Chapter Five

Hermione was relatively certain Fenrir was watching her as she puttered about her kitchen, throwing together some breakfast. Granted, the helpings were much larger portions than she'd usually make just for herself, but he was a werewolf, and as she'd surmised just a little while earlier, had more than likely never been treated to a home-cooked meal, so she was willing to make a bit extra. . . . Okay, a lot extra . . . but she supposed she really didn't need that steak, anyway.

As she set the coffee pot, she considered asking him if he wanted some, but she thought she should wait. Brew the extra cup, and then if he didn't want some—for all she knew, his sensitive nose would tell him it was too bitter for his tastes, but at least he'd have the option—she'd simply have it herself later.

Checking the pans on the stovetop, to make sure nothing was burning, she turned to face him. He was watching her, but not completely. His attention was split between her and the bouncy chair on the table where Frigga was reaching for a fat, squishy crescent moon that hung down from the bar over the seat.

"So," she started with a shrug, unsure if this was a wise conversation to start up, but if her bite turned her, she imagined they'd be seeing a lot more of each other in the future—best to get to know the man behind the myth, now. "I'm curious. Frigga's mum? Was she like you, a werewolf, I mean? Or human?"

"Werewolf." Arching a brow at the button on the side of the bouncy seat, he pressed it. And nearly jumped out of his skin when the thing started rumbling gently and playing a tune. Frigga, on the other hand, giggled up a storm, waving her hands excitedly at the commotion.

Hermione folded her lips inward to keep in a laugh at the way the too-large man peeled himself out of his chair to fold over the table, eyeing the seat from all angles. She supposed she should've warned him about that, but then she hadn't expected him to go pressing mysterious buttons!

"It's okay, they're meant to do that. The music is to entertain her. The motion keeps her calm . . though, human babies fuss a tad more easily than wolf-pups, it seems."

With a wary glance over his shoulder at the witch, Fenrir nodded. Reclaiming his seat, he focused on the conversation. The air between them was still strained and awkward, but he did recognize that she was making the attempt to reach out to him. It might only be for Frigga's sake, but still, he couldn't remember the last time a human gave him such consideration.

Exhaling, he folded his arms over his chest and kicked back a bit in his chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles beneath the table. "You want to know about her, I'm assuming?"

Hermione sighed, waving from him to Frigga. "Not if you don't want to talk about it, but it is a natural question."

He shrugged. "Nah, don't mind at all. Just not much to tell. One night, full moon, we crossed paths. That was sort of that. Didn't see her again for a while . . . then she tracked me down. I could tell by her scent that she was pregnant. I could tell the child was mine." Again, he shrugged. "But she said she wasn't ready to be a mum, asked if I wanted to raise the baby. Didn't even have to think on it, told her yes. She stayed with me about a month or two until Frigga was born, and then she left. Been me and this little bundle of trouble ever since."

The witch couldn't help but smile at the affectionate note in his voice when he called his daughter trouble. "Can't be easy," she said distractedly, turning to check the food again before grabbing two mugs from her cupboard. "I mean, having to leave Frigga alone when you're hunting. I mean, I assume that's what you were off doing when I found the cave?"

"You assume correctly. You are a smart one."

"So my reputation says." After pouring her own cup and fixing it the way she liked, she turned to look at him again, the other cup filled, but otherwise untouched. "Do, um, d'you like coffee?"

He looked toward the mug in her hand, crinkling the bridge of his nose as he sniffed the air. "Dunno, never had it before."

"Oh." Hermione suddenly realized that it might not be a good idea to give a werewolf caffeine for the first time ever. "Well, maybe it's best you don't—"

He inadvertently cut her off as he took the mug from her hand. "But I'll give it a shot, I suppose." He set it upon the table before him and crooked a finger at it, though. "Do that thing to it, so it smells like yours."

Snickering, she nodded. Turning off the burners, she came over to the table with the cream and sugar and fixed his cup for him.

When he reached for the mug again, she placed her hand over his, the action clearly without thought as she cautioned him. "Drink it slow. It's hot, and well, caffeinated. You've probably never had caffeine before, at least not like this, so it might make you . . . energetic."

He only stared at her before dropping his gaze to her hand resting on his.

Pursing her lips, she pulled away and returned to the stove. She could definitely feel the way his gaze followed her, now, as he took his first sip of coffee.

Ignoring that she thought she felt a flush in her face over the attention—odd, given that a moment ago she had been just fine with him watching her—she set the meal onto plates and brought them to the table. She kept her eyes averted from his as she went back to retrieve utensils and her own mug.

As she settled across from him, strangely mindful of Frigga in the bouncy seat toward the wall against which the table was set, she took a sip of her coffee, trying to calm nerves that seemed threatening to fray out of nowhere. She noticed him eyeing his plate as she dug into her eggs.

"It's okay, I cooked it rare for you," she said, nodding toward the steak. "Might still be bleeding a bit."

Fenrir chuckled and shook his head. "Thanks for that."

"So, can I pick your brain about something?"

He shrugged as he lifted the slab of meat with his fork and took a bite, rather than bothering to use the knife. "I wouldn't recommend it. Brains taste terrible."

Hermione's face fell. Her fork hovered in the air, banger speared on the tines, and all.

Chewing another bitten off hunk of his steak, he met her wide-eyed gaze. After a moment of looking completely serious, he swallowed the food and then laughed. "I've never eaten brains, but you should've seen the look on your face."

Uttering a scoffing sound, she wadded up a napkin and threw it at him. "You're terrible! Why would you do that?"

The werewolf shrugged, returning his gaze to the meal. "You were tense, I was trying to lighten the mood."

"Oh. Thank you." She took a few moments to get some food in her stomach before she went on. "Well, anyway, may I?"

"Sure. Wha'cha want to know?"

"I's about werewolf lineage. You remember Remus Lupin?" She held back on the desire to wince as she asked, unsure if that was a sore subject or not. She'd always suspected that there was more to Lyall Lupin's story about the night Remus had been bitten—that the elder Lupin had embellished the actual events either to make himself appear a hero, or to make werewolves seem like the monsters he already insisted they were to anyone who'd listen. But she supposed the truth behind that would wait until Fenrir was comfortable enough with her to tell her the real story, himself.

"I'd imagine you already know the answer to that," he said, his voice low and tight. Yes, definitely more to the story than she, or anyone probably, had heard.

"Okay." Hermione reached over, tugging gently at Frigga's little, bitty toes to distract herself from another round of awkward tension in the air between her and the baby's father. "Well, he had a child, before he died—well, obviously before he died—and I had once heard him worrying that his child would turn out 'like him,' but he didn't. Teddy's a perfectly normal human child. Is that because his mother was human?"

Fenrir met her gaze, arching a brow before he nodded. "Mm-hmm. When one parent's human, chances are fifty-fifty. No way to know until after the baby's born what they'll be. They'll still have something in them of the wolf—be a little tougher, like their meat a little too rare, feel freer in the woods, perhaps have trouble making friends with 'normal' humans, that sort of thing. Wolf-blooded, but yeah, they'd be human. Frigga, you have to understand, is an oddity. Werewolves aren't that plentiful. Female werewolves less so. So, you can imagine a child born from werewolves mating isn't common at all."

"Huh." She shifted in her chair to lean closer to Frigga as she said in a cooing tone, "You're all sorts of anomalous aren't you?"

Observing the interaction, Fenrir couldn't help breathing a snicker.

"So why aren't there many females?"

"Stronger will than the males. We've got a tougher time fighting our self-preservation instinct." He shrugged—he did that a lot, she noticed—picking at his plate while he talked. "The stigma of being what we are, the persecution, can be bloody suffocating. Most of them don't want to live that way, so they just . . . literally choose not to."

"That's why you're raising her away from everyone?" she asked, though she already knew that was only part of the reason. He wasn't exactly a welcome face in Wizarding Britain. There were still Undesirable posters bearing his likeness plastered around Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley.

He nodded. "I don't want her to hate herself for what she is."

"I can't say as I blame you. That's . . . that's also why you were so surprised when I wasn't angry with her for biting me, isn't it?"

His lips twitched side to side as he darted his gaze about the tabletop before returning his eyes to hers. "Well, yeah. Being a werewolf isn't exactly sunshine and daisies, and wizard-kind makes us out to be vile creatures. Wasn't sure how you'd react to knowing you could become, well, like me . . . like us."

"First of all, it's still only a possibility. No sense in getting myself worked up over something we're not even certain on yet," she said with a shake of her head. "You'll find I'm shockingly pragmatic most times—"

"And when you're not pragmatic?"

The witch laughed. "Then I'm pretty much a ruddy basket case. No real in-between there. Anyway, second of all—"

A shrill noise interrupted their discussion and Fenrir jumped, looking about in alarm. "What the bloody hell?"

Holding in a laugh, she raised her hand in a placating gesture. "Hang on. It's just the phone. Muggle communication device."

Excusing herself, Hermione ran into the living room, picking it up after the second ring. "Hullo?"

Fenrir leaned his chair back, tipping his head around the bend in the wall to watch her. Whatever was being said to her, she suddenly whirled in his direction and pinned him with a glare.

"No, no," she said into that bizarre plastic thing she held pressed to the side of her face. "I've not heard anything or seen anyone suspicious in the building."

Fenrir's brows shot up and he winced, turning his head as he set his chair back against the floor.

"Yes, I'll be sure to keep my door locked. Thanks for the warning."

The werewolf looked to his daughter as Hermione's footfalls moved along the floor back toward them. "Oops," he said in a whisper.

Frowning, Hermione came to stand before him, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. "You broke the front door?" God help her, she nearly burst out laughing at the way he turned those amber eyes up at her, like a child caught nicking sweets after bedtime.

After a moment to process the situation, however, he held up his hands. "If we're going to be pointing fingers about who did what wrong, I'll remind you that you did sort of kidnap my daughter."

Color filled her face and her jaw fell. "I . . . but . . . we already talked about that. It wasn't an intentional kidnapping. It was an intended rescue!"

He narrowed his eyes as he braced his palms on his knees, still staring up at her. Funny, he was seated and she was standing, but she was such a petite thing that she wasn't much taller than him just now. "Potato—po-tah-to. Call it what you want, I came back to find my daughter gone."

"Oh, that's a fine thing to say! What if it hadn't been me, hmm? D'you think of that?" Hermione folded her lips into a grim line as she leaned forward a bit, getting in his face. "I found her because I followed the sound of a baby crying. Maybe I was in the right place at the right time. If anyone else had heard her, some Muggle maybe, she'd have been put into a foster system and you would never have seen her again. I was where I needed to be."

"Needed to be?" Fenrir snickered at her spiking agitation. "So, what? You're saying it was fate that you found Frigga when you did?"

"Maybe it was. How else d'you explain that your daughter—your daughter—just so happened to cry when I was close enough to hear her? How else d'you explain that after all this time, all the routes you must've traveled through the woods to keep yourself hidden after the War, you just so happened to be passing by that close to where I live?"

"So you're fated to be a werewolf, then?"

"Maybe I am!" She arched a brow as she realized what they'd both just said. "Wait, what?"

Curling one of his hands into a fist to press his knuckles against his thigh, he leaned closer, still. "You think there was some purpose behind being right where you were at that moment, that you were supposed to be there? Well, didn't that moment lead to you taking her in? And didn't that lead to her biting you?"

Hermione's eyes widened.

"And wouldn't that mean that her biting you was something that was supposed to happen, too?"

Pursing her lips, she shook her head. "But not—not necessarily. I mean, you said she knew what she was doing. And I think the only reason she took the chance she did was because the night first took her in, I'd said to her that maybe I could . . . ." The witch let her voice trail off, her chestnut eyes swimming for a moment.

Realizing the conversation had hit a nerve—and not in a way he was expecting—Fenrir pushed back his chair and stood. He hunched forward a bit so they were eye-level and peered into her face. "Why are you crying? What did you say to her?"

Tipping her head back a little, she looked away from him as she sniffled. "I'm not crying."

He made a sound of disagreement that reminded her of a dog trying to argue with their human by way of snuffling.

"Anyway, um, I'd said to her . . . ." She shrugged, the words strangely hurting more now that reality had intruded on the happy little bubble she'd had with Frigga for those three days. "I'd said to her that maybe I could be her mother."

Fenrir snapped up to his full height at that. "Oh."

Clearing her throat uncomfortably, Hermione nodded. "Yeah. That, um, that was when I'd thought, you know, that she needed a parent."

"I, yeah, I figured."

She shrugged. "I mean, I didn't know at the time that she even had a father, well, you know, of course she had a father, but I mean—"

"I know, yeah, I got it."

"So I can stop babbling now?"

The werewolf puffed out his cheeks and nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

An awkward silence fell between the two. If Hermione didn't know any better, she'd think Frigga was watching her and Fenrir in anticipation of what might be said next.

"So, you think she bit you so you could be her mum?"

Stated plainly like that, Hermione could only shuffle in place a bit. Just as she opened her mouth to answer, Frigga let out a bubbly, happy noise.

Pursing his lips, Fenrir turned his head to pin his daughter with a half-hearted glare. "Soon as you can walk, you're grounded, I swear."

Just as earlier that morning, Frigga pinched her face into a tiny, pudgy little pout. Those enormous eyes and the golden-yellow knit cap Hermione'd put on her combined with that pudgy little pout about broke the witch's heart.

Aware of the movement as Hermione moved her head to look away, Fenrir returned his attention to the woman standing before him. "But you . . . ? You really did want that, didn't you? To be her mother? I mean, all the things in that room—"

"Yes, well, plans change, obviously," she said with a shake of her head, though she still wouldn't look at him or Frigga. "That was when I thought she didn't have anyone, but she has you, so what I said to her when I didn't know better shouldn't matter."

There was something in her tone. Some strained note that seemed like it couldn't be something nearly so simple as she was trying to make it sound.

He couldn't care less if she found it to forward or not—bloody humans and their weird rules about touching—as he reached out, crooking a finger beneath her chin. Turning her head, he forced her to look up at him.

"You . . . ." He searched her gaze with his own for a long, silent few heartbeats before he could continue. "You bonded with her already?"

Hermione sniffled, not bothering to fight his hold. "So? I's been just her and me for the better part of three days, aside from when my mum watched her for a bit. It's natural to form a connection."

"No. This is deeper. You bonded with her right away, didn't you? That's why you didn't want to give her up?"

"Okay, yes! All right?" She did move to pull her chin from his hand, then. "So what? I didn't want to give her up. My heart is breaking right now knowing you're going to leave here with her. I thought maybe I was going mad, but then my mum, too, fell in love with her. I knew it was her. There's something special about Frigga."

His brows shot upward as he nodded. "Yeah, she's a werewolf. But that's also the problem."

Hermione mirrored his expression. "I don't understand."

"We have trouble bonding with normal humans. She shouldn't have been able to bond with you. Not this fast, anyway. That should only be possible with another werewolf."

"That's why you were so confused that I was willing to take her in?"

He nodded. "I expected she was just being well behaved because she understood you were trying to help her, but this? And your mother got attached to her, too?"

Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded, aware of what he was getting at. "She watched Frigga for about four hours or so. When I came back, she told me that if I could, I should find a way to make it work, because there was something right about me with Frigga."

Fenrir's eyes drifted closed and he exhaled slow through his nostrils as he shook his head.

"But if Frigga can only bond like that with another werewolf that . . . ." She blinked hard a few times. "That would have to mean we've, like you said before when I asked you about Teddy, we've got wolf blood—my mum and me—wouldn't it?"

"Pretty sure," he said with a nod. "Explains why I latched onto you like that during the War."

Her brow furrowed and she waited for him to open his eyes before she asked, "Latched onto me? What d'you mean?"

"It wasn't just what happened at the Malfoys' place." With a deep breath, he shook his head. "During the Battle of Hogwarts, you remember that spell you tagged me with when I was on that blond girl?"

Hermione remembered the scene of Fenrir tangled up with Lavender Brown vividly. "Yes," she answered, her voice tumbling out small and low.

"I was coming for you. She just got in the way."

She shook her head. She knew what he'd done during the War, knew the things Voldemort had made him do, yet, she no longer seemed able to equate that . . . creature with the man standing before her. "Were you going to kill me?"

"No." He gave her a once-over. "I was going to bite you. I'm not like others of my kind, I've always been a little closer to the wolf. My bite can turn someone even when it's not the full moon."

"You wanted me to be like you. Just like Frigga does now."

Fenrir shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders of his as he nodded. "And I didn't even know why. All those people I turned for the Dark Lord, I didn't not want to, but I didn't feel driven to do it. You were different. Knowing how Frigga responded to you, I think you're right. It makes sense."

In an odd way, Hermione knew it was correct. She simply knew—some truth about herself that had always been on the edge of her consciousness, yet never realized. That certainly explained her natural connection with Remus. They'd become fast friends, despite their age difference, despite his wariness of people in general and her typical difficulty making friends.

"But my mother . . . she's a Muggle, born of Muggles. How in the world—?"

"Ignoring that Muggles can become werewolves?" Another shrug. Hermione imagined they could probably have a conversation based on facial expressions and movements alone if they really tried. "Muggle-borns are descended from Squibs. So, whoever the Squib was, maybe they're the child of werewolf. No way to know how far back it goes."

Her entire frame seemed to droop as she pressed her hands against her face. This was all so much to take in, even with that gut feeling that it was the truth.

Frigga babbled wildly about something just then. When Hermione turned her head to look in her direction, Frigga sputtered a happy noise and giggled.

Straightening up, Hermione dropped her arms to her sides. She could only stare at the child for a moment.

"I think she's trying to cheer you up."

Hermione tipped her head back, sniffling as she blinked rapidly a few times to keep a sudden wash of tears from breaking free. When she at last managed to speak, her voice came out thick and shivering a little. "I can't believe how much I'm going to miss her after only three days."

Fenrir shifted his weight uneasily as he looked from the near-crying witch to his daughter and back a few times. Shaking his head, he uttered in a whining half-bark, "Fuck."

The next thing Hermione knew, she was being hugged. She was so startled by the embrace that for a few seconds, she didn't move. But then, he was so warm . . . solid . . . and the steady beat of his heart was right against her ear.

Wrapping her arms loosely around his waist, she let herself cry for a bit. Only long enough to get it out of her system. God, these past few days had been an emotional roller coaster, hadn't they?

Feeling awkward again, Fenrir darted his gaze about the kitchen as the witch in his arms quieted. "I, um, I suppose you could, you know visit with Frigga from time to time. Or I could—I could bring her here to see you. I did say I'd check on you in a few weeks, anyway, right?"

"Why don't you just stay here?"

The muffled words were out of Hermione's mouth sooner than she could stop them. She lifted her head to gape up at him. finding his shocked gaze was already on her face.

"I mean, just, um, just until you can tell if I'm going to turn, or not. You know? Be easier. You wouldn't . . . wouldn't have to worry about leaving Frigga alone to go hunting." She couldn't believe she was suggesting this, but she couldn't seem to stop the thoughts—or the offer—from forming, either.

"You . . . want us to stay? You can't mean that."

"It's perfectly logical, if you think about it." What wasn't perfectly logical was that they were continuing this discussion still locked in a hug. "If Frigga's bite does turn me—which for all we know might be even more likely with my blood—then I'm going to need to know all you can tell me about being a werewolf. My only real source for that was Remus, and his father taught him to hate what he was. I don't think I could live like that. I need to learn from you."

A thoughtful frown curved Fenrir's lips. "When you put it like that, it does make sense."

"I've a sofa, you could keep the cradle in the living room with you if that makes you more comfortable. But . . . ." God, Draco was going to have a fit over this. She should just let Fenrir take Frigga wherever and visit them, but she hadn't liked lying to Draco about the baby in the first place. She had to come clean with him, wanted to, in fact. But perhaps doing so with Frigga and Fenrir in her flat wasn't the best idea.

Clearing her throat, she finally pulled out of his arms. He only then seemed to notice he'd still been holding her, and dropped his arms to his sides.

"You know what, though? I, um, I should actually make some arrangements, discuss things with some people, first, so there's no confusion or anything. So, maybe you could take Frigga with you for a few hours, back to the woods for a bit or something?"

He looked to Frigga and then returned his attention to the witch. "I suppose we could . . . return at nightfall, if that's good? I mean, if you're still sure about this."

Oh, Hermione was not sure about anything. But she knew being parted from Frigga was going to crush her no matter when it happened.

"Yeah."

A knock came at the door, then. Frowning, Hermione looked to the clock on the wall. It was still another hour before Draco was supposed to show. "Who could that be? Probably the building manager about your break-in."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that."

"Well, you grab Frigga and go start packing up some things for her for the day, I'll go handle this." She stepped from the kitchen as he took Frigga from the bouncy seat—he'd watched Hermione working with the straps earlier and so had the basic grasp of how to unfasten them without getting himself tangled up in them—only to step right back in. "Maybe try to be a bit quiet. After he's gone I'll walk you two out, so the neighbors know you're guests of mine."

"Um, okay." Cradling Frigga easily in one arm, he brushed past Hermione and crossed the flat to duck into the bedroom.

There came another knock just as the werewolves disappeared through the doorway. Letting a sigh rattle out of her, Hermione went to answer it.

Unlocking the door and pulling it open, she immediately felt her heart drop into her stomach. "Draco?"

The grin on his face melted right off at her wide-eyed expression. "Wha's wrong?"

"Oh!" Taking a breath to try and settle her nerves—which was not working at all, thanks very much—she shook her head. "Nothing, really, I just . . . could you give me a few moments? Like, I dunno, make run down to one of the shops or something and then come back?"

He furrowed his brow, pretty sure he had no idea how to process her tone or demeanor. "What?"

She held up her hand in a placating gesture. "Look, it's a bit complicated. Someone came to pick up the baby. They're in the room with her now getting her things. I just don't think it would be a good idea for them to—"

"Should I take that shaky music chair thing? She seems to like it."

Hermione could feel the color drain from her face. She'd told him to keep quiet!

Draco's face pinched in question. Then a mix of alarm and anger clouded his grey eyes. "I know that voice!"

When she didn't answer, she could hear Fenrir's heavy footfalls crossing her bedroom floor toward the flat's small corridor. "Hermione?"

"Whoa, Draco, no wait!"

But suddenly Draco's wand was out and aimed towed Fenrir as the werewolf emerged from the room. With Frigga still curled in his arm.