Chapter Two

Nothing proved a big enough motivation for Hermione to exit the safety of her small house all weekend long. She was pleased to see that there was plenty of food in her kitchen to get her through the days until she was required to face the world again. Even further incentive to stay inside was the fact that it snowed off and on all weekend. Though there wasn't much accumulation, she felt more comfortable staying inside her cozy, warm home with Crookshanks for company than braving the outdoors.

She hadn't realized how rattled she was by the incident with the Muggle robber until she had time to think and dwell on it and obsess over it. So much could have gone wrong. Lord Voldemort might not be out there running amok with his masked band of Death Eaters, but that didn't mean there weren't other dangers. The world was a scary place. Sometimes she found it easy to forget that simple fact. In her insulated world, she felt safe and confident. As one of the main players in helping to bring down the evil Dark wizard, there was a great deal of respect afforded her for her role. Even an Order of Merlin, First Class.

But, a fancy medal and a generous monetary prize weren't enough to keep her away from everything and everyone that wanted to hurt her. She knew it was unwise to take Muggles for granted. Magic wasn't the answer to everything. Nor did it protect her from everything. It was foolish to get so complacent about her own safety. If Fenrir Greyback hadn't been there…

Shaking her head as if she could dislodge her thoughts about the enigmatic werewolf who showed up at just the perfect moment, she was glad, for the first time in a long time, that none of her friends invited her out that weekend. She wasn't ready to step outside her front door. Part of her feared that what happened to her was written all over her face. She didn't want to have to explain to Harry or Ron or Ginny or anyone really how close she had actually gotten to being seriously injured. They would all give her the same well-intentioned, but patronizing lecture she'd heard a thousand times. Besides, if she told anyone about how she was almost robbed, she would have to tell them how she was saved. Somehow the idea of admitting that the notorious werewolf kept her safe made her uneasy. She didn't want anyone to know yet that he was alive.

Several times over the course of the weekend she spent cooped up indoors, she peeked out the tiniest break in her curtains to see if she could catch a glimpse of the man. When it was dark, he was easy to spot standing in the shadows of the garden. As soon as the sun came up, he was nowhere to be found. Even a werewolf required sleep from time to time, she assumed. Why he felt the urge to keep watch outside of her home was a complete mystery.

Perhaps even more mysterious than just his mere presence was the fact that the comforting feeling of knowing he was close by didn't dissipate. She assumed that once the initial shock of Friday night's ordeal wore off, she would once again be terrified of the being that had been a frequent guest star in her nightmares once upon a time. To her surprise, she never once felt scared. Either that was a mark of how exceptionally lonely she'd been for a long time or proof that the years changed them both.

By Monday morning she couldn't stay hidden in her home any longer. Because she was infamous for working much more than she should, any deviation in her schedule would be suspicious. The Minister for Magic himself might be tempted to show up at her front door if she wasn't in the building at her usual time. Kingsley was a dear man who never once made it a secret that he thought she should take better care of herself, maybe even allow some of those walls she'd built around her to slip a little to let someone else in. He could be frightfully nurturing at times, nothing like his formidable Minister persona. The public saw the man one way. She was pleased that he considered her enough of a friend to show her a different side.

The sun wasn't up yet when she made her first step out of the door. Though not officially winter by the reckoning of the calendar, it was far enough along in the year that the days were short and the nights were long. A slight nervousness fell over the witch as she turned around to lock her front door. She could feel his eyes on her even if he'd made an effort to hide in the shadows. It should have scared her, should have made her run straight for the aurors. It hadn't been that long ago that he stood over her bruised and battered form practically salivating from the desire he had to claim her when Bellatrix Lestrange was finished with her torture. Nothing about him felt the same that it did. She wouldn't excuse his terrible crimes in the past. But, she couldn't deny that she felt safer when he was near.

She didn't need to turn around to know that he was following her. Because she bought a house in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood, some foolish effort to remember her roots or some such rubbish, Hermione had to walk a short distance to find an empty alley to Disapparate. Her neighbors were already a suspicious, untrusting lot. If they didn't witness her walking out of her home in the morning and then back in it at night at least every now and then, there would be a number of questions. As much as it might have been convenient to Disapparate in and out of her living room each day, it wasn't practical.

Once at her intended Disapparition point, Hermione turned to glance over her shoulder at her shadow. He didn't say a word, didn't even make an attempt to explain why he was there. His behavior was odd. It should have unnerved her, but it didn't. Without speaking to him or even nodding in his direction, she spun in place. Moments later she was standing in front of the employee entrance to the Ministry. She lingered for a few moments, waiting to see if he was going to follow her there. When it became evident that he wasn't, she slipped inside the entrance, pushing down any creeping disappointment.

By the time her assistant arrived at their dingy, little office at a much more socially acceptable time of the morning, Hermione was deep in the day's work. She found the distraction to be pleasant. There was some truth to the statement that her ex, the handsome auror, used to say about her that almost inevitably ended in a giant row. She liked work too much. It gave her the opportunity to ignore the rest of the world. Sometimes an escape was necessary for a person's well-being and peace of mind. Hermione feared that maybe he was right that she took it just a little too far.

"Please tell me you didn't stay here all night on Friday."

Robert picked up a finished copy of the proposal that had consumed much of their days the previous week. He was also of the opinion that his direct supervisor worked too much. Though he wasn't always quick to point it out in such a bald manner, she knew that it embarrassed him when she had to pick up his slack on the days he was recovering each month from the Full Moon. A kind man who frequently felt guilt for what was not his fault and what could not be changed, she'd tried many times over the years that they worked together to convince him that she liked working.

"I was here a little late on Friday."

That was as much as she was willing to admit. Part of her wanted to unburden her soul to tell him about the incident out in the streets. He wasn't near as likely to lecture her about her actions as others in her life would. Those who knew him before he was bitten right after Hogwarts confirmed her suspicions that he had always been a bit shy. Hermione only vaguely remembered him as being one of the Ravenclaw prefects the first couple of years she was in the castle. He was a man who liked order and discipline, but he was far from confrontational.

"But enough about my Friday. How did your date go?"

The sudden bright red blush to his cheeks made her smile. Maybe it was a bit cruel to use his embarrassment to change the subject. Robert Hilliard would make a fine catch for the intelligent woman who could see past his affliction straight to his warm heart. There was so much about him that even Hermione didn't know. He was a private man, careful with his relationships. Their working relationship was solid and it went beyond to a friendship she cherished. At times, even though she was younger, she felt like his big sister giving him advice, encouraging him to do something that frightened him, or wishing she could kick the arse of anyone who dared to hurt him. Other times, he offered her well thought-out advice that made a part of her long for the older brother she'd never had.

"It was lovely."

She bit back a chuckle, not wanting to make the wizard feel even more uncomfortable than he already did. All of her other friends were in serious relationships. Whenever they were all together, the rest would naturally pair off leaving her to feel as if she stuck out. It was a feeling she loathed. Sure, there were men out there who were interested in dating her for no other reason than her fame. A tedious reason to be sure, but there had been more than just a handful of cretins approach her feigning to be interested in hopes that some of her fame would rub off on them. It had been a hard lesson to learn and the very reason why she was exceedingly careful about who she allowed into the walls Kingsley was so determined she tear down.

"You can't tell me more than that? Or, is it that a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell?"

The darkening of the red in his cheeks proved her suspicions. Robert's date with the witch in the Improper Use of Magic Office had gone very well indeed. She was happy for him even if the tiniest stab of envy poked at her chest. While there had never been anything remotely close to resembling romantic affection for the man, she adored him and wanted him to find love. Being a werewolf in their world made those two items that most everyone else took for granted a near impossibility. That was why she was so determined to be successful in tearing down the anti-werewolf legislation. For people like Robert. He deserved to be just as happy as everyone else. Some monster biting him at the wrong time of the month shouldn't have had the power to take that away from him. Life was incredibly unfair. Hermione would keep fighting to right those wrongs.

"We did make plans to see each other again this Friday."

She knew Robert well enough to know that those were the only juicy details she would be getting. If the witch in the department upstairs didn't know what a jewel she had, Hermione would make her come to regret hurting him.

"I'm glad to hear that it all went well for you, Robert."

"Thank you." He cleared his throat in an effort to move past the shy embarrassment he was still feeling. "And your weekend? How was it?"

"Quiet."

No further details were forthcoming, but that didn't stop Robert from narrowing his eyes slightly while he stared at his supervisor. One lesson she'd learned about the man from the very beginning of their working relationship was the fact that he was exceptionally perceptive. Hermione wasn't sure if that was a trait that came to him naturally or one that he acquired with his other supernatural abilities after his transformation into a werewolf. It honestly didn't matter. Many times throughout the few years they worked together she caught him staring at her in just the same manner. Usually, he kept his thoughts to himself. Only occasionally would he share them.

Hermione knew almost nothing about the attack that changed his life irrevocably. As she quickly discovered working with other werewolves in their society, asking one about their attacks could be considered highly intrusive, even offensive. There were a lot of lessons she was still learning. Robert offered her no hint of what happened. She could only imagine that the event itself had been so traumatic that he didn't want to dwell on it. That was understandable, of course, even if her curiosity made her want to throw all propriety aside and ask. Maybe one day he would offer the story in his own timing. She knew enough about him to know that Robert wasn't likely to say more than he meant to.

"I know it's none of my business, but you really should think about dating again, Hermione. How long as it been?"

She sighed, not wanting to travel down that familiar heartbreaking road. Her love life was dismal at best. Once she realized how many leeches only wanted her on their arm for the privilege of getting closer to the "Chosen One", she hadn't wanted to try again. Each time she passed her handsome auror ex-boyfriend in the Ministry canteen or they managed to make it on the same lift, she would think about how much she missed the feeling of being in a relationship. She might have loved Crookshanks dearly, but he was no suitable substitute for the feel of a man in her life. The beloved half-kneazle certainly wasn't able to fill that empty hole in her bed either.

"Oh, let's not have this discussion today please."

"What about the Minister? Wasn't he just down here a couple of weeks ago offering to set you up with his cousin?"

Hermione felt a scowl creep up on her face. She adored Kingsley. Part of her fancied him ever since the night they rode on the back of a thestral together to fight Death Eaters during the war. She might have been willing to accept an invitation to dinner from the devastatingly attractive Minister. His cousin, however, wasn't going to happen. Unfortunately, it appeared that only one branch of the Shacklebolt family tree was blessed with gorgeous, intelligent members. She wasn't shallow enough to be unable to appreciate the company of a wizard because he was nowhere near as good-looking as his famous cousin. She could not get past the idea of spending another moment alone with someone who couldn't find his arsehole with a map and a torch. Being with someone with whom she could have a lively conversation with was not too much to ask.

"I think I should get this proposal to the proper departments."

Her assistant didn't bring up her dating life for the rest of the day. She knew it was foolish to hope that that would be the end of the conversation. It wasn't that she wanted to be alone. Far from it, actually. She desired what everyone else in her life seemed to possess. Being alone was hard. Some days she feared that she would feel that way for the rest of her life. Was it any wonder that she found the very idea that there was someone out there watching over her from the shadows so appealing? For the first time in a long time, she felt the heavy yoke of loneliness slip just the tiniest bit.

When her mind fixated on Fenrir Greyback, she knew she wouldn't be able to get any further work done. Each time she looked at a piece of parchment she was working on to see the word 'werewolf', all she could think about was the man who stayed in the shadows outside of her home the entire weekend. She remembered the moment she recognized who he was on that dark street with the Muggle on the ground at their feet. An overwhelming relief passed over her where fear should have been her first instinct. Putting any amount of trust in a monster was a dangerous prospect. She could very well come to regret it.

The hour was nowhere near as late on Monday night when she chose to leave her office as it had been on Friday. There were even other officials still milling about in the Atrium when she made her exit. It was just beginning to get dark when she stepped outside. Remembering the street she'd been caught in by the Muggle, Hermione began walking in the opposite direction to find the closest dark corner to Disapparate from. Security measures within the Ministry prevented any kind of Apparition or portkey within the walls of the building. There were a few incidents in the past that made the inclusion of the heavy wards necessary.

She was nervous about being alone out in the streets again. Even if she was planning to leave the first chance she could, there was still a measure of vulnerability she faced. The subtle raising of the hair on the back of her neck informed her that she wasn't alone. Cautiously peering over her shoulder, afraid of who she might see, Hermione almost sighed in relief when she saw the familiar werewolf meters away watching her from the dark shadows surrounding a nearby building. Just as he did that morning, there was no indication that he wished to speak to her. He only watched.

Deciding that she wasn't ready to go back home just yet, the witch set her determination on another destination entirely. Moments later her feet landed on familiar stones. Her curiosity got the better of her. Before she would tap on the correct combination of bricks to open the entrance to Diagon Alley, she waited. Would he be able to find her again? She knew it was foolish, dangerous even to tempt the werewolf. He was an unknown variable, a creature that she knew was capable of savagery and murder. Anyone who discounted the truth of his past was a fool. She sighed as she tapped the bricks with her wand.

Even with Christmas still weeks away, Diagon Alley was already in festive spirits. Lights twinkled from most of the shop windows. A few decorations were already scattered around with promises that more would soon follow. All evidence of the light snow from the weekend was gone, leaving only a slush on the ancient cobblestones. With a chill in the air, Hermione pulled her cloak tighter. The feeling from earlier of her hair on the back of her neck rising returned after she had only been inside for a few minutes.

She didn't need to turn around to confirm with her eyes what she already knew. Sounds of the bustling shopping district might have been loud enough to drown out his footsteps, but she didn't need to hear them to know Fenrir Greyback was only steps behind. Why he had a sudden interest in her whereabouts was a mystery. One she, surprisingly, wasn't in a hurry to solve.

If he had not been there that dreadful night the Muggle tried to rob her on the empty street, she wasn't sure what would have happened. Likely nothing good. Knowing that he was right behind her again, ever vigilant in case of more danger befalling her, only warmed her further like another cloak had been wrapped around her shoulders. Maybe one day soon she would know what he desired. Until then, Hermione was simply going to enjoy the warmth.

She took her time deciding which store to go into first. If she was honest, there was really no need for her to be there other than she just didn't want to go home yet. The idea of returning to the same place she was cooped up in all weekend was unpalatable. At least she didn't have to worry about being attacked by a random Muggle in the midst of the other witches and wizards. Flourish and Blotts was always a temptation, but she stopped herself from entering the familiar establishment. Buying another book she wouldn't be able to find time to read was just a waste of money. There were stacks and stacks inside her house that she hadn't once cracked open. She sped up her steps when she passed by the apothecary owned by her other ex-boyfriend. Though he wasn't the sort to seek her out and cause a scene, it would be best for all involved if she just avoided him. Especially if her shadow was tempted to protect her again.

Finally, she opened the door to her favorite stationary store. Her personal supply of parchment was well-stocked, but she had trouble saying no to new quills. One of her favorite parts of living in the wizarding world were the writing utensils. It had taken her a long time to get used to using something other than a pen. Once she did, she couldn't imagine going back. She turned the corner to slip into the aisles just as the bell above the door tinkled its announcement that another soul had joined her in the small shop. Hermione didn't even need to look over her shoulder to know who it was.

Ten years changed the werewolf's appearance to the point that he wasn't easily recognizable. If his voice wasn't so thoroughly ingrained in her mind, she might not have realized who he was the night he was protecting her from her attacker. The worst of his scars were hidden behind facial hair that he didn't have before. His hair was longer. Some of the swagger and confidence that filled his every step years earlier was missing. He walked with a purpose, but it was evident he preferred not to have all eyes on him any longer. Nothing at all like the past. He used to abhor standing in the shadows. Now, he embraced them.

It was curious that he was able to find her in Diagon Alley after following her from the Ministry. Hermione wondered how he knew where to go. A discreet check with her wand for tracking spells on her person or possessions came up negative. However he was finding her, it wasn't with magic. Because she was still not ready to speak to the werewolf for fear of what she might actually say, Hermione pretended like she didn't know he was only steps away as she wandered the entire store.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed in the shop. No more than half an hour for sure. With each step she took, she felt the presence of her shadow close by. When she finally picked up three violet quills to take to the counter, she knew he was watching her every move. The shopkeeper was familiar with Hermione. They exchanged simple pleasantries while he rang up her purchase. She reached into her handbag to pull out enough funds to cover her small purchase.

A mild panic overtook Hermione when she couldn't find her wallet. Digging through the bag and then finally dumping out most of the contents onto the shop counter didn't help. Feeling flustered and nervous with both men intently watching her frantic mess, she searched and searched to no avail. The memory of her handbag spilling out on the pavement when it went flying out of her would-be robber's hand struck her suddenly. She thought she'd summoned everything that fell, but it had been so chaotic and dark. There had been no need for her to verify that her wallet was still in her handbag while she spent the weekend at home.

The loss of the small bit of money that was inside it was no big deal. She didn't carry any credit cards that she had to worry about cancelling. Her Muggle father impressed the importance of remaining out of debt if at all possible on her from a young age. The only worry she had was the fact that she carried a Muggle identification card in her wallet. A card that clearly showed her picture and her home address. The mild panic increased as she threw everything she dumped onto the counter into her handbag. Calling over her shoulder to the shopkeeper her apologies, Hermione rushed from the shop.

She didn't know if Greyback was behind her or not. In that moment, she didn't much care about anything else. If the men who came to the aid of the Muggle who tried to rob her stumbled upon her wallet, they would know exactly where she lived. Something about the whole situation disturbed her more than she wanted to admit. Finding the first place she could to Disapparate, Hermione returned to her neighborhood.

If she had a cooler mind and was able to think clearly in her panic, she would have approached the front door of her house slowly, at a distance. Instead, she gave no thought to what could be just around the corner. She had to see her house, had to put her fears to rest. From a few meters away, all seemed normal. If her Muggle neighbors walked past her home during one of their evening walks, nothing would have been amiss in their eyes. It was only when she was right at her front door that she realized it was unlocked and slightly ajar.