TW: *spoiler free* Fenrir Greyback is his own warning - Non-graphic (skip to end for further explanation before reading if you are concerned)
Emma tried to pull herself away from Fenrir, but his arm snaked around her middle to hold her where she was. It felt just like last time, but there was something considerably off about Fenrir that left her on edge. She looked at him over her shoulder, trying to figure out what was wrong. Emma wasn't particularly fond of him holding her like this last time, and while she didn't feel threatened, the hold was possessive.
"D-do you think that's really a good idea?" Emma asked nervously. "With how bad it hurt last time –"
"You know what to expect," Fenrir said simply, his free hand running through her hair, brushing the strands away from her face. "It should be a similar experience."
"That means you don't even know."
Fenrir hummed softly in confirmation, tucking Emma's hair behind her ear. "I don't, but you know I won't let you suffer. You know you have my word on that."
"So then you got everything, then?"
"I did. It took much longer than I wanted. I had to make sure certain parties weren't aware of the changes."
"Well, last I checked, there was only you, Jude, and Ellis," Emma scoffed. "You already got what you did from Ward. Seemed like a pretty closed deal. Can't imagine it was too difficult."
"Yes, but I needed to find someone who would be…willing…to put together the potion for me. Obviously, Ward doesn't have any plans to work with me."
"I'm assuming the same person who made the Wolfsbane for you?"
Fenrir chuckled, leaning down to kiss Emma's cheek, laughing at Emma's growl. "And there's that intelligence that I love to see. You're just terrible at taking care of yourself."
Emma's lips pursed as she turned her face forward. "Not the first time I've heard that one." She had certainly heard Remus tell her precisely that multiple times.
"Let me guess, your father has told you the very same?"
Once again, Emma didn't like Fenrir's tone, and she certainly didn't like how carefully he phrased his words. "Possibly," Emma said slowly.
Emma felt Fenrir shift to pull something else out, and she decided to try and put together the situation while she had time. Fenrir had picked up a new coat at some point, which meant he was carrying multiple items on his person. He usually tucked things into his boots, up his sleeves, or in the front pocket of whatever shirt he wore, but the coat had a purpose. The windows were closed, which was very unlike something Fenrir would do. However, the door being closed was typical.
"Funny, he wrote exactly that," Fenrir said, tossing something on the bed that made Emma's blood run cold. Fenrir calling her a stupid girl was a very apt description. The thing she had been missing was the guide her father wrote for Sirius to know how to take care of her. "It was a very informative read. I've received plenty of information from the songbird, but your father confirmed quite a few things I wasn't sure about. I'll have to remember to thank your father for such insightful information. It's just unfortunate I can't give him the gift I wanted."
"When did you take that?" Emma said breathlessly. "That was –"
"In your bag hidden with the rubbish? Oh, I know," Fenrir said, pulling Emma a little tighter to his chest. "I took it the first night you were here. Should have thought to keep it with your other things when you realized I was outside."
How did Emma not realize it was missing right away? Fenrir was right – she should have kept that with the rest of her things, but it never occurred to her. She was furious with herself for not remembering it and stared hard at the pile of papers. It was worse than someone reading a diary that she didn't keep – everything about her that Remus knew had been written down. The last person she ever wanted to know so much about her was given such an honest and personal look into who she was. She wasn't the same person she was at eleven, and now Fenrir knew that.
"How much from our conversation the other night came from what he wrote?" Emma asked quietly.
"Oh, none of it," Fenrir sighed, pulling Emma's head back to rest against his shoulder. "I got all of that from your…little friend."
For a moment, Emma thought that Fenrir had put Persephone up to writing to her, but the bitter edge in his voice made her think otherwise. "What do you mean?" she asked, hoping that it seemed like she had no idea what he was referring to.
"I have a feeling a certain little songbird decided to sing," Fenrir said with a sigh, "but it doesn't matter. My plans are flexible. Now, if only you would just relax…"
It was frustrating that Fenrir knew the exact spots on her head to massage to take away the edge she felt. It was even worse when her entire body decided to betray her, and she melted back into Fenrir's. The combination of the heat, her exhaustion, and Fenrir's hand in her hair was a recipe for disaster.
"You said plans," Emma said cautiously. "What do you mean by that?"
"You already know," Fenrir said vaguely. "Would you shut up and relax for a few minutes? You know damn well this entire process will be a lot easier if you don't act as if you were petrified by a Basilisk."
That would have been funny if she didn't feel like she needed to be on high alert. Still, Emma tried to relax. At the very least, it would make more sense to preserve some of her energy in case she needed it. She couldn't stop herself from glancing over at the stack of papers sitting on her bed and wondering how she managed to forget about them. How much damage could Fenrir actually do with the knowledge he would come across? It was only sheer luck that Remus included absolutely none of her thoughts on Fenrir in the papers. She knew he talked about her depression and her attempts to take her own life, but what else was there?
"That was incredibly stupid, you know," Fenrir said suddenly.
"What was?" Emma asked.
"Trying to kill yourself."
Emma let out an indignant shout when she realized what Fenrir was doing. She didn't like the idea of Fenrir knowing her thoughts just by touching her. That was something she would have to ask her father about – she didn't like that trait at all. "Could you stay out of my thoughts, please?"
"It's what Jude wanted you to do," Fenrir said gruffly. "By you killing yourself, no one ever would have suspected he had anything to do with it. He took every bit of happiness you had, but I didn't realize Ward had done the same. You were a very happy child, and it would have been a shame to have lost you over something so stupid. I don't even know why you would ever think you weren't loved."
The very thought had crossed Emma's mind a few times after getting her first set of memories back. Besides being incredibly lonely, she had grown up happy, but was she happier than she thought? It terrified her that there was a possibility that she was even more different than she thought, but somehow turned out the way she did. Rather than comment, Emma remained quiet and tried to clear her thoughts. She didn't need Fenrir rifling through any of her fresh thoughts.
It seemed that Fenrir had accepted that Emma wouldn't dare try to escape him and finally released his hold on her. She had to suppress a whine when he stopped massaging her scalp to go back into his pockets. He tossed a vial with a non-reflective lavender liquid onto the bed and one with a clear liquid. The lavender was different than the shimmering lavender but still seemed familiar. It was hard for her to tell when so many potions were made with varying hues of purple. Whatever the clear brew was made her nervous, though. Clear potions were purposely made clear to avoid detection.
At least the concoction with her memories was familiar, and she frowned slightly at the overfull and wispy vials. There was a large number of them being put down, and it made Emma ill. Fenrir pulled out a bottle of the shimmering lavender potion, uncorked it, and had Emma hold it. She was familiar with this process, and she watched curiously as Fenrir tipped each silver vial into the bottle.
"There's a lot more than I thought there would be," Emma muttered as she watched the seventh vial get added.
"Around two or so for every year you were here," Fenrir said, continuing to add the silver vials to the potion. "That's why I'm not sure how uncomfortable it'll be for you. Could be the same, could be worse. There is a lot that needs to settle back where it belongs, and that's why I wanted you relaxed. You're not as relaxed as I hoped you'd be, but it'll do."
One by one, Fenrir continued to add the vials until finally, there was none left. Fenrir took the bottle from Emma's hand and resumed his previous position, his arm locking back around her. He flexed his hand wrapped around her middle, silently asking for her hand again, and Emma sighed, depositing her hand in his.
"Fenrir, I really don't want to do this," Emma said. She quickly turned her face as Fenrir lifted the bottle up, not wanting to allow him to tip the potion into her mouth.
"Tough," Fenrir growled. "I didn't waste my time to do all of this for you to start fighting me on it."
"I'm not fighting you, I just –"
"There's no point in being scared. This was your life."
That was exactly why she was terrified. The pain she could deal with, though she wasn't fond of it. What if she found out she was actually a terrible person? What if she found out that Fenrir had lied to her? What if she learned more about the people she cared about and found they weren't who she thought they were? The idea that everything could be turned upside down scared her.
"You're overthinking this and being difficult," Fenrir said, pressing the bottle to her lips. "The sooner you do this, the sooner it'll be over with. Open."
Emma took in a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly before opening her mouth. She reluctantly opened her mouth, silently praying to whatever Gods she could think of that she was doing the right thing. She was not remotely prepared to be in the situation that she was.
After having the Wolfsbane, the potion she was forced to drink tasted much sweeter than before, and she nearly choked on it. It was nauseating, and she had to force herself to swallow. She could honestly say that she preferred the taste of the Wolfsbane more than the current brew.
She braced herself for the pain, closing her eyes, and she held tight to Fenrir's hand. Unlike the last time, they were both much more prepared. At the first flash of lightning-like pain, Fenrir was quick to take it away. For the second time ever, Emma was grateful that Fenrir was a werewolf and whatever pain transference powers he had worked. It was a shame that it only worked on others and not the individual werewolf. It would undoubtedly make transformations that much more comfortable, but werewolves were not that lucky if they were alone.
Just like the last time, Fenrir couldn't take the entirety of the pain away. She felt beyond drained, and she was glad that Fenrir didn't rush the process. Emma wasn't sure why she expected to feel different with memories given back to her. There was no logical explanation as to why she would feel different. Still, she felt that there should be something more than just a terrible headache. She was tempted to try and sort through the fresh thoughts spinning in her head, but it was dizzying, and she pushed them all aside. If she didn't think about it, her head didn't hurt as badly.
After a while, Fenrir pulled his hand from hers and reached towards the set aside's vials. Emma slowly cracked open her eyes, her face twisting slightly at how heavy her head felt. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at how stupid the thought was – her head being heavier with more memories. She didn't like the feeling; it made her feel like she was in a fog all over again.
"What's that one?" Emma asked, straightening up as Fenrir picked up the purple vial.
"Something to help you," Fenrir said, pulling her flush against his chest. "Do you trust me?"
Did she trust Fenrir? That was a question she wasn't sure that she had answered for herself just yet. It was such a vague and open question that she wasn't sure how to respond. She supposed in some ways she did, though she was wary. Emma knew that she could trust Fenrir to do precisely as he said, even in his threats. She tried to keep her thoughts brief, running through everything she knew, everything she was told. Play the game, she was told – and so she did.
"Yes," she said quietly. She hoped that she wouldn't regret it later.
There was silence for a moment, and a pleased growl rolled up Fenrir's throat. "Good," he purred, uncorking the vial and pressing it to Emma's lips. "Open again."
This potion tasted strange, like ginger and licorice. There was something vaguely familiar with the taste of the potion, but she couldn't pinpoint what. She tried to think of every purple potion she had ever had in her life, but nothing with that flavor combination came to mind. It was the warmth that came with it that left Emma curious, her headache dulling considerably. That was unexpected and very nice, considering she had no idea what it was.
Fenrir was quick to reach out for the final vial, the one that made Emma nervous. "And that one?" Emma asked. This time Fenrir didn't immediately respond, only going through the same motions they had gone through. Emma looked back at Fenrir skeptically, but he arched an eyebrow at her, and she felt it was best to not fight it. The brew was cold, and the more she drank, she was left with an uneasy feeling of emptiness. She wasn't sure what she was empty of, her head still felt heavy, but something felt considerably off about her. At first, she thought Fenrir had drugged her, finally lying to her about something. She felt no different than before – just had an unsettling feeling that something was wrong. If the sweeping cold that came from the brew didn't worry her, Fenrir's words would have done it for her.
"And that one was for me," he said in a tone that sent a shiver down her spine.
Emma immediately tensed up, trying to make sense of everything. Whatever lingering pain she felt, she pushed aside, trying to force herself to try and think rationally. Fenrir set aside the final vial, and his hand came up the stroke along the column of her throat before his fingers wrapped loosely around her neck.
"I imagine Boris told you…the good news," Fenrir rasped in her ear.
Every bit of air departed Emma's lungs at the sudden and crippling understanding of what Fenrir's plans were. "B-but he said –"
"I know exactly what he told you," Fenrir muttered, "but my plans, unfortunately, have to be flexible. I figured I would take my reward early for all of my hard work…"
No, no, no, no, no. This could not be happening. Emma twisted herself as best as she could in Fenrir's grasp. She trusted him – she said she trusted him. Her breath hitched at the sudden press of his lips just behind her ear, and she froze with fear. This wasn't what the plan was; this wasn't what she had prepared herself for. She was completely and utterly at a loss of what to do.
"Fenrir, no," Emma whimpered as he gripped her chin, tilting her head to gain better access to her neck. "Please stop…"
She felt as though she would be sick. How stupid could she be? She had walked directly into Fenrir's trap. As her gaze swept back over to the traitorous stack of papers, she realized she helped him because she completely forgot about something so crucial. He had toed the line with her, making sure that she could find reasons to trust him. She was given no reason to believe that he would ever actually hurt her, despite his threats. Fenrir would have done it much sooner if he was serious, but she was no good to him dead.
Emma was so sure that everything would have gone how she was told, but just like so many others, she underestimated Fenrir. He always did exactly as he said in the end.
Fenrir drew back from her, releasing his hold on her face. For the first time in a long time, Emma was genuinely terrified of Fenrir and what he could do to her. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him again. She searched his eyes, desperately looking for something to show that she could somehow appeal to whatever humanity he had left. The more she tried to find it, the more she realized there was nothing there. Whatever warmth she had once been able to find in Fenrir's eyes had disappeared.
"No, fy lleuad bach?" Fenrir asked, his voice cold and mocking. "You want me to stop?"
Emma was left speechless by the sudden Welsh that left Fenrir's mouth. She was so accustomed to her father's accent and her own that it never even clicked with her that Fenrir shared something else with them. Her brain had somehow conflated a Welsh accent with being safe, and she felt herself deflate.
She wanted to tell Fenrir that she wanted him to stop, but the words weren't forming. The hand not wrapped around her neck went up to her hair to stroke it. For one brief, hopeful moment, Emma thought perhaps Fenrir would actually reconsider. Just when she thought she was in the clear, his eyes darkened, and his lips pulled back into that twisted smile she hated so much.
"What is it, fy lleuad bach?" Fenrir whispered in her ear. "Are you afraid of what the big, bad wolf is going to do to you?"
Emma finally gave in to the tears that pooled in her eyes and let them fall. She couldn't fight like this. "Fenrir, p-please," she whimpered. "Don't do this…"
"Shh, Little One. I promise I'll be gentle. I don't want to break you…yet."
No amount of kicking or screaming, pleading, or crying was going to make Fenrir stop what he was going to do. The closed windows and the closed door suddenly made sense – he didn't want someone to interfere in his plans. The realization only made her sob harder, but her tears only encouraged Fenrir further.
Fenrir liked her like this – begging for him to stop what he was doing, drunk off the power he had over her. She was weak in all senses of the word, worn down from not receiving the care she required and devastating betrayal. She didn't want this; this wasn't supposed to happen – not yet. There was supposed to be hours before Fenrir was even meant to consider going this far. She should have been able to sleep a little bit, given time to recover, but he took advantage of the situation.
Emma fought like she was told to do, but the more she resisted, the more relentless Fenrir became. He eventually grew tired of her fighting, but so did she. Fenrir made it very clear that he was the predator, and she was his prey. She was his prize for a job well done, for something she never even wanted in the first place.
When she couldn't fight anymore, she settled for crying quietly. She was too tired to even sob. All she could hope for was that it would be over quick. At least she couldn't say that she didn't fight like she was told to. She tried, and somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, she desperately hoped that would count for something.
It was stupid that one of the only thought that could cross Emma's mind was the fact that Fenrir had just torn through her favorite pair of jeans. He couldn't be bothered with buttons or zippers.
Her jeans were soft and incredibly well-worn, the knees ripped from wear and from her clumsiness. A patch had been sewn over a particular large tear on her right thigh that she loved to touch because it came from an old and ripped shirt of her father's. The jeans had probably been through several magical adjustments she wasn't aware of to support her growth, but she loved them. She had decorated the cuffs with suns, and stars, and moons – the three things that had become important to her. The legs of her jeans had her favorite song lyrics written on them, small tributes to the songs that made her happiest. She had convinced Remus to contribute to the lyrics, adding his favorite words from the songs that meant so much to them. On one of Sirius's hidden stays in their quarters at Hogwarts, she managed to convince him as well. His song choices inspiring in their own way.
They were the pair of jeans that she had worn to King's Cross the first day of her third year, multiple adventures with her father around the castle and the Shrieking Shack. The jeans were proof that she had finally started living. She had finally found reasons to live, reasons to move forward. This. Wasn't. Fair.
It was only during the errant musings about her jeans that she realized Fenrir had stopped. All of his weight was still pressed against her – all of him was pressed against her – but he stopped. It was a shame he couldn't have stopped before tearing her jeans. Maybe, if she asked, Remus could fix them for her, but she wondered if she would even want to keep them after this.
Emma remained where she was even well after his weight left her body. Was it one minute? Two minutes? Fifteen? Twenty? When had he flipped her onto her stomach? She had no idea. When she was finally able to push herself up shakily from the mattress, Emma realized that she was covered again. Her jeans fit much looser, but they seemed to be in one piece. Had she completely missed something? Did she imagine everything? Was that clear potion something to make her hallucinate?
A fresh breeze rolled back into her room, and she stared curiously out the open windows. When had that happened? She felt like she was going mental; nothing was fitting together anymore.
She startled violently when she turned towards the door and saw Ward staring at her hard with his one eye from the doorway.
"You would have deserved it if he fucked you. Clean yourself up." And then Ward was gone, closing the door and leaving her alone in her too white and too empty room.
Well, fuck you, too, Emma wanted to spit out. That had at answered one of her questions, at least, but left her confused. Apparently, she didn't imagine everything, but for some reason, nothing happened. She couldn't imagine Fenrir would be happy about that, but she didn't know what to make of it. What exactly had made him stop? Was it Ward? Was it Fenrir's realization that it was wrong after telling her she was too young still? Emma had no idea, but she wasn't going to question it.
She became acutely aware that parts of her body felt like they were on fire. The dull ache in her head had magnified to a point she wasn't sure she could function, but she had to. The moment she recognized pain, the worse it became. Emma allowed herself a moment of pity before trying to stand. She only had herself to rely on. She had no friends where she was.
Every part of her body was trembling as if she were hit with the Cruciatus. It was disturbing that she suddenly had a clear understanding of what the spell did. She never had any idea before, but it sat at the surface of her thoughts – burning, red-hot, stabbing pain. It was a very uncomfortable reminder of where she came from.
Walking was a challenge, but she forced herself over to her dresser, intending to take another shower. She needed one desperately to wash away her nerves, and she quickly found Remus's borrowed jumper and held it close. A soft gasp escaped her lips as she remembered her bracelet, and she reached for the paw print charm, waiting and waiting and waiting, but no returning warmth came. Maybe they had forced Remus to take it off at the Ministry…
When Emma made it over to the bathroom, she frowned at just how terrible she looked. She was pale, but her face was red from her tears. Her dark circles had faded ever so slightly, and there was something different about herself, but she wasn't sure what. She frowned at herself as she undressed, slowly beginning to understand just why her body felt so hot.
Fenrir had left thick and bloody scratches on her body, and Emma couldn't explain the strange mixture of hot and cold she felt. She didn't even realize what he had been doing, and she turned herself to look at her body in the mirror. There were so many scratches – along her ribs, her back, and deep gouges in her hips. A whine escaped her lips as she surveyed the damage because they were never going to disappear. Fenrir said everyone would know who she belonged to; there was no denying that it was his doing. This was the sort of thing that he did to people, and she could no longer say he had never hurt her.
She was grateful for the small favor that he didn't touch her face, and the scars could be covered. It would be easy to pretend that they weren't there once they healed. It was the mental scars that would be harder to forget.
Emma wanted to just collapse on the floor and cry, overtired, hungry, and scared. She wanted a decent, home-cooked meal, her stuffed animals, her books, and a warm, safe, loving, and comforting cuddle. Perhaps the next day, when the full moon had passed, she could get all of that. It gave her something to look forward to, and she forced herself to think about the possibility. By the time she could meet up with her father, he would have rested long enough to support Apparating them to the cottage. She could have everything she wanted the next day, and she could cry to her heart's content. Emma wanted to completely fall apart, but she wanted to be somewhere comfortable. She could hold on for a little while longer.
As tired as she was, Emma was restless. She had every intention of going to her room, but something pulled her out to the children's lounge. With a book in hand, Emma settled herself on the couch in front of the television, grateful that it was a nice enough day that most of the children went outside. Finn, Raewyn, and Brennan were sitting at a nearby table together, giggling over something. They fell silent as they noticed Emma, but she took their sudden quietness as her ability to tune everything out around her. She didn't expect to have company.
Finn slowly walked up to Emma, sitting herself down on the couch next to her. "Are you okay?" Finn asked her in a voice so quiet, Emma almost didn't hear her.
Emma looked up from her book to meet Finn's concerned gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing wanted to come out. Emma could only shake her head, her throat painfully tight. The idea of talking seemed miserable, and she wasn't entirely sure she could talk anymore, her throat ripped apart from her screams. It was no wonder Fenrir shut the windows and silenced the room – with how pained her throat felt, all of York probably could have heard her. But why didn't she have any sort of accidental magic flare?
Curious, Emma tested her ability to make the blue flames, and when she couldn't conjure them, she understood. Fenrir had everything planned in detail and left no stone unturned. Her magic was suppressed all over again. That's why the clear potion was for him – the bastard. He knew that if she set off any accidental magic, it would be dangerous. She just wished she knew how long it lasted.
"Was that man that was here a werewolf? The big scary looking one?" Emma nodded, and Finn turned ghostly white, gulping. "Did he…did he hurt you? I saw…there was blood in his nails."
Should she lie to Finn? How could she? Finn was looking at her with her vibrant brown eyes, worried and concerned. Emma frowned when she noticed the fear in Finn's eyes. Emma could never blame Finn for being scared. She was downright terrified of Fenrir all over again; he would be happy about that. Reluctantly Emma nodded, and Finn looked as though she might cry.
"Will you be okay?" Finn whispered.
Finn was absolutely going to be a Hufflepuff. Emma could feel it with every fiber of her being that this funny little child was going to be a badger in a little over a month. Emma gave a slight shrug in response. She wasn't entirely sure, but Finn gave a small resolute nod, leaning over to rest her head on Emma's arm.
"Is this okay?" Finn asked, looking up at Emma. A small smile crossed Finn's face when Emma gave an uncertain nod. "Okay, good. I don't want you to be hurt anymore."
Brennan and Raewyn slowly joined them, asking if Emma was okay before looking at each other, unsure of what to do. Brennan looked back at the television, gears turning in his head, and he quickly forced the smaller children out of the way that sat on the floor. He rummaged through the cart of video cassettes and pulled one out with a brilliant smile.
"This movie is one of my favorites," he said brightly, spinning it around so Emma could see the title. If she felt up to it, she might have laughed that his favorite movie was Beetlejuice.
That was where Emma stayed for the duration of the movie, not really watching but trying to sort through her thoughts. Half-way through the film, Emma became acutely aware that she had somehow inherited three eleven-year-olds. Finn seemed to like her best, keeping a part of herself attached to Emma at all times. Raewyn sat in one corner of the couch, her legs outstretched with one foot in Emma's lap. Brennan sat on the floor in front of her, and Emma couldn't help but reach out to ruffle the boy's hair. He tipped his head back with a smile, and Emma's heart broke. All of them were just as touch starved as she once was, and when Brennan leaned into her touch, she couldn't deprive him.
With a soft breath, Emma ran her hand through Brennan's hair, and he leaned unconsciously back against her legs. Finn smiled up at Emma when she realized what she was doing, and the corner of Emma's lips twitched. Emma flung an arm around Finn's shoulders to pull the girl closer. It wasn't comfortable, her scratches burned, but Brennan and Finn were more important than her pain. Emma looked questioningly over at Raewyn and jerked her head in invitation. Raewyn nibbled her lip for a moment, looking unsure, but slowly but surely, she made her way closer to Emma. She turned herself so that she could lay down, curling up with her head on Emma's lap.
This was something they all shared. While the new Hogwarts trio had started to become fast friends, Emma still didn't know them well. Still, the four of them all had a special connection that could only be made with a shared experience. All four knew what it was like to feel lonely and scared, wanting to find a place where they fit in. All four of them knew what it was like to be different, trying to find the love of others wherever they could. While the trio hadn't been placed with their new families yet, they found a family with Emma.
Emma's purpose in life had somehow gotten that much more difficult. These were three people that she could never let down. She would have to pull herself together sooner rather than later – after she confided everything to her father, of course.
When she felt that she could no longer stay awake for much longer, Emma made her retreat back to her room. She snatched up Remus's guide and shoved it back into her bag where it should have been the entire time. Emma felt the impulse to write in her notebook, and though she wasn't sure if it would work, she tried to activate the book. When nothing showed up, she pressed the book to her forehead. She was nothing more than a Squib for as long as the potion was in her system, and she hoped it ran out fast.
Even though she couldn't write in her notebook, Emma wondered if she could write to someone else. Persephone wrote that she could use Duke to write back to her, but was the owl still around? Even though her information wasn't entirely accurate, at least she had known about certain aspects of Fenrir's plan beforehand. That counted for something.
Getting up carefully from her bed, Emma made her way to her windows. She leaned outside, over the bushes, and breathed out a relieved sigh when she found the owl in one of the trees. She looked at her watch, trying to do some quick math. If Persephone was around and able to, she could have a response back by six that evening. Taking a chance, Emma rushed over to her dresser to rip out a pen and paper. She just hoped that she could get the answers she was looking for.
Emma was curled up in her bed when Duke finally returned, the sky just starting to get dark. It took longer than Emma had hoped for a response, but an answer came, and that's what mattered. Ward had left for the day sometime after Fenrir's departure, which meant she was safe from his prying. She called the owl to her, unable to move far with the moon's effects starting to take hold.
Persephone's returning letter was just as coded as the first. Emma had been careful to respond in code, and it sounded as though that was the correct move. Ellis had noticed Duke returning and questioned who the letter was from, but Caspian had insisted it was one of his friends. Emma was grateful that she had thought to pen her letter just to "Friend" without picking a particular name. It was a strange greeting, but even Ellis couldn't argue with his son that the message was meant for him.
The apology in this letter was much greater than the one in the first letter from Persephone. Whatever Fenrir had done was entirely off course from what he said he had told Ellis, and she was confused. Fenrir's plan was to bite her, take her to the pack, and force her into whatever twisted fantasy he had of her running the pack with him. Persephone had no idea that Fenrir's mention of taking her with the "moon's blessing" was meant in every sense of the word, and she felt terrible that she didn't realize. Emma couldn't blame Persephone for not knowing when she frequently struggled herself – werewolf culture was complicated. She was learning as she went along, and it was clear to Emma the only way she would genuinely understand would to be in the thick of things. That wasn't a risk she wanted to take. Persephone had no knowledge of the guide Remus wrote but admitted it made a lot more sense. Fenrir had been acting with a cocky arrogance unlike anything she had seen before.
Emma was meant to be held hostage to bring Remus back into the pack but with no hopes of letting her go even if he returned. Fenrir knew that by taking her, it meant Remus would follow. Fenrir wanted Emma first and foremost, but he would never pass up the opportunity to have Remus, who he considered his lost pup.
Persephone brought up the point that Emma's symptoms were most likely due to her having a single dose of Wolfsbane. She had eavesdropped on one of Fenrir's conversations with Ellis and went to do her own research out of curiosity. There was a strong possibility that she might have caused a very mild form of aconite poisoning with the single dose. She would recover with the full moon passing, but it meant that everything was that much more difficult.
As far as Persephone knew, Ellis was unaware that Fenrir had gained access to the memories he had stored. By extension, that meant Jude didn't know either, which put Emma in an excellent position. The longer no one else knew, the better she would be, but Persephone wasn't sure how long that would last.
Whatever Fenrir was doing was entirely off course from what he said he would do. He had led Ellis and Jude into believing that he would play nice and continue on the planned path. Clearly, that was not the case, and Emma wasn't entirely out of the woods just yet. Fenrir lost a fair amount of trust in Persephone after the Hogsmeade incident. Still, he valued the relationship she shared with Emma. According to Fenrir, Persephone could still be of use for as long as she was still talking to Emma. Persephone admitted that it was hard for her to decipher which information was correct. Fenrir told her much different intel than her father and Jude. However, she expressed her doubts that she would be of any use with Fenrir knowing of the last letter. He wasn't likely to make the same mistake all over again.
Emma admitted she had her own doubts on Persephone's usefulness for Fenrir. The moment Fenrir knew that Emma had another letter from her, it wouldn't end well.
With a heavy sigh, Emma tucked Persephone's recent letter into her notebook. She got as comfortable as she could in her bed, trying to mull over her thoughts. An exhausted sigh escaped her lips as she laid her head on her pillow. She was in for a very long night, and she glanced out her window, worried Fenrir was still lurking. Emma didn't entirely put it past him to not change course again and attack her the moment he could.
Sleep was slowly overtaking her when she felt the charm on her bracelet grow warm. Remus had his bracelet after all. She touched the pendant to try and return his response, but when another one didn't return, she knew she still didn't have her magic back. She hoped that the morning would come sooner rather than later and the nightmare could be over.
TW explanation: Fenrir Greyback is his own warning - this chapter contains a non-graphic depiction of a sexual assault/rape attempt. You get the lead up to what's happening, but no details are provided.
Fenrir will not be getting any better from this point on. At this point, if you see a "Fenrir Greyback is his own warning" in the series, understand that there is a potential that the scene could shift at any point in time. Up until this point, Fenrir has 100% been painted with a specific image in mind. Fenrir is not a nice man and will never be a nice man. Please keep that in mind. This is not the sweet, misunderstood version of Fenrir some authors write.
TMCTMCTMC
a/n: Please do NOT hate me for this chapter. I am so sorry it took me so long to update. I desperately wanted to get these next few chapters right for obvious reasons. It's a terrible time to mention this, but I do now have a Facebook page (among everything else) as mymoonyandstars. I'll be using that as another place to add updates and include little bits of information.
Hi Lu! Thank you so much! I wanted to have these chapters up at the beginning of the week, but I felt I needed to take the extra time to make sure that everything was right.
