Chapter 14 – Care and Consequence

Fenrir followed Hermione across the wet moors of northern Yorkshire. Her scent was the only new one in the area; making it easier to follow than it would have been were there others around. He would have been able to track her anywhere, regardless, but her scent was clear; lighting up her path as surely as if there were arrows pointing him in the correct direction. He knew he had to keep his distance; he was not going to drag her back like he was tempted to. He was not going to let his temper get the best of him this time. She needed space. She needed to know he would give it to her; but he had to make sure she was safe first. It was his fault she was out here; and he knew it.

He had the feeling she would run eventually, no matter how she felt. She needed time to adjust; he knew they would both suffer for it and so was reluctant to let her have that time. She would come around without it, but never completely. Three days was not long enough; he was surprised she had come along as far as she had. She was starting to believe the things he had said; but only after she had seen proof. Proof was all she required to believe what he said, and there had been glimpses of it in her responses to him, but nothing solid enough that she could relax and just give in. He wanted her to come with him without her need for proof. There were some things that had no reason behind them. She could not break down his anatomy and explain the way werewolves worked like so many would like to. Werewolves were as mysterious as many other magical creatures, even to themselves. Fenrir had aided many in adjusting to the transition; but that did not mean he could explain how it worked; it just was. He could not give her the proof she would require to believe him, he just had to take care of her until she realized the truth herself. Something she was making increasingly difficult.

As Fenrir continued to follow the brunette witch's trail, he began to notice her faltering steps. He grimaced whenever he came across a place where she had stumbled and fallen into the heather. It would not have hurt her, but it could not have been comfortable; the heather was always damp.

He closed in on Hermione as darkness began to fall. He was not close enough to alert her to his presence, but his keen eyes easily picked out her form in the darkness. He waited patiently, his teeth clamped together, as she found sleep on the cold ground. Rain was coming; he could smell it gathering in the air. He quietly stalked closer to the place Hermione had laid on the ground; he could at least protect her while she slept. He whispered the incantation for the imperturbable charm and cast the spell over Hermione. She would at least stay dry for the night, if nothing else. He did not sleep at all that night; he watched over her, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms at every cry she made. Her nightmares were worse than they had been last time; when her cries grew to be unbearable he restrained himself to resting a hand on her. She would quiet for a time, and he knew he could not be so near when she woke up the next morning.

The night came and went with little incident, Fenrir noticed Hermione stirring as the sun rose and quietly moved away from her. He lifted the spell he had placed on her the night before; she would be angry if she knew he had followed her. She would not want him to help her, no matter how much she needed it.

The second day was worse. When it was not drizzling, it was pouring, and still Hermione trudged on through the moors. She was so determined; he'd give her that. He admired her resolve, as much as it irked him. She was soaking wet, and he knew she had not eaten anything, but still she continued on. He watched her trail as it became more crooked and uneven as the day turned once again into night.

Fenrir sighed when he found Hermione collapsed on the ground, her petite form stretched across a gravel road. He wasted no time, quickly dropping to his knees beside her.

"Why are you so stubborn, mate?" he said quietly, "You could kill yourself out here." He lifted her into his arms, cradling her limp form against his chest. Her scent filled his nostrils and he cringed, her usual flowered scent was covered by the faint odor of heat. He put a hand to her forehead and started, her skin was hot.

"Hermione," he sighed gently. Why had she put herself in harm's way to get away? He knew she was not as afraid of him as she pretended to be. There was something else, something she had not spoken to him about; something she thought was more important…

The war. Fenrir huffed. She cared a great deal about those boys she considered friends; even that horrid Weasley boy. He knew she would not be able to rest until the war was over and they were safe.

"Damn it," he growled quietly. He wanted to whisk her away from it all; but she would never forgive him for that. He tossed several ideas around in his head as he held the unconscious girl close to him. There was nothing he could do about it now; he harbored the idea that their circumstances might change, but there were many things he was unwilling to stoop to. As much as he wished for Hermione to be on his side, as much as he cared for her and was quickly growing to feel even more than that, he was not going to compromise the safety of the entire pack just for her.

He wished she would let him protect her the way his instincts urged him to; they screamed through his head to take her back home; where she would be safe. He knew he would not get the result he desired, however. He let out a soft huff of air at the situation.

"Expecto Nuncio," he muttered, pulling out his wand. A large grey wolf erupted from his wand and raced down the gravel road. Fenrir nodded in satisfaction before turning his attention back to his mate. She stirred slightly as he spoke to her.

"I'm sorry, love. I will give you some time; but you know I cannot stay away. This is the way I am," he kissed her forehead, the heat coming off her fevered brain bringing a worried crease to the werewolf's brow. "I cannot change that; even for you." He stroked a rough hand through her wet hair; the fact that she was still soaking wet somehow clicking in his brain. He cast a quick drying spell over her and continued to run his fingers through her hair.

It was not long before he heard the sound of footsteps crunching the small rocks on the road. Fenrir did not turn his head; he recognized the man's smell as he approached.

"I got your message, sir."

"Thank you for coming so quickly. You have always been faithful."

The man crouched next to Fenrir, "She's sick, isn't she?"

Fenrir nodded. Sweat was beading on Hermione's forehead. "She left without thinking. She overexerted herself."

"Can you heal her?"

Fenrir glanced at the man, "Healing was never my specialty. She needs time away from me, anyway. I frighten her."

Fenrir's companion laughed softly, "I would 'ave been more surprised if she was not afraid." He looked more carefully at the young woman in the werewolf's arms. "I'm glad you found her. My father always spoke of you; there was always a pack, always stories of the werewolves, but then there was you. Always at the top, but always alone..."

Fenrir growled, causing the man to hold up his arms in submission.

"I mean no disrespect, sir. I jus' meant I was glad you will not 'ave to be that way any longer."

Fenrir sighed, "Always watching out for me, eh?"

"I wouldn' say that, sir."

"Your grandfather certainly took up that charge."

"'e was older than you were. I have never been. I've jus' been 'ere to help."

The werewolf grunted good-naturedly, "Your family has always been helpful. I am glad you decided to carry on that legacy, Cecil."

"Always here when you need me, sir," the middle-aged man said sincerely. "I'll call the lads up. We need to get her inside. You'd probably best be gone when they arrive."

Fenrir nodded and stood, gently placing Hermione back onto the ground, "Thank you, Cecil. Don't let her leave. It's too dangerous out there right now."

"Yes, sir."

"She will have nightmares." The werewolf said, turning back toward the moors.

"They always do."

Yorkshire. The snatchers had been paired with the Death Eaters to search the area surrounding York. Fenrir's heart clenched when he realized Hermione would be heading straight into the city when it was swarming with Death Eaters. He had to make sure she stayed where she was until the danger passed. He was not certain he could save her again; especially if the Lestrange woman got ahold of her. That woman made his hackles rise; almost more than the Dark Lord. She was insane. He never wanted Hermione to have to deal with the demented witch; she stressed about too much as it was.

He wished she would just let him hide her away until the war was over. She was a brilliant witch; but he was unwilling to lose her. He did not want her to risk her life. He had spent so long without her; he could not let her go.

No. She could not leave the moors. Something would happen to her; he knew it. There was only one way out by vehicle; and that was easily fixed. Cecil could handle the rest.

It had worked, for a time. Fenrir had underestimated the locals. They had taken them less than a week to rebuild the bridge. Those muggles were quite resourceful. Hermione was determined; he knew she would leave Cecil's care as soon as she was able. It had been six days since he had let her go. It may not have been a long enough time for Hermione; but he was tired of waiting. Fenrir had been irritable all week. He had snapped Mensis' head off multiple times, and was grateful the younger wolf knew him well enough to know when to steer clear. There was not very much of an occasion for it, thankfully; Fenrir was gone most days with the Snatchers. He took out his aggression on whatever poor soul happened to get in his way.

Fenrir did not bother to pull out his wand as an auror apparated in front of him. Rage boiled up through his veins. He had allowed his instincts to take over his actions; it was easier not to think. He jumped on the wizard, ripping out his throat. Blinded by his bloodlust, he tore into the man further. His instinct-clouded mind reveled in the sensation; hot blood poured over his lips and ran down his chin. He looked up for another target; only to hear the mad cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Ooh! Little wolfie's got quite the appetite today!"

He snarled at her; but even through the haze of his instincts, he knew he could not fight her, not today. He continued to stalk the city with the Death Eaters; letting his mind go, being guided by nothing but impulse. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a reminder that she would not approve of his actions, but he ignored the sensation. Only by being ordered about like a dog could he guarantee his pack safety; there was no other option. He cringed at the thought of her disapproval, but he knew what had to be done. They did not control him fully; he still made his own decisions. He was not a pet.

Fenrir did not even hear the screams of the next wizard who intercepted his path; he was not going to listen to the Dark Lord's every call. If he had to be leashed, then he would let them know that it was no guarantee they could summon him as they saw fit. There were other things he had to do; the Dark Lord could not hurt the pack without losing Fenrir's support. He needed him to win the war. He would survive without his help for a few days. He had been away for far too long.

It was time to get back to his mate.

A/N: Caring Fenrir, irritable Fenrir. We can't seem to have one without the other, can we?