that a mere animal acted like a human being? Was he an animagus? Surely, from what Hermione had read, Albania was full of unique magic. Lord Voldemort choose this place as his hideout, after all. Hopefully, Ranulf's strange abilities will allow him to survive. With a sad smile, the girl remembered his calm demeanour, the feeling of his soft fur. Maybe she'll see her friend once again someday. Now, she must focus on reaching Harry and Ron, wherever they are.

Elira kept Hermione's company for the rest of the day. She never asked about her abductors, though. It was better that way. Let them think that she had been a victim of human trafficking. People were scared of that, they were scared of mafia. Hermione read many articles about the subject. Her mother always told her not to trust strangers or any new-known people. The witch remembered her words very well. With a smile, she told Elira about London, but deep inside, she knew that she must be careful.

Trust no one. Constant vigilance.

Dolohov might be hot on her trail. He knows those people; he had lived here for a long time. He knows their customs and their fears. He knows where she can find shelter and where she won't get any help. He may Imperio or torture Elira and her family in order to find Hermione. For the good of everyone, the girl must contact the embassy as soon as possible.

Elira's mother took great care of Hermione. She gave her lots of food and made sure that she ate most of it. Something in her behaviour reminded the girl of Dolohov's grandmother. She could be around forty, her hair black, she was wearing a flowery dress similar to babushka's. Elira translated everything her mother wanted to tell. Luckily, no one asked any more questions. Hermione suspected that the one to interrogate her will be the head of the family: uncle Bashkim.

He was nowhere in sight, though. When the night came, Hermione decided to ask about him.

"He'll come when you regain your strength.", Elira answered.

"But I can go and speak with him", Hermione said, trying to get up. She was feeling better, after all. She was curious what Elira's uncle was like; she needed to know if he could help her.

Elira shook her head up and down. Hermione took that as a 'yes', but her companion stopped her when she sat up in the bed.

"Here, near the mountains, we have customs and tradition. They are very important to us. A young, unmarried woman shouldn't wander alone, without a man to protect her. Whenever we go outside, a man speaks for us. A father speaks for his daughter, a husband for his wife. Uncle will come to you, when he decides it's time to do so. It would be improper to go to him by yourself."

'Oh, yes. That society is mostly patriarchal, after all' , the girl remembered. She lied back on the pillows. These people were kind to her, she should respect their culture. After a moment of silence, she asked one more question:

"Can I use the bathroom?"

She was very surprised, when Elira smiled at her and shook her head. Why couldn't she use the loo? She needed it desperately, she spent whole day in the bed.

"Forgive me", the witch said, furrowing her brows "But I really need to use it. Can I?"

This time it was Elira who seemed to be surprised.

"Of course you can, silly! I've just told you that you can", she told Hermione, clearly amused.

"But-You just shook your head!"

"Yes, I did! Oh...", Elira laughed openly now. Hermione raised her eyebrows. What did she do?

"Oh, I'm sorry.", said Elira at last. "It must be confusing. In our country, we shake our head up and down as a 'no'. When we want to say 'yes', we shake it from side to side. It's the opposite as you do."

Hermione blinked. She had never noticed this custom. Then again, she was with Dolohov and his grandmother; they were Russians. There was no such situation in which she could observe this behaviour. All of this was very interesting.

The witch wanted to ask Elira so many questions. She was curious of her, her family and her country. But soon, sleep overtook her as Elira was reading some book in the armchair.

She dreamed about the eyes of a wolf and the warmth of someone's body near her at night.

The air still smelled of tobacco.