Draco was appalled by the conditions he found his sons in when he arrived at the house near Lake Victoria. With sunken eyes, cracked lips and soiled nappies, the twins must not have been fed or cleaned for an entire day. Wilbur was uncharacteristically irritable and Martin subdued; the tear tracts formed on their infant faces told of the hours they had spent crying.
Gods damn him for failing to check on his bonds! If he had bothered, he would have known something was wrong with his sons much sooner. For all he had complained about Fenrir, Draco was coming to understand his reasons for ignoring the pack bonds. Being connected all the time could be distractingly overwhelming. It was far more convenient to do routine checks on the bonds. Except between waiting for Fenrir to arrive and Hermione's unexpected arrival, he had not gotten around to it yet.
Where in Hades was Mipsy? It went against the elf's nature to ignore summons or be neglectful towards his charges. Something must have happened to Mipsy, but Draco was more concerned about his sons right now. They were so frail, so still. His heart skipped a beat.
Draco tamped down the fear swelling in his gut. His sons needed him.
"What are you doing here?"
Oskar's greeting left Hermione open-mouthed. She had come to inform him of her return in person, and for some reason had expected a warmer reception.
"I-I wished to talk about the prophecies," she stammered out, trying not to show her disappointment.
"No, I meant in here," Oskar clarified, taking a step back inside the tent he had been in the process of exiting. "You should be out there with the pack."
Hermione gave him a bemused stare.
"We're preparing for battle and our alpha is away. It'll boost the pack's morale to see you involved in the preparations," he elaborated.
Lips pressed together, she gave him a curt nod and turned to leave.
"Hermione," he called after her. "I am glad you're back."
She looked over her shoulder, into Oskar's smiling face. He set down the bag of chocolate frogs in his hand and held his arms open. She turned around fully and without any hesitation, stepped towards him to be enveloped in a warm hug. This mark of acceptance from the Elder pleased her wolf.
Oskar let her go with a pat on the back, "Let's have that chat when you don't have alpha duties to attend to."
Draco held his sons, nestled against his chest as if they were the only thing that mattered in this world. Thank Luna, they were finally out of danger. Afraid to leave them alone for even a second, with bated breath, he had worked singlehandedly for hours to nurse them to their current state.
He gently placed his sons in the bassinet and kept watch as they slept, alert to any changes in them. Minutes passed and the steady rhythm of their hearts eased some of his anxiety. They were so severely dehydrated when he found them, even an hour's delay and... He did not want to contemplate the tragedy that might have been had he not arrived in time.
Preoccupied as he was, Draco forgot about the message that brought him to the house in the first place.
The fireplace roared to life.
"Where the fuck have you been?" demanded Theo soon as Draco answered. "I've called you at least three times with no response. I even left a message with Narcissa asking you to call me."
"I'll explain later. Why were you trying to reach me?"
"I found out something," started Theo, still visibly ticked off. "Everything we've accomplished so far could end up undone..." Theo took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "The Dark Lord's been busy."
"What had he done now? Mother said Lucius was called to Bulgaria."
"He has supposedly planned a whole new campaign for Bulgaria. Only Death Eaters with regional expertise or those who were part of previous missions have been included, which obviously excludes me."
This explained why Fenrir had yet to attack them. "Guess this means the Dark Lord's sent what's left of Fenrir's pack to die in another one of his poorly planned battles in Bulgaria..." Draco pitied members of his former pack. Like so many before, they were going to die senselessly in yet another one of the Dark Lord's overseas missions. "When is he going to learn he can't win a war of aggression in Bulgaria?"
"Unfortunately for everyone, he has learnt from his failures... He's got a new secret weapon to deal with them this time—Giants, Draco," Theo blurted out, "He's got GIANTS to fight this war for him."
"How...?" asked Draco, too stunned to voice his question properly.
"Everyone directly involved was called away so I couldn't get a lot of details. I hear he found a large colony of giants living in the Balkan Mountains." Theo let out a high-pitched laugh, "Turns out giants, not quite as extinct as we thought they were."
"How does he plan to control them? Given their volatile natures, aren't they bound to be a liability in battle?"
Theo's head bobbed several times. "Similar question crossed my mind, so I asked around." Theo hesitated. "I think the Dark Lord's figured out a way to control them."
"Are you suggesting those ridiculous rumours about the Dark Lord conducting experiments on giants—"
"May not have been baseless after all."
"Salazar's balls! What new hell has that noseless bastard created now?"
"I don't know, and it is cause for concern he managed to do any of these things in secret," Theo paused to throw a quick glance over his shoulder. "Draco, what else do we not know?"
Draco shared Theo's worry, but there was nothing to do about it.
"It's worked in our favour so far. He's evidently been too preoccupied with his plans for global domination to pay attention to what's been going on in Britain."
Theo was apparently not in the mood to care about the silver lining. "He cannot win in Bulgaria, Draco," he emphatically stated the obvious.
Draco understood his friend's concern. Part of the reason the public and many Death Eaters were finally ready to stand up to the Dark Lord was because they believed he could be defeated. It would damage morale and nip their uprising in the bud if the Dark Lord won in open battle against a militaristic society like the Bulgarians.
The Bulgarians needed to be warned; he had to speak with Hermione and Harry right away.
Given the urgency, Draco briefly mentioned Hermione's return and the evidence she was asked to provide to the ICW. There was one last matter to discuss before he ended the call.
"Did you check up on Gunnolf like I asked you to?"
Hermione had shared her concern for Gunnolf's wellbeing. Her description of the unpleasant sensations she felt before her pack-bond with Gunnolf abruptly vanished had added to Draco's unease.
"I've had my hands full trying to find anything I could about this whole business with Bulgaria. I haven't had the time or an appropriate ex—"
Theo stopped talking; Draco jumped to his feet. Both were startled by an alarm going off in the background.
Someone was attempting to breach the wards of the house.
Draco peered through one of the windows; the house was surrounded by Death Eaters and a few of his former pack members. A chill ran down his spine, but it wasn't out of concern for his own life.
"What's going on?" Theo asked, leaning forward to get a better look.
Draco's gaze stayed fixed on the threat outside. "They've found me."
"Well, don't just stand there like some mannequin—Disapparate!"
"The twins are here with me, and my elf's missing."
While there was enough time to apparate to safety, it would be risky to do so with children. Floo travel on the other hand, like elf-magic, was a safe mode of magical transportation for small children. Draco cast a dirty look at his fireplace. Damned thing was only equipped for communication.
"Surely you can transfigure a decent broom for yourself, if you don't already have one? You used to be pretty swift on a broom."
"There's at least one werewolf outside who could easily outfly me on a broom. And he doesn't have to worry about balancing two infants at the same time."
"You're going to have to disapparate," Theo practically shouted to be heard over the noisy alarm. "Portkey travel would be far worse."
Draco watched his sons; they were so drained by their recent ordeal, they slept through the racket. He nodded in resignation.
"Take care," said Theo before he terminated the call, "and send word once you're safe."
Holding his sons protectively against his chest, Draco offered up a prayer to Luna and disapparated, going from out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Hermione left Oskar to go speak with Adrian, who had taken on the role of Draco's head beta in Gunnolf's absence. A member of Gunnolf's former pack, Adrian grew up observing and trying to emulate the head beta, someone he deeply admired. Consequently, despite being considerably younger than the rest of their betas, Adrian was well versed in all the aspects of running the pack.
Adrian briefed Hermione on their security protocols and took her around the camp. It gave her an opportunity to speak with everyone as well as get a sense for the camp's layout. They also performed a perimeter check, testing the camp's wards, with Hermione even reinforcing them with a few of her own spells. Within the short time she spent with Adrian, it became evident, what the beta lacked in years he made up for in his knowledge of and dedication to his pack.
On Adrian's recommendation, Hermione next met with Serafina, their beta with the most battle experience. Serafina looked exactly as she imagined a werewolf war veteran would look—tall, muscular and sporting plenty of scars. She easily dwarfed Hermione, yet was surprisingly light on her feet. Though Serafina did not talk much, and was terribly uncomfortable when she did, she taught Hermione the basics every fighter in their pack was expected to follow in order to keep them organised, and as a result alive, in any battle.
It was only natural for the pack to act like a proper military unit. Considering how often Fenrir's werewolves were sent to fight on the frontlines on behalf of the Death Eaters, they had trained themselves and developed the discipline necessary to ensure their survival against people armed with wands.
Hermione joined in the training exercises, hoping to brush up on the combat techniques Draco had shown her all those months ago at Bleidd. She was in the midst of sparring with a group of omegas, when Adrian sounded the alarm.
"One of our scouts has returned. Fenrir's pack was spotted on the other side of the mountain. They should be here any moment now so take your POSITIONS."
The two packs were merged and split into three groups: combatants, support and non-combatants.
The support group, led by Cora, was made up of a dozen or so werewolves better at casting wandless spells than hand-to-hand combat. They would stay within the camp's wards and offer the fighters medical or any other form of assistance needed during battle.
Their most vulnerable group, the non-combatants, comprised of newly turned or injured weres. They, along with Oskar, would stay well protected inside the main tent for the duration of the fight.
Anyone capable of fighting was in the combatants group, under Serafina's command. This group was further split into smaller units they called sections. Every section was made up of six to eight werewolves, with at least two weres proficient in defensive magic who were tasked with shielding their section by casting protection spells.
Hermione joined the combatants, taking one of the attack positions. While she had always been better with defensive magic, since being turned, Hermione discovered she could wandlessly cast powerful offence spells with greater ease than even the most basic of defence spells.
Though newly formed, Draco's pack functioned like a well-oiled machine with minimal supervision. Most of them had belonged to Fenrir's pack for years and were used to working with each other; they had also been preparing themselves for an attack from the time they left Bleidd. By contrast, Hermione's pack was mostly pups; like their alpha, they needed to be guided to their respective positions and told what to do before the enemy got there.
The camp sat at a point of elevation at the base of the Mountains of the Moon, with the forest to their northeast. The area surrounding the camp was mostly bare. There were plenty of obstacles in the form of shrubs, trees and boulders, but nothing large enough to offer effective cover to anyone.
The enemy stepped into their line of sight, forced to approach them on foot due to the wards preventing apparition or flying within five hundred metres of the camp. Serafina shouted a reminder to contain the battle within this region alone.
There could not have been more than twenty-five weres walking towards them, with their alpha nowhere in sight. Hermione thought they could easily rush the enemy and draw a favourable conclusion to the battle in a matter of minutes. However, they had been ordered to wait. Serafina was reluctant to give up their advantage of the higher ground until they were certain a second wave of enemy fighters was not on their way.
Hermione bit her lip in an effort to hold back the curses ready to fly from her mouth. Standing around, doing nothing while they waited for the enemy to reach close enough to fire spells at them was nerve-racking. The eerie silence, in particular, filled her with foreboding; she sensed her pack was antsy as well. They were all eager to charge at the enemy, their bodies strained with the swelling tension of a coiled spring. It was blessed relief when Serafina finally gave the signal to let loose.
Werewolves typically engaged in physical combat, using spells only when duelling with wizards. The use of magic would have taken their enemy by surprise, but it still did not explain their lack of co-ordination and poor fighting abilities, especially when compared to the well-trained former members of Greyback's pack. How could Fenrir's current pack be such a mess on the battlefield?
"Pups, all of them."
"Aye. Cannae be mair than six months auld."
"Weak. Where's the rest of 'em?"
"Quit yer yakking or we won't hear when Serafina gives the next command!"
It was highly unlikely their keen lupine hearing would not pick up Serafina's bold voice, still the cross talking was distracting. Thankfully, it ended, so Hermione could focus on her spell-work instead.
The defenders were winning, hitting many of their enemies while taking no hits themselves. The combatants had stuck to the camp's perimeter so far, but when Fenrir's pack began to retreat, Serafina ordered a charge to prevent the enemy from leaving the anti-disapparition zone.
Fenrir's pups proved to be better runners than they were fighters. Adrenaline surged through Hermione's system as they raced downhill, shouting battle cries, in pursuit of their prey. The high did not last for long. They were less than two hundred meters from camp when, out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Fenrir and a second group of werewolves charging towards them. She turned to alert Serafina about the ambush and noticed the section beside hers was staring at something to their left. She followed their gaze to see a third group, of mostly Black Cloaks with a few Death Eaters, rushing towards them from the left.
The relative positions of all the groups were such, they could not return to the protection of the camp's wards before their enemies reached them. Fenrir had cleverly used his weaker omegas to lure the defenders out and flank them on both sides, cutting off their retreat. The anti-disapparition charms were still in place, leaving the defenders no choice. They had to move forward—a strategy that would leave the camp and everyone inside susceptible to an attack.
Serafina shouted a series of commands indicating they were to smash through the enemy lines in front of them before the ambushing parties caught up with them. The section at the centre charged ahead of the rest, changing their formation from a line to a wedge. While their centre pushed forward, the sections forming the left and right wings of the wedge simultaneously defended the rear and moved closer together to end in a column formation.
Hermione, who did not understand any of the commands, took her cues from the beta leading her section to know what she was meant to do. She tried to tune out the panic coming through the pack bonds, just as she tried to ignore the thunderous sound of bodies crashing into each other. Instead, Hermione concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, not falling down, and casting the same spells as the person beside her. In this manner, soon her section joined others behind the first group of enemy weres. Only, instead of attacking the enemy right in front of them, they were moving towards the group of Black Cloaks, now to their right, and attempting to encircle them.
The second group of werewolves with Fenrir appeared to be mostly betas. It didn't seem particularly smart to ignore the greater threat posed by this group to target the group of Black Cloaks first, except... they weren't really attacking the Black Cloaks.
"Expelliarmus."
"EXPELLIARMUS."
"Expelliarmus."
No, they were primarily focused on disarming the enemy, which was smart. Though physically weaker, wizards could do greater damage while risking little as their wands made it possible for them to cast spells with greater accuracy, and over greater distances. In comparison, the werewolves were fighting without wands and most of them could only strike their targets when casting spells at close range.
The Black Cloaks were disorganised and appeared to lack any kind of close combat experience. A third of them had already lost their wands and nearly all were surrounded. They fought in a desperate manner, only adding to the chaos as they accidentally hit one of their own as often as they hit their werewolf targets.
In the midst of it all, Hermione was constantly aware of Fenrir's presence. Over the ripping of flesh and shattering of bones, over the agonised cries and the last wheeze of someone's dying breath, over all the sounds of the battle, Fenrir's taunts rang clearly in her ears. The closer he drew, the harder it was to resist the urge to break away from her section and attack him.
"Helpful of you to come here, Mudblood. Like a good little bitch you led me to these rogues," he said, tearing off the arm of one of the omegas in the midst of casting a Protego.
Using both brute force and magic, Fenrir and the second group of werewolves made quick work of smashing through the combatants' encirclement of the Black Cloaks. At Serafina's command, they fell back using the Black Cloaks as human shields; it did little to slow down Fenrir's weres, who did not care if their allies ended up as collateral damage. In the ensuing clash, Fenrir's group was successful in breaking up the sections, resulting in complete mayhem. Hexes and punches flew every which way, making it harder to distinguish friend from foe.
Hermione had accepted that they would need to be more proactive than merely defending themselves, if they did not wish to be cursed or punched to death. She was still surprised by the degree of violence displayed on the battlefield. The pack was already riled up as it was going to be a full moon that night; paired with the adrenaline boost from the fighting and the scent of blood in the air, it was nearly impossible for them to keep their violence in check. There would be no prisoners taken today.
This was unlike any of the battles Hermione had fought with the Order. They weren't striking to delay, disarm or capture their enemies. Diffindos were aimed at any vulnerable part a clear shot was available. Throats were slashed, stomachs cut and Achilles tendons severed. Engorgios were cast at people's heads causing them to inflate rapidly and explode. It was blood and guts and war in a way Hermione had never experienced before.
The strain of trying to keep up with the rest of the fighters began to wear Hermione down. It was not as bad when they were fighting using magic alone, but soon as it turned into a melee, she faltered. Nearly every were had switched to hand-to-hand combat as it was quicker to deliver a punch to the mouth than it was to articulate the right spell with a busted lip. Already at a disadvantage due to her lack of training, thanks to her slight build and shorter stature, those fighting beside her kept bumping into her, making her miss most of her intended targets.
The fight moves Draco had taught her all those months ago were better suited to one-on-one combat and useless in the current situation. Transforming was also not an option. If trying to manoeuvre her human form within the restricted space were hard, it would be impossible to do so in her massive wolf form. Furthermore, she was quite likely to accidentally hurt someone from her side and would be a larger, hence easier target for the enemy.
As a precaution, Hermione cast only Protegos so she wouldn't have to worry about accidentally hurting someone from her side. Somewhere between the jostling, trying to stay on her feet, avoid being hit and sticking close to the leader of her section, Hermione inadvertently made it to the periphery of the fighting, where she finally had room to move around and a better view of how the battle was progressing.
Everyone on the battlefield was engaged in a fight for their lives. No one saw a second group of Black Cloaks and Death Eaters arrive from the north-west direction of the camp and attack those inside, until someone shouted that the camp was on fire.
They collectively turned towards the camp and saw one of the tents engulfed in flames. The fighting ceased and everyone momentarily froze. The flames were fiendfyre and the Death Eater who had cast the spell was struggling to keep it in control.
Weres from the support group were seen running around, helping the non-combatants escape before the fiendfyre reached them. Hermione's heart sank. There, amidst the fighting taking place in the camp, was a head of striking platinum blond hair. It was hard to tell if Draco was alone, surrounded as he was by the freshly arrived group of Black Cloaks and Death Eaters, but there was something odd about his movements; instead of ducking and dodging, he stepped into the path of many blows and spells. Her blood ran cold when she finally caught a glimpse of the people behind him. Draco was shielding Cora and Oskar, each of whom held a baby in their hand.
Hermione wanted to break ranks and rush to help her family, but running in the open without any cover would not help Draco or her sons in any way and would only result in her getting killed. There was one rule Serafina had told her never to forget during a battle:
"Keep your cool and follow orders."
They would succeed in battle if everyone did what was expected of them. When they acted on their own, they disregarded their own safety as well as the safety of those around them and could even compromise the entire mission.
Hermione took a deep breath and reined in her panic before she called out to Serafina, directing her attention to Draco's plight.
Serafina seemed to consider their current position relative to the position of her alpha, as well as the commotion in the camp, before ordering everyone to fall back. Following her directions, they retreated northeast of the camp, away from their enemies. While this move helped them consolidate, it also put them in the disadvantageous position of having to defend while moving uphill.
Another set of orders were called out, of which Hermione understood only one, "Aim at the ground."
The combatants haphazardly hurled Bombardas and Confringos, blasting away rocks, shrubs, or even the ground directly in front of the fighters chasing after them. They did not cause any injuries, but they did create dust clouds which affected visibility and slowed down the enemy. Understanding the objective, Hermione concentrated and released one powerful Bombarda Maxima, knocking many of the frontline attackers off their feet and engulfing the group in a large cloud of dust.
Serafina ordered them to use the moment's respite to re-form their sections. By now, the combatants were just as far from the fighting taking place between Draco and the second group of Black Cloaks as the second group led by Fenrir—who changed course once the dust clouds began to settle and were rapidly moving towards the camp.
The re-formed sections were ordered to cut off Fenrir's attack by moving into his path. Once in position, Serafina called out a new set of commands so half the sections engaged in holding off the group led by Fenrir while the remaining sections did an about-turn and charged at the rear of the troops attacking the camp.
It was mostly Death Eaters in this second group of non-werewolves. Despite being more organised and experienced than the first group of non-weres they could not hold on to their formation under the two-pronged attack. They were attacked from the front by the non-combatant and support groups, led by Draco; and attacked from behind by half the combatants, including Hermione.
The closer she got to Draco and her sons, the more Hermione was tempted to run to their aid. It would not help and would only add to the chaos, she had to remind herself, over and over. As it was, due to her height, she could not see most of what was going on around her. She had no idea what was happening with Serafina and the sections engaged in battle with Fenrir behind her, neither could she see what was happening with Draco and others fighting in front her. To stop herself from feeling overwhelmed, Hermione cleared her mind of all else, especially the pain and fear coming through the pack bonds. She focused solely on aping the movements of the leader of her section.
Draco shouted out some order, surprising her by how close he sounded. Hermione peered through a gap in the wall of people surrounding her. All the sections engaged with the second group of non-werewolf fighters had steered to one side, away from the enemy and closer to Draco. The support and non-combatant groups had also moved closer to each other.
At Draco's command, a volley of offensive spells darted in the general direction of the second group of non-weres. It wasn't about accuracy, but saturation; they were attempting to inundate their enemy with a barrage of spells to distract them from noticing that they were being forced to pull back in the direction of the fiendfyre. In a matter of minutes, the entire second group of Black Cloaks and Death Eaters was either burnt alive by the fiendfyre or fatally injured by the hail of spells they failed to dodge.
Draco ordered the support and non-combatant groups to form into sections as well and turn their attention towards the main battle, taking place between Fenrir's and Serafina's troops. Both sides pushed and shoved against the other's formation, with neither group succeeding in penetrating the opposition.
Draco led the charge in an oblique attack, followed by the combatants. The non-combatants, who had stood besides Draco and fought only minutes ago, fell behind so they were in the tail end of the column formed by the sections.
Draco made the confusing choice to direct the charge at the cluster of enemy fighters on the right, even though it was the enemy's centre that was successfully holding back the sections under Serafina's command. His reasons soon became clear.
The right wing of Fenrir's motley group of werewolves, Black Cloaks and Death Eaters had comprised of their weakest fighters, who collapsed under the very first wave of Draco's attack. Instead of countering, these fighters attempted to retreat by backing into their centre. Due to them carelessly bumping into their own people, the tight formation of the stronger fighters in the centre was ruined.
Draco did not force his army into the thick of the fray to chase the retreating fighters. Instead, he ordered them to run around, driving the scattered group of Fenrir's fighters, closer and closer, together. While the sections led by Serafina continued to engage Fenrir's fighters, the rest tried to herd the enemy, leaving them little room to use their limbs effectively.
Once their sections had the enemy close to surrounded, Draco called out orders for Serafina and her troops. Hearing their alpha's commands, they briefly stopped fighting to look around them before switching tactics. Instead of actively engaging the enemy in a fight, Serafina's troops used defensive spells to facilitate their movement towards the outer edges of the mass of bodies fighting.
Under Draco's leadership, pack members dodged blows and fired spells to provide cover to the combatants trying to break free from the crush, while simultaneously constricting the movements of Fenrir's troops by closing in on them.
...
A veteran of many wars, Fenrir should have been able to pre-empt and counter any move of Draco's. Anyone with battle experience would have known to avoid the trap of encirclement, yet Draco was going to pull it off for the second time in the same battle.
The Fenrir in battle that day was nothing like the grand victor of the Pack Wars. Every other strategy was abandoned in favour of psychological warfare, carried out through taunts and acts of savagery. Fenrir gouged out and ate eyes; tore out limbs of one, to pound the life out of another; and he shoved ripped off scalps down the throats of his enemies. All in vain. As former members of his pack, his enemies were used to Fenrir's cruel way; they remained unfazed. If anything, it solidified their resolve to defeat Fenrir.
On the other hand, Greyback's gruesome displays had the Black Cloaks ready to tuck tail and run. They had marched into battle on the orders of Lucius Malfoy, second in command to the Dark Lord himself. They were ordered to accompany Greyback and ensure he brought back a pregnant red-haired witch named Ginevra Weasley and a werewolf with distinct platinum blond hair, named Draco, alive as their prisoners. They were promised a handsome reward in exchange for their services, though they would have done the job for free because of the prestige that came with being recognised by the likes of Lord Malfoy.
In their hope to impress Lord Malfoy—and possibly be elevated to Death Eater status—the Black Cloaks had even been willing to take orders from the half-breed Greyback. However, having never participated in any of the wars or allowed to attend any of the Death Eater Revels, they had no idea what they were getting themselves into. They were horrified by both, Greyback's displays as well as the brutal reality of the battlefield. The Purebloods had arrived, expecting an easy and glorious conquest of the rogue werewolves, only to realise the half-breeds were going to butcher them as easily as cattle in an abattoir.
Some, quick to see their error in judgement, tried to abandon the fight while they still could, only to meet their demise at Greyback's hands. Wanting to make an example out of the deserters, the mutt dug into their chests and ripped out their hearts. He ate the still beating organ, while the rest watched in dumbstruck terror.
"Don't even think of running away, you cunts, or it'll be your loved ones who'll be paying the price for your spinelessness... If I don't return victorious with the redhead and the twins, expect the Dark Lord to kill each and every member of your family for his entertainment at the next revel," the monster had shouted at them, spraying them with bits of blood and flesh of one of their own as he spoke.
Sensing defeat, it was one of many lies a desperate Greyback would utter on the battlefield that day. The Black Cloaks believed his threat to be true and this—more than the promise of galleons or recognition—motivated the Black Cloaks to stay on the battlefield and fight to defend Greyback with their very last breath.
...
It took the older alpha some time, but he did eventually see through Draco's strategy to trap his troops. Fenrir issued his own orders, commanding his fighters to attack the centre of the pincers Draco's pack had formed around them.
The combatants had moved right and left to form the claws of the pincer, but the centre of their formation consisted primarily of non-combatants who failed to put up a fight, providing the enemy a breakout point. Draco's futile attempts to patch the opening by redirecting other sections there only further ruined their formation. Subsequently, the fight once again devolved into a melee.
Draco did not show it, but he was out of his depth. Desperate to bring a quick conclusion to the battle, he had tried something as risky as a pincer formation, and now they were worse off for it. He had not been in the right frame of mind since the start of the battle, arriving as he did, right in the middle of a war zone, holding the splinched bodies of his infant sons. Objectively speaking, their injuries were not as bad as they could have been, but it was hard to be objective when his hands and robes were stained with the blood of his pups.
Leaving Wilbur and Martin to Cora's care so he could join in the battle, was one of the toughest things Draco ever had to do. In that moment, he did not care about defeating Fenrir or protecting the pack. He wanted to stay with his sons and hover over Cora until she healed their injuries. However, by then a new group of Death Eaters had arrived, torn down the wards, and attacked the camp itself. He had no other choice. With a heavy heart, Draco turned his back on his sons to defend the camp.
Sure, he wanted Fenrir dead, but when he envisioned battling his former alpha, he had not expected his sons to be on the battlefield with him. Them being present and injured changed everything for him.
Family was the only thing that ever really mattered to Draco. As a Malfoy, he had wanted to make his family proud of him and prove himself worthy of his name and heritage. As a werewolf, he cared for the well-being of his sons, his mate and his pack, only he was not capable of being responsible for so many people. He wished to be selfish, to take his sons and hide, and ignore those relying on him.
Why did he ever think he could be an alpha? How did he ever imagine he could handle being responsible for other people when he could not even keep his mate and sons safe? What did he even know about saving people? That job was for people like Potter.
But he was their alpha, and his pack was depending on him. So, once again Draco found himself unwillingly doing something expected of him, hoping with all his heart that this time it was the right thing to do—that this time he or his family would not be punished for his decision.
After hours of fighting, everyone was exhausted. While his sons were doing okay, Draco sensed through the bonds that many in his pack had fallen and others were barely holding on. With the twilight hour quickly approaching, if they did not emerge victorious soon, he feared they would all end up dead.
"I challenge you to a duel," Draco shouted at Fenrir while fighting two Black Cloaks in his way. Someone or the other kept blocking his path; no matter how many of them he fought off, Fenrir remained out of his reach. "If you win, we return as your prisoners."
He was placing the pack's welfare over his desire for revenge or even his desire to flee with his sons to safety. Soon, the moon would be out. With the exception of the alphas, every werewolf on the battlefield would undergo the painful process of transformation, leaving them vulnerable for the first couple of minutes—plenty of time for the non-were survivors to slay his entire pack.
...
"I challenge you to a duel... if you win, we return as your prisoners."
Hermione stopped short at Draco's words.
NO!
Fenrir is mine.
She would fight Draco, if needed. No one was going to snatch her prey from her. And there would be no prisoners taken either. She would fight or die fighting, but she would never be anyone's prisoner again.
Thankfully, Fenrir was not interested in Draco's offer.
"Give up now, pup," replied Fenrir, not even a little out of breath as he singlehandedly pummelled two weres to death. "Moonrise is only a couple of hours away and I'm expecting reinforcements to arrive by then."
He raised his voice so every were on the battlefield could hear him. "Surrender now and I may spare your life, keep fighting and I promise you a horrible death."
Whether or not Greyback was sincere in his offer did not matter as everyone seemed to be of the same mind as Hermione. Unwilling to surrender, they continued to fight their former alpha and his troops.
Both sides were invigorated by the reminder of what would happen once the moon came out. Determined to finish the battle before moonrise, the defenders became more aggressive and also a little careless, while the non-weres exercised caution, knowing they only had to hold out a little longer to seize victory.
Despite taking numerous hits to different parts of her body, Hermione had somehow stayed on her feet and pushed herself to the edges of the fighting once more. She surveyed the battlefield from her new position, frantically seeking out her sons first. Thank the gods, Will and Marty were still with Cora and Oskar, safe behind a wall of combatants. Not far from her, Draco struggled to reach Fenrir.
As much as Hermione was eager for the battle to end, Fenrir's troops showed no signs of giving up yet. Far from it, the Black Cloaks fiercely defended Fenrir, displaying a surprising amount of loyalty towards someone the blood supremacists would typically look down upon as a half-breed. So long as the Black Cloaks acted as Fenrir's armour, no one could get close enough to kill Fenrir. And as long as Fenrir remained alive, the battle would continue.
Hermione stared at the Mountains of the Moon looming before her and considered calling upon her friends at Uagadou for help. But even if they agreed to help, and arrived in time, they would not know to distinguish the defenders from their enemies. Moreover, once the transformations were completed all the humans would be in grave danger. No, she could not call them.
The battle raged on and with neither side making any progress, Draco looked like he was trying to organise a retreat. She moved closer to him so they could talk without being heard by half the weres on the battlefield.
"What's the plan?" she asked him.
The expression he wore during the brief glimpse she caught of his face brought to mind the scared little boy she saw sometimes during their Sixth Year—back when he had been given the task to fix the vanishing cabinet by Voldemort. This could not be good.
Draco's hands moved in a swift arc to strike the wand out of the hands of the Black Cloak before him. "Uagadou," Draco grunted, dodging a stray spell to punch the enemy nearest him. "Take the pack there. Your friends should be able to help."
"No. We can't put all those children at risk."
"They're going to die if we remain here."
Not that moving was going to be any easier, but she understood Draco's concern. The pack needed a safe place to undergo the transformation and it needed to be nearby as everyone was either too fatigued, too injured, or both, to pull off long distance disapparition.
The cave she had hidden in after she was turned was not large enough to accommodate the entire pack, but it could provide shelter to their injured and more vulnerable members.
"There's a cave in the forest," she shouted. "I've used it before."
"Opening's partially blocked by a pile of rocks?"
"Yes."
"Our trackers know its location."
Draco ducked away from a blow to his head and stepping beside Hermione, he shot a shield charm to block the Confringo aimed at her. Hermione fell into step with Draco; facing opposite directions, they fought side-by-side for some time. With Draco physically fighting off everyone within arm's length, Hermione could focus on casting powerful attack spells. As a result, they were far more effective working together, than either one of them had been on their own.
"Cave works ... Let's move the pack ... You lead the way ... I'll protect the rear ... Wait for my signal ... then, start to run," Draco instructed between throwing punches and blocking hexes.
Hermione nodded in acknowledgement and at Draco's command, the pack began a collective retreat towards the tree-line of the forest.
With time quickly running out on them, it seemed to take them forever to make it past their anti-disapparition wards. Once they were a few feet away from the trees, Draco issued the order to apparate. Those unable to apparate or unaware of the location of the cave were to follow Hermione. Each one would have to make a run for it with only the trees for cover.
Hermione found herself being shoved by Draco, who gave her the signal to run. He had pushed her out of the path of a Diffindo, which ended up slicing into his shoulder.
Even though she was equally bruised and battered, Hermione was stunned to see the curse strike Draco. Forgetting what he had asked her to do, she gawked at the blood running down her mate's arm.
She needed to help him.
She started to move towards him, but Draco stopped her.
"Don't," he warned. "Go—NOW!"
Draco blindly hit at the Black Cloaks surrounding him, providing her the opportunity to run. Hermione was not over her shock yet but forced herself to do as asked. Casting a Protego on herself, she ran into the forest.
Somewhere behind her, the crunching of leaves and twigs being trampled by human feet was punctuated by loud cracks and voices shouting anti-disapparition jinxes. It may have been some pack members who disapparated despite being chased by their enemies. Hermione never stopped, or even slowed down, to confirm any of this for herself. She was knackered but she kept running, using the last of her energy reserves to lead the pack to the cave.
Her lungs burned and her feet grew heavier the longer she ran. A sharp pain punched her squarely in the chest; it made her clutch at her heart, but not stop. If only she were in her wolf form, she could have run the distance without breaking into a sweat. But since she lacked the energy needed to force the change, she remained in her human form, pushing her body beyond its capabilities. Not even twenty-four hours ago, she had run through the same forest, pulse-racing, for an entirely different reason.
Hermione ran all the way to the bottleneck in the path leading to the narrow opening of the cave. Adrian and some of the other combatants emerged from the direction of the cave, most likely having apparated there.
"Anyone—else—make—it?" she asked, breathless and barely able to stand from the shakes in her leg muscles.
"Only a few. I've got the non-combatants settled inside..."
Adrian trailed off mid-response, staring at something behind her. Curious about what had distracted him, Hermione turned to see members of their packs arriving in groups of threes and fours.
"We need Cora here right away. Too many injured. They'll need to be patched up before the change."
Hermione understood what Adrian meant. Though a majority of them had survived, they had sustained serious injuries.
"I'll go," she offered, even though she wanted to crash and have healing potions poured down her throat. Out of the two of them, Adrian was far more familiar with pack duties, so in what little time they had, he would do a better job of organising everyone and preparing for the full moon than she could.
It was much slower going this time around as Hermione dragged herself back in the direction she just came from. There was no sign of Cora, but she passed so many arrivals along the way, she grew hopeful they would all make it somehow.
Hermione rested heavily against a tree to briefly catch her breath. Her head snapped to attention as several growls were followed by a loud wail. However, it was the cries of the infants that send her darting in a panic towards the sound without caring if she stumbled over rocks or hurt herself as she further pushed her already abused body.
Not too far away, she came across a band of combatants, which included Serafina. The group moved in close formation, shielding a pair of omegas who held the twins protectively.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Assured her sons were unharmed and well-guarded, she calmed down enough to notice the stand-off taking place a few feet away.
Draco and three other combatants were engaged in a skirmish with a dozen of the enemy troops. Cora was also there, bent over a halfway transformed Oskar, who very clearly was bleeding to death. While the others fought, Cora wept and frantically waved her wand about, trying to heal Oskar, in vain.
"Forget these mongrels. Go, get the babies," bellowed one of the Black Cloaks.
"There! They went that way."
The Black Cloaks ran in the direction taken by Serafina. They went past Hermione, without noticing her hidden behind a tree.
"EXPULSO."
Hermione's spell slammed several of the Black Cloaks to the ground. The combatants quickly took care of the ones still standing.
"Hurry," she urged. The explosion was sure to draw more of their enemies.
No one moved. Grief-stricken, they watched the light leave Oskar's eyes.
Hermione ordered them to, "Leave him." The sun had begun its descent towards the horizon; there was not much time left and plenty to get done. Hard as it was they needed to accept, "He's moved beyond the veil now."
When they still would not move, she physically yanked Cora to her feet.
"We have living pack members in need of healing before the moon is out, Cora. Forget about Fenrir, the transformation will kill them first," she cautioned the mediwitch.
"Anyone left behind?" Hermione asked no one in particular before they could disapparate.
"Only the dead," replied Draco, his face a hardened mask and his gaze fixed on Oskar's lifeless form.