New chapter? YAY! Seriously, though, I can't even describe how much I love writing adorably petulant Fenrir Greyback.

Chapter Five

"You want to change your mind, don't you?"

She blinked rapidly a few times as she stared up at him, caught off-guard by his question. After her rather abrupt declaration, the warden had recognized the potential gravity of the situation, were he to answer on behalf of the Ministry without authorization, and hurried off to contact them about her . . . suggestion. Which was fine with her, she could very much do without that man's squirrely energy, anyway.

But, after the warden had left, Hermione moved to close the doors to the wrecked infirmary, only to be stopped by the armed guards just outside in the corridor. She made it painfully clear that she was in no mood for arguments.

Arching a brow, she said, "I need a word with the prisoner alone, thank you." Not bothering to wait for a reply, she slammed the doors between herself and the guards.

As she'd turned back to face Fenrir, he had asked the question.

She shook her head. "What?"

"That's it, isn't it?" He shrugged, an expression on his face that was close to a pout and that almost childlike defensiveness from earlier returning in his tone. He didn't look up, and she thought he appeared just shy of shuffling his feet against the floor.

To see someone of his stature, of his storied ferocity, acting so . . . innocent tore at her heart a bit.

"Now that the situation's not so tense, you had a minute to think and you've changed your mind about . . . about what you said."

That was when she realized why he sounded like this. Hermione's shoulders drooped and she took a step closer to him. When she'd demanded he be released into her custody, she'd given him hope, a hope that had just as quickly been destroyed when she said she wanted to speak to him alone. He suspected she was trying to break it to him gently without risking him hurting anyone.

"No, that wasn't it at all."

Those amber eyes snapped up to lock on hers, wide in shock at her answer. He seemed at a loss for what to say to that.

She wasn't certain how to feel just now. Already he'd shown her an unexpected side of himself when he'd protected her during that trial, and now this? This part of him that just seemed . . . so prepared to be wounded, so ready to brace for some eventual pain.

The observation made her wonder, a small, concerned voice in the back of her head asking, Has he never known even a moment's kindness?

"I just . . . ." Taking another step closer, she looked about. He'd not left much in the way of options for sitting down, so she sat on the floor and folded her legs beneath her. "I just wanted to talk to you. If I'm going to do this, I need to understand what happened the day in Malfoy Manor. I need to know why you acted like a monster if you're . . . if you're not one."

Fenrir's brows pinched together as he met her gaze once more. "Are you saying you don't think that's what I am?"

A quick, pained smile curved her lips as she offered shrug. "I did. For a long time I did, you know that, but I don't anymore. And since Azkaban is known for hardening people and driving them mad, not giving them depth and layers, I realize that these non-monstrous things were part of you before, you just didn't let anyone see."

He moved in plodding steps to cross the room. Stopping next to her, he took a seat on the floor, as well. Despite the fluidity of the movement as he lowered himself and folded his legs beneath him in a single motion, his bedraggled and battered state instead made it nearly appear that he'd collapsed in a heap beside her.

"Being a monster is what I was there for. It's what they expected of me. After my history—"

"Well, to be fair, you did bite Remus Lupin when he was only a child."

Fenrir rumbled out a little growling sound under his breath as he shook his head. "Oh, and I'm so sure big, bad Lyall Lupin was so intimidating and powerful a wizard he managed to singlehandedly run me off, too?"

Her eyes shot wide. "Are you saying the story's not true?"

The brow over his swollen eye arched at her question. "No, what I'm saying is it's just that—a story. It's only part of what happened."

"So what really did happen that night?"

His broad shoulders moved in a quick shrug. "I was angry. Angry, young, and stupid . . . and pissed, did I mention pissed? So, there's this smug bastard who told me all werewolves were godless creatures who didn't deserve to live . . . and I thought tha's a bit fucked, in'it? Already afflicted with a 'curse' we've no control over, and this wanker wants to blame us for our condition. I got drunk and thought I'd go tear him a new one. Turns out my balance and sense of direction were for shit after that many bottles of Fire Whiskey, and—"

"How many bottles?"

Giving her a sidelong glance, he held up one splayed hand.

Hermione's eyes shot wide. "Wow."

"Exactly." He shook his head, laughing derisively at the memory. "Well, I stumble over to the house, and end up crashing through a window. So there's screaming—the person in the room is screaming, I'm screaming—my vision's so blurred at this point, I can barely see straight, I fall down and bust my arse. Next thing I know, there's someone grabbing at me, I think it's him so I just bite down . . . and only realize what I've done when there's suddenly a child crying mixed in with all the noise, and Lyall bursts into the scene, wand drawn and so convinced the chaos that ensued was intentional that he just starts launching hexes at me. Well, now I figure I'm truly fucked, I'm not in control of my faculties at all, and I wouldn't be able to hit the broadside of a barn even if I could get my wand, which to this day I can't even remember if I had it with me that night. So, I scramble up off the floor and go right back out the way I came. By pretty much the next bloody morning, it's all over Wizarding Britain that I came there with the purpose of biting the boy to get back at his father."

She only watched him for several heartbeats after he'd finished talking. Her lips folding inward, she tried very hard to get past the mental picture of a young, very drunk Fenrir Greyback, and a four-year-old Remus Lupin screaming nonsensically at each other in the dark.

He jumped at the wild giggle that bubbled out of her. Fenrir stared at her in confusion as she threw back her head, the sound of her laughter full and genuine. After a few moments, she caught her breath, wiping her hands across her cheeks.

When she'd calmed, she looked at him, only to find herself holding back another amused outburst at his bewildered expression. "Sorry, it's just . . . the way you set the scene was pretty hilarious. But I suppose we could get back to you answering my question now."

Fenrir cast his gaze downward. Shifting to raise his knees from the floor, he wrapped his arms loosely around his legs as he sighed. "It's really as simple as I said. They expected a monster of me, and it was the only use I had to them. Because of me, no one would look at a werewolf like we were anything but . . . ." He heaved another sigh. "The Dark Lord's side might've not treated us well, but at least they didn't hate and fear us like the Light. They didn't try to lock us up just for being what we were. When I . . . 'saw' isn't really the right word, because it wasn't about the sight of you. I've never been one to censor what I say, so when I think something it sort of just flies out of my mouth, as-is, even if it isn't what I mean. When I encountered you that day, the first thing that popped into my head was, well, you heard it."

She nodded, the entire incident taking on a different feel now that she had a new perspective on it and him. "That you wanted to take bites of me."

He shook his head, his eyes rolling. "Didn't mean it literally, but it was close. And it's not easy being a werewolf in a situation like that. That much tension and anger and . . . . It's like the animal takes over and everything it tells you sounds like a good idea. Tear someone's arm off? Sure! Destroy a room? Okay. Consider sinking your teeth into some pretty little thing? Definitely one of the harder urges to dismiss, thanks very much."

There was something in his tone. It was odd enough sitting here with him in such a peaceful moment, but that he seemed to want to say something more, something he clearly wasn't certain on how she'd respond to, made it odder, still. She watched in silence, waiting for him to go on.

"I don't even know why. Promise you won't get scared again if I tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

He shifted in place to face her fully before he said, "Promise."

Hermione shrugged, shaking her head. "I can promise I'll try not to be scared."

Fenrir's lips twitched side-to-side as he thought over. "I suppose tha's close enough. On that day, last week . . . . The desire to have you was completely and utterly a violent thing."

"Violent?" Her brow furrowed and she swallowed hard. "You . . . you mean like ra—?"

"No. Not like that." To his credit, he didn't feign looking offended that her mind went there, rather he genuinely appeared upset for a moment. "It's hard to explain, precisely, because it was such an instinctive drive, but it's just this sort of rush of urges and mental images. Makes it hard to think or even act around what that instinct is telling you to do."

She attempted to ignore then their discussion in the tunnel about instincts, because she could fully admit that her own had told her to do things with which her mind certainly had not agreed. Well, she could fully admit that, but she wasn't about to.

"So has that . . . has that been what it's like for you whenever you're around me?"

He nodded, his expression carefully blank as he held her gaze.

Her chestnut eyes widened a little. "Even now?"

Again, he nodded.

Hermione stared back at him, unable to speak for a few heartbeats. He sat there seeming so calm. During that time in the tunnel when she'd thought he must've been holding himself back, she'd had no idea the extent to which she'd been correct. He had so much more self-control than she'd thought possible. Certainly more than she'd ever actually imagined him capable of.

But then, she remembered his admittance that it had happened when he'd first encountered her, because to say when he first 'saw' her was incorrect. With his wolf senses, and what she knew about herself, she understood suddenly and clearly.

"It's my scent, isn't it?"

His brows pinched together in a look of shock. "You knew?"

"Only for the last few years. After the War." She shook her head. Story time in the Azkaban infirmary, continued! "There was this incident with Remus, actually, two incidents, but . . . . I'd always felt especially close to him, comfortable with him. Finding out he was a werewolf had never scared me, I thought just because I was a Muggleborn, so I wasn't raised with the horror stories about them like pure-bloods. Anyway, one night, I had to stop him from attacking Harry, and I howled. I had thought it was the first thing to pop my head because I'd just researched werewolves and the text said they respond to the call of their own kind."

Fenrir arched one eyebrow.

"I know," she said with a sad laugh and another shake of her head, that look on his face speaking volumes. "It didn't occur to me until way after that it was right there in the words 'the call of their own kind.' But lycanthropy's only hereditary if one has a parent who's a werewolf and even then it's only a fifty-fifty chance, so I'd had no reason to think that it meant anything at all; I'd never considered the genetic markers might carry on longer than that. Then . . . ."

His nostrils flared and he frowned. "You don't have to say whatever you're about to if it makes you sad."

"No, I . . . I feel like I have to say it. I have to come to terms about what happened." Forcing a gulp down her throat, she closed her eyes and nodded. "I think he always knew that I had wolf blood, but he was afraid to tell me because he thought it would change how I felt toward them, you, him. I didn't understand what he meant until it was far too late, but . . . on the battlefield, I'd found him just wounded and staggering about. I begged him not to fight anymore, but he insisted. He said if it was his destiny to die in a battle that would bring about a better world then neither of us could stop that. That neither of us should. And then he . . . he kissed me."

Fenrir's mouth twitched, this time as he attempted to hold back a little, territorial growl.

"He was my friend, my mentor . . . . He was also a married man with a recently-born child. I'm not proud of it, but I kissed him back." Her eyes watered and she shrugged, sniffling. "It was like I couldn't help it. I had this voice telling me it would be that last time we saw each other, and I just had to. And then he told me that no matter what feels like it's meant to be, sometimes, it simply isn't. Timing, life, the world, just won't let some things happen. And then he was gone. The next time I saw him, he was . . . ."

Unable to stop himself, Fenrir reached out, wiping a tear from her cheek with a crooked finger.

If she was startled by the gentleness of his gesture, she made no show of it. Sighing, she forced herself to go on. "Seeing him dead just about tore out my heart. Like I lost part of myself, and I couldn't understand why the pain was that bad. I'd lost so many friends, that this one loss stood out so sharply . . . ? Then I remembered the howl. So I started researching. My heritage, old family records. Finally, I simply asked my mother if she knew that werewolves really existed, just like witches and wizards. That's when she told me about her father; she never really talked about him when I was growing up. He disappeared when she was young, but . . . everyone thought he was mad. Before my grandmother got pregnant with her, my grandfather had been camping with some mates from university, and they encountered some strange animal. He wouldn't talk about it, but when he started disappearing around the full moons and showing up the next morning with unexplained wounds, everyone thought he'd convinced himself that what he'd encountered was a werewolf."

"Muggles don't believe in werewolves?"

Hermione couldn't help but snicker at the insult in his tone. "No. So, it wasn't until I told her they actually exist—sitting there before her, her witch daughter with a half-Kneazle cat in her lap—that she realized her father hadn't been mad. That he hadn't abandoned them, but had probably run because he needed the freedom to live as what he was."

He smirked. "Never a simple story with you, is it?"

Smiling, she dropped her gaze to her hands. "Suppose not. But I know it was just that. Something is passed down through the blood. I connected with Remus because it as a sort of an innate instinct to form a pack-bond. That was probably why you terrified me as much as you did. You felt a little familiar, because you were another werewolf, but the way you behaved was this stark, frightening contrast from what I knew, from what I suppose my psyche expected to experience in the presence of another werewolf because of him. It's probably been a long time since you've been around a werewolf you didn't create yourself, so the scent of wolf from me was new, and thus probably inviting to you."

"That makes a shocking amount of sense." He gave her a sidelong glance that was all measure and appraisal. "You always think this deeply?"

"On all but the rarest of occasions."

Those amber eyes narrowed in thought. What would it take to get her to act on instinct with him?

Sooner than the animal in him could offer any suggestions, he detected a most unwelcome scent. Yet, he'd been so caught up in their discussion that by the time he turned his head to look over his shoulder toward the doors, they were already opening.

"Kingsley?" Hermione shot to her feet, seeming unnoticing of how shocked the Minister of Magic was to find her sitting there calmly with Fenrir Greyback. "What are you doing here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Sighing, she gave an exasperated eye roll. "I don't mean to say you can't be here, but I would have thought you've more important things to handle than this."

"The Prisoner Oversight Division is in a shambles, as you well know, and when the warden told us about your proposal, well, I thought it seemed like a matter I should attend to directly."

Fenrir pursed his lips, his gaze leaping back and forth between them. He wondered if this was what a child felt like when they suspected their parents were about to get into a row.

"I meant precisely what I told the warden." She held up her hands. "I want this man released into my custody. I'll take responsibility for him."

"Hermione—"

"I've already thought it through. My flat is a bit small, but there are plenty of unused properties currently in the Ministry's holding. While he's in my custody, we can stay at one of those, warded to prevent him escaping, of course. Put a cell in the basement to contain him on full moons, better yet, perhaps some sort of enclosed wooded area on the property."

She really was serious! Fenrir furrowed his brow, but they'd been deep in conversation since nearly the moment after she'd mentioned this mad plan of hers. When the bloody hell had she the time to put so much thought into this?

"As I was saying," the Minister started with clenched teeth, "you need to be certain about this. He's a dangerous individual. I'd watch what I'm saying, but he knows perfectly well his own reputation."

"Yes, and I'd like to point out to you that when he destroyed this room in a fit of anger, he waited until it was empty so he wouldn't hurt anyone. He could be attacking you, but he didn't even budge when you came in. For someone so dangerous, he certainly seems capable of behaving like he's, well, not. And he wouldn't hurt me, that blasted trial that started all this mess proved that, didn't it?"

Kingsley backed up a little, resting his hips back against the nearest wall and folding his arms across his chest. Blinking tiredly, he pinched between his brows. "Given the report from his trial, and . . . certain provisions, yes. Your request for Fenrir Greyback to be released into your custody could be granted."

Hermione turned a bright, I told you so, grin on Fenrir.

"However," Kingsley said in a sharp tone, "you will be expected to report in daily. One provision, that is beyond dispute, will be that if he harms you in even the slightest measure, he goes back into solitary. Now, we have paperwork to get to if this thing is to happen. It will likely take a few weeks to—"

"No."

"What?"

Hermione uttered a scoffing sound in the back of her throat. "I mean that's too long, I need to get him out of here now."

"You know that won't be possible."

Now that anger she'd wanted to unleash on the Ministry after first getting out of that ruddy trial was creeping back in. "You're the Minister of Magic! I don't care how it happens, but you have the power to make this work. Fast track it, whatever, but it has to be done, now."

"That'd be an abuse of power and you know it!"

She couldn't believe she was having this argument with him. A past Minister abused power to cover up signs that Voldemort was coming back out of cowardice, why couldn't Kingsley use that same power to do something that was right?

"Look at him. Okay? Look what they let happen to him just to make him prove he's not irredeemable!"

Kingsley sighed. It was true, Greyback was a mess. He was already starting to see her side of this argument—how could they be better than the dark forces they fought against if they turned a blind eye to want amounted to torture of prisoners? But he at least had to put up a fight.

"Hermione, you know there are rules and regulations regarding this sort of thing."

"Well, fine. If you can't let him go with me now, then I'll just stay here until it's all made official."

Fenrir slapped a hand against his forehead. "She's a mad woman."

Kingsley tipped his head to one side to look at Fenrir, unable to believe he and the werewolf were in agreement. "It's how she wins arguments. How, exactly, do you suggest I 'fast track' this, Miss Granger?"

"I suggest you make it clear that this decision is a direct result of the previous Prisoner Oversight Division's cruel and barbaric tactics. Remind them, and the Wizarding public, that the prisoner in question is still in official custody, and they are in no danger from him. And, had they done their job with the faintest scrap of humanity in their decision-making process, this is a measure that never would've needed be taken!"

Sighing, Kingsley rolled his eyes. "I thought as much, I just needed to hear it from a second party. Let me go make arrangements . . . and possibly level some threats."

In utter disbelief, Fenrir watched the other man push off from the wall and exit the room. Climbing to his feet, he stared down at Hermione, unblinking. "I'm . . . I'm going to be free?"

She shrugged, offering her best 'insufferable know-it-all' grin. "Within reason, of course." She let it go unsaid that, technically, this only meant he was going to be her prisoner.

That snarky side of him would find too much to be smug about in that.