[Author's Note ] I took some creative liberties with what happened in DH canon. Thank you for your patience kind readers. I have not written anything in nearly 8 months but I have read every review and it rekindled my inspiration.
"More bloody rain," the Snatcher groaned. "We've been out here day in and day out for over a week. What do they think we are going to find?"
"Rumor has it there are a few more Undesirables running about."
"After the last sorry lot we captured? Doubt it."
"Heard it was Harry Potter himself."
"Bollocks."
"It's true, don't believe me you can ask Sammy."
"What does Sammy even know? The git is-"
"If the three of you don't shut the fuck up I swear I will rip your thoats out with my bare hands," Fenrir said with a snarl. At once all three of the Snatchers marching behind him went silent, eyes widened in fear. Fenrir would have been lying if he didn't relish the silence bought with the threat. His wizarding entourage were downright insufferable most days but on that rainy afternoon they were particularly grating. He was trying to focus on the direction the Taboo had been triggered. Someone, whether it was an Order member or a couple of Hogwarts students playing hookie, had invoked the curse by saying Lord Voldemort's name. He wasn't sure if it was the obnoxious company of the Snatchers or the fact that this was the third Taboo to be triggered in a week that made him annoyed.
However Fenrir knew it didn't help that the month was edging closer to the night of the full moon. His skin prickled with the subtle sting of the impending changes as though the very cells of his body were preparing for what was to happen soon enough.
While the wizards trudging behind him were sure not voice any further complaints about their patrol, Fenrir could feel the air change as the rain shifted from slow drops to a pelting storm. Fenrir didn't mind. If anything it made him feel aliveand abated the worries that occupied his thoughts.
The Order had been on the move since the spring, mounting their own attacks. Of course it had not been the wealthy wizarding aristocrats in Voldemort's higher circle that had suffered. The Order had gone after small factions of Fenrir's pack, setting on fire their camps before disappearing into the night. While thankfully the casualties had been low the destruction of what little his people possessed was enough to draw Fenrir's fiery ire.
However deep down a part of Fenrir wondered if Voldemort had not simply orchestrated the attacks to look as though it had been the Order. After all the werewolf was sure the Death Eater's leader sensed Fenrir's budding reservations in his people's involvement with the war efforts.
What better way to reignite loyalties than continuing to ensure a common enemy, Fenrir thought. He tried to tell himself that such a theory was unsubstantiated and yet the doubt still lingered. In choosing a side Fenrir knew he had only chosen the lesser of two evils. The Order. The Death Eaters. Neither one was much better in regards to treating werewolves. He had simply hedged his bets on the man who promised him and his pack their rightful place in the world. Only time would tell if he had made the best choice.
As the rain subsided, Fenrir stopped in his tracks. The other Snatchers did the same, looking around carefully to see what might have caught his attention. A scent had jarred Fenrir from his thoughts. It was faint at first but more distinct as a breeze carried it through the forest trees. The wolf within him stirred. It too was interested, scratching at the veil of his perception.
He followed the scent and within minutes both Fenrir and his crew were standing on the brink of a small camp. He motioned to the Snatchers and they quickly moved to encircle the tent. Inside Fenrir could here the panicked whispers of it's occupants.
"Come out with your hands up!" Fenrir bellowed. Both him and his Snatchers raised their wands to the tent. "We know you're in there!"
The Snatchers moved in and dragged the tent's occupants out. The three young adults tried to scramble away from them, Fenrir and his men pounced. The werewolf grabbed the young woman among the trio first, taking her firmly by the arm so sharply she was nearly taken off her feet.
The wolf within him suddenly became agitated and the rising emotion felt like a bolt of electricity to his human consciousness. The discomfort happened only for a brief second but it was enough time to distract him so that he hesitated when the young woman yelled out and tried to punch him in the face with her spare fist. Fenrir evaded the futile attack, growling back at her. He appreciated the feistiness but was nonetheless quick to show he had the control.
"Well what do we have here?" Fenrir said with a wolfish smile while forcing menace into his voice. Even the other Snatchers grew uncomfortable when Fenrir went into interrogation mode as though they too would be forced to reckon with the 6'3'' werewolf.
The young woman along with her two companions were drawn before them. Fenrir peered into the faces of their captives. Even as they spouted their stories Fenrir could tell there was something deeply suspicious about their presence. But not only that…
The wolf within him was clawing for the surface of his mind. It was a rare instance but he did not feel at one with his feral impulses and it took immense willpower to maintain control. His thoughts were whirring with a fixation.
The girl, the girl, THE GIRL.
Indeed her scent was fascinating to him but not like the way he chased his prey in a hunt.
THE GIRL. Take her. Run. Take her. Run.
Enough, he ordered himself hoping to force back the rising impulses from his animalistic side. He inhaled and exhaled sharply for several seconds until he felt back in control of the moment but by now both the captured trio and the Snatchers were looking at him for what was to happen next.
He tried to regain control of himself, of the ferocious persona he needed to exemplify despite the scratchings of the wolf on his mind.
The two young men offered up their names, or made an attempt to offer fake names. A few swift punches to the face and the red-headed young man offered another name.
Vernon Dudley and Bardy Weasely.
Bull shit, Fenrir thought to himself. He didn't need to consult the list to know the two young men were lying. Terribly.
"Let's see if you are bit quicker at remembering your name than Barny. Who are you girly?" Fenrir asked quietly and his gold eyes levelled on the young woman with an unblinking stare. She met his gaze and while there was fear there was also fire. Fenrir would recall that moment for years to come as the time he should have zigged instead of zagged. He should have listened to the wolf within him. He should have protected her from what was to come next. But how could he have known?
"Penelope Clearwater," she said. Another Snatcher checked the list while Fenrir assessed the young woman in front of him. Fenrir guessed she was probably lying as well but at least she had more conviction than the other two.
Maybe things would have been different, he would later tell himself when he became the prisoner of Hermione Granger.
But then again maybe things would have been the same.
Just then another snatcher came out of the tent with a large sword in his hand.
"Very nice," Fenrir said as he took it. The sword was splendidly crafted. Unknown to most, many moons ago Fenrir had been the son of a blacksmith. He had spent his childhood admiring blades of various styles. But this one was unique. It's design was distinct. He raised the blade to the dimming light with appreciation. "Very nice indeed. It's goblin-made. Tell me where did you something like this?"
"It's my father's," the one named Vernon said. Fenrir rolled his eyes as he went on to say they had borrowed it to cut wood.
Just then one of the Snatchers brought forth a picture from the Prophet. Underneath it read the caption: Hermione Granger, the Mudblood who is known to be travelling with Harry Potter.
Fenrir examined the picture and suddenly he was crouched down in front of the young woman. His face was merely inches from her own and he could see the tears she forced back while meeting his gaze. "You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."
The wolf within him was snarling and it felt deafening to his senses. It had to be the proximity of the full moon, the excitement of the hunt. But deep down he knew that something had disturbed his wolf side. But he had to force himself to regain control. He was the leader of the Snatchers and possibly in possession of three of Voldemort's biggest threats.
"It isn't! It isn't me!" Her desperation was enough of a confession.
The Snatchers whisked them away to Malfoy Manor. They would be Bellatrix's problem after that. If the disfigured member of the group was indeed actually Harry Potter perhaps Fenrir would get a kickback. A few galleons could go along way in rebuilding his pack's communities. But it wasn't really the two young men he cared much about but the mix of emotions the young woman invoked.
He told himself it was just lust.
Because lust was easy to compartmentalize, easy to label. Far easier to grapple with than the surging agitation from his baser instincts.
As he brought them before the dark witch, Fenrir snarled into the ear of the redheaded male. "Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her? I'd say I'll get a bite or two, wouldn't you ginger?"
Fenrir enjoyed the anger he stoked in the wizard. It made him feel in control of the situation rather then face the mounting dread from his wolf side. The red headed man shot a chain of expletives at him as he was dragged away.
"What have you brought me, Greyback?" Bellatrix said.
"I have my suspicions about the three, caught them with the Taboo out in the woods. I figured it warranted your attention at the very least."
"Do you dare to assume what is worth my attention, werewolf?" She responded, hissing the word werewolf as though it were an insult.
Fenrir's eyes flashed with annoyance. He did not want to instigate a fight with Lord Voldemort's second lieutenant but he didn't revel in her silly power trips. She was unhinged at best. Talented in the Dark Arts but unpredictable. She was a natural to violence though and Fenrir assumed that was why Voldemort had taken a shine to her.
"If it's really Harry Potter we need-" Fenrir began to say and was suddenly struck by a bolt from Bellatrix's wand. The force sent him flying across the marble floor of the manor's open atrium. He got his feet, snarling. A time will come and I will kill her without hesitation.
"I will decide what needs to be done! Not you. Now run along. Go fetch me my nephew, I have a job for him," she turned to the young woman still being held by a Snatcher. "And I have a new friend to play with."
"She's mine when you're done," Fenrir said and the words came out before he could catch himself. Bellatrix's back was already turned as she waved him away vaguely over her shoulder. He knew she would make no promises. In fact, laying any claim on the young woman might have been an invitation for Bellatrix to do her worst.
Inside Fenrir felt in turmoil as the door shut behind Bellatrix and her prisoner. Although he was no stranger to the screams of victims the sound of the young woman's cries tore through him on a visceral level. The whole room started to grow dark along the edges as he breathed in sharply.
What was going on?
"Boss? You alright?" One of the Snatchers asked, stepping forward hesitantly to the werewolf.
"I'm fine," Fenrir snapped but he quickly left the atrium in an attempt to put as much distance from himself and the screams of Bellatrix's captive. His animal instincts had gone awry and taken hold of his thoughts. THE GIRL. THE GIRL. GET HER.
SAVE HER.
SAVE HER.
Fenrir tried to ignore the impulses, wondering if he had finally gone mad. But the harder he tried to push the thoughts away the closer they continued to dog his steps down the empty corridor.
Just then Draco Malfoy turned down the hallway in front of him. The wizard tried to double back to avoid crossing paths with the werewolf. Smart man.
"Get back here, Draco," the werewolf said between clenched teeth.
The fair-haired wizard turned to face him with defeat in his posture. The young man looked sickly, his pale skin revealing dark circles under his eyes. Harboring the Death Eater's most gruesome members had likely taken its toll on sheltered young man. Weakly Draco met his gaze. "Yes?"
"Your aunt asked for you in the great room," Fenrir said. The werewolf could see Draco struggle to maintain composure at the mention of his relative but even so Draco said nothing, merely nodded in acknowledgement.
Draco went to move past Fenrir but the werewolf caught him by the arm. His blue eyes opened wide in fear at the sudden gesture. Fenrir knew it shouldn't have mattered but the nagging feeling forced him to say something.
"Do whatever you can to keep the girl alive."
Draco nodded but was clearly confused by the message. Fenrir guessed that was just what Draco had tried to do when a very short while later all three of the captives had escaped. Bellatrix raged and Fenrir knew logically he should be upset that it really had been Harry Potter who had escaped.
However the truth was he only felt a weird relief that she had gotten away.
He would spend the years to come wondering what about the witch had overridden his human control, both wanting to find Hermione Granger but also secretly hoping they never crossed paths again. Because what if … What if she was the one? Confronted with the question now he realized the truth he had tried to ignore back then. Hermione was his mate and he would do anything to keep her safe.
After Fenrir told Hermione about their fateful first meeting those years ago he watched her closely to gauge her reaction. She carried the tension of her disbelief in her jaw and neck, her brow furrowed in thoughtful anger. A bead of silence strung between them but it was clear by Hermione's expression her rage was building.
"See I seem to remember that day very differently," she said jumping from the chair to her feet suddenly. Hermione moved forward so that she was nearly nose to nose with Fenrir with her wand drawn at his throat. "I was brutally tortured and I lost a dear friend that day. But it's okay because you felt really bad about it all? Sod off."
Fenrir didn't flinch even as the silver chains on his neck and arms burned deeper into his body. The cursed metal was likely to leave lasting scars on the werewolf but that was to say if he lived long enough to witness them heal.
"I don't expect any mercy," Fenrir said, speaking slowly to keep his voice steady through the pain. "But you asked why I saved you and that is it. By destiny you're my mate. Our magic is linked. The wolf knew it then and now, face to face with you again, I know it to be true as well. Last night I sensed your danger and even before I knew why... I was drawn to protect you. If you will let me I will do whatever I can to keep you safe."
"I don't want to be your mate," Hermione spat, never taking the wand from his throat. "I'd much rather kill you."
"I believe you," he said calmly which only seemed to piss Hermione off further.
"I don't think you seem to realize how dire your circumstances are right now, Greyback."
"I'm chained up in silver and and an angry witch is pointing a wand at my face. I'd like to think I am fully aware of my circumstances. The only question now is what are you going to do?"
Hermione knew that as every moment passed her resolve was beginning to waiver. It would have been easier if she had simply killed him the moment she saw his face. His words changed nothing for her, Hermione insisted. Strange werewolf customs aside he was still a monster. Just because he claimed she was his mate did not mean Hermione wanted anything to do with him. And besides she couldn't be certain even that anything coming out of his mouth was true. He was a killer; Fenrir being a liar as well was not outside the realm of possibility. Hermione continued to rationalize the decision to kill him for several long minutes.
And yet in the end she couldn't do it. Hermione had hoped to see nothing but emptiness in Fenrir however instead she saw something vulnerable staring back at her. It made her uncomfortable.
She withdrew the wand, placing it back inside its holster. Fenrir's eyes never left her. Hermione knew he was waiting for her decision but she could not give him an answer.
"I need a drink," she announced and abruptly turned on the heel of her foot. And just like that the conversation was over.
Fenrir listened to her retreating footsteps and the slam of a door. He thought of calling out to the witch but reconsidered. What could he have said? The fact that she had decided against killing him for the moment was promising and perhaps there was little else he could have hoped for.
One thing that struck Fenrir was that despite the pain of the silver chains binding his limbs, he felt at peace. Even the wolf within him was calm as though for the first time in along while he was closer to feeling whole.
I am where I need to be.
Hermione's mind was buzzing as she shut the bedroom door. Ignoring the fact that she had a dangerous werewolf currently chained in her living room, Hermione reached for the bottle of firewhiskey on her nightstand and took a long swig. She normally reserved alcohol for nights she had trouble sleeping. Although if Hermione was honest with herself the nightmares were far too frequent. Regardless she figured her predicament called for an exception.
The liquid scorched a path down her throat and made her feel at once several degrees warmer. Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and set the bottle down. She closed her eyes in frustration, annoyed with the mess she was now in. Hermione couldn't bring herself to kill Fenrir. While she didn't believe in his ideas of destiny and mates, Hermione felt morally obligated to spare his life after he had saved her's.
I can't kill him but I will Oblivate him, Hermione decided. The idea held merit and the longer she mulled it over the more it felt like the best course of action. She could wipe his memories of the night before and be on her way.
"...I was drawn to protect you. If you will let me I will do whatever I can to keep you safe," he had said. His earnest expression had been disarming and a part of Hermione felt conflicted. She certainly did not owe him much of anything beyond returning the favor of not killing and yet his request piqued her interest.
I don't need someone to protect me least of all him, Hermione chided herself and tried to banish the intrusive thoughts. Allies were few and far between for the witch but she wagered she would have to be extremely desperate to let Fenrir Greyback, the Death Eater's Werewolf, be the one at her side.
You are desperate though, Hermione said to herself as she mentally went through the waning rolodex of allies she still had left. So many people had died in the Battle of Hogwarts and shortly after. Those who could had fled abroad. Except me. She could have left and probably should have long ago but Hermione knew she still had a mission to complete. Ron was dead. Harry was dead. It was up to her to finish what they had started. She would kill Voldemort one day and until that time came she would do what she could to help those he kept imprisoned. The Muggleborn witches and wizards he and his kind used like chattel.
Just then the small compact mirror she kept on her nightstand began to glow. It was warm in her hand as she opened the enchanted device. It had been of her design, a means of communicating with other Order members undetected by Voldemort's regime. Instead of Hermione's reflection she saw the concerned face of Charlie Weasley looking back at her. She couldn't help but notice how his expression reminded her of Ron. Beyond their matching red hair, the two brothers had shared little else in common. It was strange how even though she missed Ron the memory of him didn't hurt as much as it used to. Bitterly she wagered that grief was simply a luxury she couldn't afford while the war waged on.
"Hey Charlie," she greeted and couldn't mask the fatigue in her own voice.
"Hermione? Are you okay? I got worried when Cho said you didn't show up at the drop off point with the supplies," Charlie said.
"I'm okay but there was a complication," Hermione said.
"What kind of complication?"
"I got caught by a Snatcher. I nearly didn't make it out," she paused as she tried to muster the next few words. "I got out okay but only because Fenrir Greyback saved me."
"What did you say?"
She ignored his question, pressing on. "I knocked him out and he's currently chained up in the safe house."
"Hermione, why? Why didn't you kill him?" Charlie was clearly angry with her choice. She could not blame him as she herself wasn't too thrilled with it.
"I was," she said. "But he saved me and I feel like I owe him that much."
"You don't owe him anything," Charlie said sternly. "I don't need to remind you of the damage he has done to us. For Merlin's sake, to Bill! He probably only saved you to turn you into You-Know-Who personally!"
"I know, Charlie. I know but I just can't do it," Hermione didn't want to get into explaining the reason Fenrir had given her as to why he had rescued her. It was neither the time nor the place. "I am going to Obliviate him and move along. Don't try to argue with me on this one, I've made up my mind."
"Fine," Charlie said sharply, it was clear he wasn't happy with her choice. "Deal with the werewolf however you see fit. We need to talk about the plan to move the Muggleborns anyways. Were you able to get the International Portkey set up?"
Hermione looked over at the lantern in the corner of the room as though to mentally confirm it's existence. While enchanting items had never been her strongest expertise, Hermione was proud of her accomplishments and confident that it would suffice for at least one use. Once activated the idea was simple enough: Transport its user far away from the UK, hopefully to Romania where Charlie's side of the resistance would be waiting to take them.
She nodded. "It's ready but not 100% stable. I didn't want to risk breaking it by testing it out beforehand."
"It will have to do. I heard through our network that the Death Eaters are trying to move all 30 of them next week."
"Do we know where they are keeping them now?"
"No Cho is still trying to track that piece of information down but it's not going well. She thinks our contact was compromised and is likely dead now," Charlie responded. "We need to get things going though, Hermione. Once the Death Eaters move them there is no telling where they will end up or if we will ever have another chance."
"Hmm, I might have a way we can find that out. Let me see what I can do and I will get back to you soon."
"Okay, Hermione. Be safe," Charlie said.
"You too," she responded before closing the compact mirror.
Be safe. The words meant so little now. There was nothing safe about their world anymore, Hermione thought. Merely existing as a Muggleborn was an act of rebellion and invitation for trouble. She knew the next steps she were to take were going to carry her deeper into the heart of danger. But if this works it will all be worth it.
Whether it had been several hours or only 30 minutes Fenrir was not entirely sure but at some point he must have dozed off because when he awoke it was to the sensation of cool fingers touching his wrist. Hermione was kneeling over his slouched body applying a potent ditany to the skin touching the silver chains. Although Fenrir quickly realized that she must have modified the cuffs while he was asleep as the metal was now covered in a cloth material. The alteration was a welcome reprieve from the constant pain of the toxic silver.
Fenrir ventured to guess this meant she wasn't going to kill him after all. Or at least not for the time being.
"Hold still," she said. Fenrir did as Hermione requested while her fingers moved to his neck, applying the salve to the burns there as well. She was close enough to him that he could breathe her scent and it made his cheeks flush from the mild intoxication With nothing better to do Fenrir appreciated the closeness of her to him from the way her short brown hair framed her face to the hint of freckles on her white skin. It would only take a few centimeters to close the distance between them, a detail that must not have been missed by Hermione either as her eyes flickered to his face.
"Don't get any ideas," she said as though reading his thoughts. There was no mistaking the darkening of her cheeks as well from their close proximity.
"If you say so…" He said with a cheeky grin Hermione would have found charming if it had been on anyone else.
Quickly changing the subject, Hermione stood away from him and ignored the rising heat on her face. "Enough. I have an offer to make but you need to decide right now."
"I'm listening," he said.
"Option one, I Obliviate you, you go along your wretched way and hopefully our paths never cross again."
"And option two?" He asked, brow raised.
"And option two is you commit a Blood Oath and swear to help me," she said. There was a flicker of surprise across Fenrir's face but it quickly disappeared behind an unreadable expression. "On your life you must promise you will not betray me," she said and they let the finality of her words settle in the pocket of silence between. Hermione expected him to question the perimeters of such a deal. Or at the very least clarify what his role would be.
Which was why she was caught off guard by his reply.
"I will do it, I will take that Oath," he responded.
"Just like that?"
"I told you I won't ignore my instincts again. I will keep you safe at whatever the cost," Fenrir said and the seriousness of his golden eyes made Hermione's heart thump harder in her chest. "But you must know that a Blood Oath isn't like an Unbreakable Vow..."
She nodded, "Yes, I know It's a mutual contract. In other words I would be under the same Oath to you as well. Listen, I would much rather use an Unbreakable Vow but we don't have a Bonder and I am not about to involve another person in this mess. If this doesn't work, I am only putting myself at risk. I'm willing to do this because there are many lives at stake and I think you can help."
"Then it's settled," he said. "I'm yours."
Hermione flushed. She didn't like his use of those particular words and the weight of intimacy they carried but she was not going to press him further on his choice. She needed his help and this was the only way she could ensure the werewolf would not sabotage her mission.
"I am going to need you to unbind at least one of my chains though," Fenrir said, nodding to the metal bound to his wrists. Hermione was hesitant but she realized he was right. Cautiously she lifted her wand and muttered a spell. There was a faint pop and the chains fell away, clinking to the floorboards with a resounding thud.
He rose to his feet while Hermione took a step back into a slightly defensive stance as though she still expected him to attack. At his full stature, Fenrir towered over her. He didn't move towards but rather instead he raised one hand, palm forward to her and gave a nod to say he was ready to begin.
She retrieved her wand and placed it against his hand, softly casting the diffindo spell. The wand glowed and a cut sliced across his palm. Hermione watched the slow trickle of blood and felt slightly uncomfortable only to remind herself foolishly that she had inflicted much worse on him only a little while earlier. Quickly she recited the same spell to her own hand, a thread of crimson dripping down her hand.
She reached forward until her left hand was clasped with his. Hermione felt the roughness of his calloused skin against her own but what struck her was the warmth radiating from his palm. Even before she could cast the spell Hermione could sense the magic weaving in the space between them.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, are you?" He countered and she did not respond to his question.
With a subtle flick of her wrist she tapped her wand against their linked hands and began the spell. "By this Blood Oath cast upon us, will you swear to protect me Fenrir Greyback?"
"Yes, I swear it," he said in a low voice. At once an intricate white rope of light began to weave across their connected hands. "By this Blood Oath cast upon us, I will protect you, Hermione Granger. Do you swear to uphold this same Oath?"
Hermione did not hesitate although her hands had begun to tremble, whether from nerves or the sheer power of the magic unfolding she could not be certain. "I do."
At that the spell was sealed. The white light flashed brighter, it's glow filling the room as the rope linked together before dissipating. As the light faded Hermione nearly dropped her wand from fatigue. Remembering her company, Hermione did not want to betray this sudden weakness and she steeled her nerves and forced herself to at the very least holster it properly. But it was as though her limbs were made of lead and the gesture took immense effort.
"Are you alright?" Fenrir asked. Hermione realized she was still holding his hand.
She let go of him. "Yes, I'm fine."
She knew the ramifications of her decision and that she would have to explain herself eventually to Charlie and the other Order members. But if Fenrir could aid her it would all be worth it, Hermione told herself.
It will all be worth it.