Chapter 14: Necessary Wolves

Hermione huddled close against the hard ground, head buried between her folded arms, thinking dark thoughts. It was bad enough that she was trapped in here, that she was Bellatrix's prisoner without considering who—or what— she was trapped with. Why, oh, why was she stuck in here with Draco Malfoy of all people? A man who was a beast before this appearance had been changed but who seemed twice as horrible now that the exterior matched the interior. It was hard enough to believe that the identity of her genteel Mr. Wolf was truly he; now she had to come to terms with the fact that Draco Malfoy was her co-prisoner and a ghastly one at that.

She hadn't taken the news well but at long last the argument between her and her cellmate had finally petered into silence, each having retreated to opposite walls. Or, more accurately, Hermione had flattened herself against this wall and demanded that he do the same on his side. She meant to truly argue with him but found that she did not have the strength to say much past "You stay over there and I'll stay over here, you foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach."

To which he had replied, "You're the one who punched me in the nose! So I didn't tell you who I was! What's the big deal? I never said I wasn't Draco Malfoy. Never even hinted at it!"

"You are a manipulative liar!" She'd thrown back. "And I never want to see you again."

"Well it's too bad for you," he'd growled around jagged teeth, "But I think we're stuck here." Despite his protestations, he had already retreated to the shadows against the far wall.

"Until you eat me, you selfish bastard," she'd snarled.

"Until we both die of starvation," he'd replied, equally as furious.

Now, all she wanted was to sleep for one hundred years. Maybe even more than that. She thought of Ginny, suspended in an endless sleep. That didn't sound so bad to her right now.

She had been sorely disappointed in the revealed identity of her Mr. Wolf and the sting of the betrayal had yet to fade. She thought that she had been careful. She'd wasted no wishes on him and had been prepared to accept it if he had been a toad of a man behind the mask, but never once had she thought that it could have been Draco Malfoy. Some things were too strange even for fantasy. Now, she missed the illusion of the man she'd seen through the mask; his strange kindnesses, his sharp humor. In her mind, she mourned her Mr. Wolf as dead and gone. Never again would she find comfort in his presence, for in what way could Draco Malfoy redeem himself to her? Although she was as clever as the day was long and knew the answer to a hundred questions, she could think of no answer for this one.

The sound of claws against stone drew her out of her dark thoughts. She lifted her head and nearly banged it against the little wooden cup that was held out to her.

"What is it?" she asked, eyeing it warily.

In the dim light, she could just make out the roll of inhuman eyes and the curling up of one black lip. He made a sound that might have been a scoff in a more humanoid throat. "Clearly dehydration has started to sully your intellect," he rumbled, each syllable positively dripping with annoyance. But then the rough face softened slightly and he let out a little sigh when her distrusting expression didn't change. "What do you think it is? It's water. Come on, you haven't had anything to drink in three days. That's about the limit of these things, I think, although you're a witch so perhaps another day or so mightn't kill you if you'd rather not drink. I won't force it upon you."

Reluctantly, she took the little wooden cup. Although it contained but a little water, it was still heavy, and this was how she knew how weak she had grown. She raised it to her lips and emptied the cup in a single gulp. As she licked her dry, chapped lips for the last of the moisture and handed the cup up to him, she began to feel a little better. "Thank you," she said and only now realized how hoarse her voice had grown. Perhaps it was from shouting across the little room. Perhaps it was from days without water. "I think it helped."

He made a clucking sound and ran a clawed hand over his head again. "If you're thanking me, I know you're unwell," was all he said and with that, he stalked back across the room to his own side, heavy tail dragging on the ground behind him.

Hermione dozed for a time but was awakened eventually by the gentle prodding of something wooden against the side of her head. She opened her eyes and found him squatting beside her, holding out the little wooden cup. "Drink," he said.

"Say please," she rasped with a smile and took the proffered cup. Again she drank it in a single gulp and again she felt a little bit better.

He made no reply but plucked the empty cup from her hands and retreated once again to his side. She fell into a light slumber again.

Twice more he roused her with little cups of water and twice more she felt a little better each time before her mind was sharp enough to catch the drip drip drip of water in the distant corner. She let the sound lull her back to sleep.

On the fifth time she was roused from slumber by the press of the wooden cup against her hands, she opened her eyes and asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm trying to give you water poisoning, but since you've had nothing to drink for half a week I'm starting at a slight disadvantage," he said sarcastically and then, "I thought you'd have realized that it's so you don't die of dehydration." His yellow eyes rolled again and a faint lifting around the top of his head might have been the raise of eyebrows. His ears twitched.

"But surely you are thirsty, too," she replied.

His ears swiveled around again in thought. "I think," he said slowly, staring down at his own massive paws, "That Bellatrix did not account for how hearty this form would make me. I've had nothing to eat or drink for four days and I barely feel it."

She nodded and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes to better organize her thoughts.

After the eighth cup of water, she began to notice the chill seeping in through the wall and pulled her arms tighter around her shoulders.

"You are cold," he said when he brought her the ninth cup of water. "You are shivering."

But she had given no comment to indicate her cold, so, curious, "How well can you see now?" she asked as she took the little cup, willing her teeth to stop chattering.

"Well enough," he replied and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"Thank you for the water," she said as she handed the cup back to him.

He took it silently, the twitching of his ears betraying indecision as he stood in front of her for a few minutes. Finally, he said, "Come sit against the other wall with me."

He must have seen the look on her face because he hastily added, "Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't try anything." He did not say I wouldn't try anything while I look like this, but that was what he meant; He did not say I wouldn't try anything on a muggle, but that was what she thought he meant. He forged ahead as though he had no self-pitying thoughts and in so doing cut through hers, too, "The cold doesn't bother me at all. If you sleep beside me, you will be warmer."

"How thick is your fur now?" She asked, putting her head on one side and squinting at him in the dark, but no matter how much she willed her eyes to work better in the dim light, she could not see for certain anything but the shape of him and the strange, inhuman glow of his eyes.

"Thick enough," he replied and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

She stood, and when her knees buckled he steadied her with an arm around her waist. "This doesn't mean I trust you," she blurted out, even as she leaned against him.

He stilled as if frozen. His paw was so large that it covered her torso from the base of her ribs to the swell of her hip, his claws were so sharp she could feel their points even through the thick fabric of her dress. She told herself that she did not wonder what that hand would have felt like if it were human.

"Of course not," he scoffed, and adjusted his grip so he was barely touching her, "And it doesn't mean that I want to be any closer to you than I absolutely have to be. This is only a matter of necessity. It means nothing."

And with their words like a wall of thorns between them, they made their way across the room. Wordlessly, he settled her against his back and draped his long, thick tail over her. Its fur was coarse and heavy, but it was also warm and thick and it spread over her like a winter blanket. It didn't take long for her shivering to subside and they sat quietly, the strange proximity setting them both on edge.

After three more cups of water, Hermione felt like her old self, although she held her tongue lest she break the fragile truce that had been established wordlessly between them. As she handed the little cup back to him, though, he stilled and his head turned toward the yellow light of the door, ears swiveled toward it, intent upon something.

Hermione could hear nothing though she held her breath the better to listen and asked in a whisper, "How good are your ears now?"

One ear twitched toward her for a moment although his head did not move. "Good enough," he answered, shrugging one shoulder.

And then, because she was getting sick of cryptic answers, she asked, "Ok, that's great, but what are you hearing, exactly?"

He listened for a moment longer before finally looking down at her. In this light she could not see more than a black outline against gray shadows, so she could not see the look of disbelief on his face but when he spoke, she could hear it in his voice. "Tiny boots." He said as if he could not believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"Tiny boots?" She echoed because she could not believe it, either.

"Four of them."

Her hand flew to her mouth and, "Crookshanks!" she gasped just as from beyond the door came a slightly muffled meow!

Fairy tales used in this chapter: Beauty and the Beast, Koschei the Deathless, Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty, Puss in Boots

A/N: Hey, would you guys rather I continue to post regularly or post a bunch of chapters at once and then lapse into long periods of silence to write? Is there a time of day you'd rather I be posting (if there is, please let me know including time zone. I'm on Japan Standard time, so if you say "2 pm," I'll assume you mean my 2 pm unless you specify otherwise)? I'm trying to figure out if this once a week thing really works. What do you think? Let me know via comment, pm, on twitter, or tumblr!