Chapter Four
Despite feeling tired down to her very bones after the stressful ordeal of the evening, Hermione struggled to get to sleep long after she had Fenrir's assistance bringing her house back into order. Every time she turned over in bed or heard one of the dozens of innocuous noises that houses made, she feared that she was about to be attacked by the hateful Muggles. Knowing that her home had been breached by strangers made her feel violated in a manner she had never experienced before. Her home had always been her safe haven, her sanctuary. Following the scene she stumbled upon that evening, she worried that she might never feel that way again.
Because she was usually so selective about the people she allowed in her home to begin with, the break in and vandalism of all of her belongings was so much worse in her mind. She hated that there were strangers in what had been a private place. Would she ever feel comfortable there again? In the first few hours since coming home, she wasn't sure that was possible. She hoped that she had seen the last of the Muggles. They'd made their point. Maybe they'd even been able to find some souvenirs amongst her limited belongings to commemorate the occasion. As much as she hoped that she would never see them again, a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach encouraged her to remain vigilant for their return.
Eventually, she was able to fall asleep during the long night. Not nearly long enough to satisfy the exhaustion still plaguing her. That would likely need several days' worth of rest to even put a dent in. Between her normal routine of working too hard and for too long, the events of Friday evening and Monday evening took more out of her than she realized. She slept right through her first alarm, something that never happened. When she finally heard it twenty minutes later, she was out of sorts. Getting out of her normal routine started her morning off on the wrong note.
Half an hour later than usual, she removed the damned Muggle-repelling charm Fenrir insisted she place on her door. She was half-tempted to leave it off, but the prickling of the hair on the back of her neck proved that he was nearby watching her every move. If she didn't reapply the ward, she would hear about it. She could just barely make out his silhouette in her neighbor's garden again. Had he been there all night? Or had he gone home when he was satisfied that she was safe inside, only to return at the usual time she left each morning? She had a number of questions, but for a reason she still didn't understand, she wasn't ready to ask. Maybe, if she was being honest with herself, she didn't want to tell him to bugger off. Not yet.
She hated the damned Muggles for depriving her of peace of mind in her own office as well. Had her home not been enough of an intrusion? Concentrating on her work was harder that wretched Tuesday morning than it had ever been. Work was usually what kept her grounded, relaxed. Nothing she looked at kept her attention long at all.
Twirling one of the violet quills the enigmatic werewolf left behind on her kitchen table, all she could really think about for longer than a few moments at a time was him. He'd come flying into her life again unexpectedly. If he had not simply appeared on the exact London street she needed him at the exact time she needed him, Hermione might have gone the rest of her life without even thinking once about his name again. Now, he'd made his presence, if not his purpose, known. Was there more to his seemingly incessant need to watch her home and follow her when it was dark? She knew she should've been afraid of him, should've reported him, but she wasn't and at least for the present, wouldn't.
Much about the werewolf was different than ten years earlier. If she didn't know his voice so well, she might have even believed that he was a completely different person entirely. Where was the monster who whispered in her ear how much he looked forward to biting her sweet, young flesh when Bellatrix was done with her that horrible night she wished she could forget? There had been no mistaking his intentions. Biting wasn't all he had planned for her when she was to be handed over. She would always be grateful for the sacrifice dear Dobby made. If she was able to survive what other horrors awaited her, she would've been surprised. She was half-convinced Bellatrix wasn't going to stop until she was dead as it was.
Something drastic must've changed him in the ten years he was gone from their world. How else could his behavior be explained? She used to fear even hearing his name. Now she was allowing him into her home and even feeling safer when he was around? None of what was happening made the least bit of sense.
Fenrir Greyback was a monster. Full stop. He made it his mission to populate the world with werewolf children. Countless young witches and wizards, possibly even Muggles, were his victims. Some didn't survive their initial attacks or the trauma of their first transformation. Those that did were damned to a cursed life where their rights weren't guaranteed, forever shunned by a large portion of society. How could she possibly reconcile the beast that ruined Remus Lupin's life with the man who saved her from being robbed or possibly worse?
Her focus was still on the violet quill when her assistant entered their tiny office for the day. Robert must've found it strange to find her staring at a quill with the same intensity she usually reserved for a good book or informative memo. Usually when he arrived to begin his work day, she was already up to her elbows in parchment, furiously scribbling away. It was unlike her to be so still and so quiet.
"Everything all right, Hermione?"
So lost in her own thoughts, the witch wasn't even aware there was another soul in the same room. At the sound of his voice, she jumped, dropping the quill on the floor. Embarrassed to be caught unaware, she scrambled to pick up her quill and pretend everything was normal. Unfortunately, she knew she was unsuccessful. Robert might have been too kind to point it out, but the way he was pausing every few moments to look at her again made it evident that he was concerned. For half a second she considered telling him everything that had happened to her in the past few days, leaving out the werewolf, of course. The words were on the tip of her tongue when she stopped herself. Because he was such a caring man, he would only encourage her to report the two incidents to the proper authorities. Even include Harry in the conversation. That would be a nightmare.
Her best friend worried about her enough. Since her parents' deaths, that concern only expanded exponentially. He didn't like her living alone. When she broke up with her auror boyfriend, he'd been furious because knowing that she was protected when he wasn't around helped him sleep better at night. With his whole 'saving people thing', he would never give her a moment's rest if he knew that she was possibly the target of further violence from ill-intentioned Muggles. Repeatedly in their recent past, she'd felt almost smothered by his concern and attention. It was all well-meant, naturally, but no less annoying.
"Oh, good morning, Robert. Yes, I'm all right. Just didn't get much sleep last night. Must still need some more caffeine."
He seemed content with her explanation. Regardless of how much she hated to admit it, she was often in strange moods around him. Working in such close confines with another meant that they were likely to see the worst sides of their co-workers. She'd certainly seen his irritable moods in the lead-up and aftermath of the Full Moon each month. And it wasn't much of a stretch to claim that she hadn't slept well nor was it a lie. With her usual punishing schedule, sleep was never a priority.
Determined that she wasn't going to let her work suffer because of events outside of her control when she was at home, Hermione made the decision to work harder at focusing. The case she was working on was interesting enough that she shouldn't have had any problems staying engaged and interested. A small commune of werewolves living together in a remote area of Scotland was planning to petition the Wizengamot for the ability to purchase more land. Their community was growing larger than its borders. To Hermione's horror, there were still Umbridge-Era restrictions on the property rights of known werewolves. Her goal was to abolish the restrictions in their entirety. Why should grown men and women who had no say in the tragedy that befell them be unable to provide for their families simply because of an ignorant prejudice?
Working on the commune case did indeed help her get her mind off of another werewolf. For a few hours, at least. Just before noon when they would both leave the office for lunch, her mind began to wander again. She was scratching out a note with her favorite old quill when the tip broke. Annoyed that she would have to stop to sharpen it, she picked up the discarded violet quill to continue her thought. She was only just able to get the last of her note down on the parchment before her mind turned back to the wrong werewolf.
Where did Fenrir spend his days? Did he use the time she was at work to go back to wherever his home was to sleep? She couldn't imagine that he was able to stay awake for twenty-four hours straight every single day. Not even a creature with supernatural abilities would be able to keep going for so long without rest. And when did he start following her? Had he been outside her house for a long time? Would she have even known he was there if she hadn't been foolish enough to ignore her surroundings? Why did he care if she got hurt? He hadn't hesitated to attack the Muggle when his hands touched her body inappropriately. Was that what caused him to emerge from the shadows? Was she the reason he was so angry?
Her mind was a mess. Every question left unanswered only spawned more. She would have to actually speak to the man to uncover the truth. Why did she feel safer knowing he was just outside her front door but she was afraid to actually have a conversation with him? Something wasn't right. Maybe she was afraid that her questions would break the strange spell that existed between them. She might even make him angry. The monster she knew he was was still inside him. Ten years away could've helped him figure out an effective persona to portray. That didn't mean he'd actually changed.
"Do you think people can actually change who they are in ten years?"
The question was rolling off her tongue before she could stop it. One of the biggest reasons she loved her job were the moments that she and Robert were able to relax a little bit in their office and have long, meaningful conversations. He offered an insight into issues that she never would've considered. She was able to do the same for him. Having an actual werewolf on staff working in their department was invaluable. There was so much she still didn't know about their corner of the wizarding world because she wasn't a member. It was a club that no one wanted to gain access to, but there were rules and customs that needed to be understood.
Robert wasn't bothered by the question. He set the parchment he'd been reading carefully down on the top of his desk. Leaning back slightly in his chair, he seemed to contemplate the meaning of her words. Hermione wished she could've been silent. What if she revealed too much? She didn't want to have to answer any uncomfortable questions. Fenrir Greyback was a name that was still well-known within their world even if it was assumed that he was dead. There was simply no way that Robert would just calmly listen to her tell him her suspicions that the monster she knew ten years earlier was completely different.
"Well, I guess I would first say that we are always changing. Every single one of us. Are you the same person you were ten years ago today, Hermione?"
She shook her head. Of course she wasn't! Ten years earlier she was still in the middle of a horcrux hunt, fighting to stay alive. She never knew if that day was going to be her last or if she was going to be forced to watch her best friend get murdered. The constant state of fear that she lived in during those months, and for several years afterwards, most certainly altered who she was as a person. As time progressed and she grew more comfortable with the new world without Voldemort's presence, she was able to relax. Ten years earlier she wouldn't have been so lackadaisical in her own safety that she would've wandered down a dodgy street late at night alone. Complacency made her dangerous.
"Ten years ago, I was working in a publishing house. Just a lowly assistant…" He winked at her, forcing a chuckle out of her mouth. "…but with dreams that I would one day run the entire firm. I was idealistic and naïve. Thought that the only thing I needed to be successful was the willingness to work hard."
He sighed, frustration and a hint of sadness evident on his countenance. She knew that the rest of his story wasn't going to be a happy one. While he never divulged the exact details of the attack that changed him into a werewolf, she knew that it was difficult for him to share any information about his past. He was very private, and she couldn't blame him for that.
"But one night changed the entire trajectory of my life. Changed me into a being I didn't even recognize. No longer was I idealistic. And once I was let go from my job thanks to the laws Umbridge was responsible for enacting, I learned that working hard was only half the battle for success. So, yes, I believe that a person can be one way and life can change them. Doesn't even take ten years. It could happen in ten seconds."
His words made a lot of sense. If she stopped to consider all of her loved ones, not a single one of them was the same person they were ten years earlier. War changed them all. Losing those they cared about, violence they witnessed, lives some of them took… it all had a way of altering those affected. Of course it was silly to think that people never changed. She knew that on some level, but imagining a monster changing so noticeably was different.
"What about people who do evil things? Like torture or murder or… well, can a monster ever stop being a monster?"
Robert flinched when she said the M-word. It was one that Hermione tried very hard not to ever use around him. She closed her eyes and sighed, hating herself just a little bit for her poor choice of words. To his credit, her assistant was willing to answer the question.
"Have you ever really known a monster, Hermione?"
"Well, I've met…"
"No, I mean really known. Been friends with? Been in a relationship with?"
Her mind immediately jumped to the previous night when Fenrir stood in the middle of her bedroom. It felt odd knowing that he was the first man to be in her private room for a long time. Her cheeks even flushed slightly at the thought. No, she'd definitely never been in a relationship with a so-called monster.
"Most 'monsters' aren't actual monsters, Hermione. I thought you, of all people, would understand that. Especially since you fought so hard for me to get this job."
"No, no! Of course I don't think you're a monster."
She feared she would only dig herself even further and further into a hole if she continued. Knowing her heart was in the right place, Robert took pity on her. Before he continued, he offered her a warm smile to prove he wasn't angry with her. She was grateful. The knots in her stomach began to untwist themselves ever so slightly.
"Unless you really know someone, you can't just automatically assume they're evil or dangerous. You can't actually know what's in a person's heart or their soul unless you know them."
"What if you know about what they did from people who witnessed it?"
He stopped to consider her words a few moments before speaking again. So far, she didn't have much she could really argue with him about. It was correct that the true measure of a person couldn't be determined by a stranger. Had she been unfair to judge the man she didn't even know? Shaking her head, she knew it was a dangerous path to walk down if she even considered believing Fenrir Greyback was nothing but some poor misunderstood, fluffy bunny. She knew firsthand he was dangerous. Just because he had yet to turn it around on her didn't mean he was changed. He wasn't some harmless stray dog wandering the streets looking for someone to look past his matted fur to his sweet disposition underneath.
"I would say that though you shouldn't discount the opinion of someone you trust, you shouldn't just blindly believe everything you hear. Especially not if it's in the newspapers."
His grimace almost made her laugh. She was no stranger to the lies and deceptions that were often printed in the Daily Prophet and other publications. Her name had been dragged through the mud countless times thanks to her feud with Rita Skeeter. Apparently there were some grudges that would never cease no matter how much time passed. Once the conniving reporter registered herself as an animagus with the Ministry, she'd been much less worried about hurting Hermione's feelings. If one of her most recent slanders was to be believed, Hermione kept a basement full of house-elves chained up making clothing she sold to high-end fashion boutiques in America. She just had to roll her eyes when she read the lies. Her style of reporting was becoming more and more like The Quibbler's with each passing year.
"Take werewolves, for example. If you only read the newspapers or all of the dreadful books out there written by ignorant arseholes like Umbridge, you'd believe terrible things about all of us. That we all like to kill, that we chose to be what we are. It's all rubbish."
"Are there some that do like to kill?"
"Are there some wizards that like to kill? Witches? Muggles? You're not a monster because of what you are, but rather who you are. Your choices are what define you."
Hermione was certain she'd heard some variation of those words before, but couldn't remember where exactly. Again, Robert was right. There were monsters everywhere masquerading as fine, upstanding citizens in both the magical and Muggle world. One couldn't be judged based on what they were alone. Her assistant was proof of that. So was Remus Lupin and a dozen or so other werewolves she'd had the pleasure to meet since she started her campaign to get them equal rights under the law. Culturally, she might not have much of a chance to change their perceptions, but at least the laws could protect them.
So if she couldn't just assume that all werewolves were monsters, did that also apply to Fenrir? Her head never hurt so much. She knew it was irrational to try to excuse his past just because of the two recent encounters she was glad to have him nearby. None of that certainly excused the violence he committed in the past. She was grasping at straws trying to find any possible explanation of his complete change.
"You wouldn't believe some of the worst propaganda even the benevolent Ministry has printed about us in the past."
There was a justifiable bitterness to his statement. Sadly, Hermione was afraid she could believe whatever nasty, horrible lies were written about them. Ignorance and cruelty never worked well together and to its detriment, the Ministry of Magic had a long history of hiring both. With people like Umbridge still in existence, she knew that their jobs would never be easy. There were those who didn't want to know the truth.
"Before you were able to hire me, I lived with a few others like me in Scotland. It was safer being far away from civilization." He gestured to the file she'd been working on all morning. "Like that commune, but smaller. At the Full Moon, we'd share what Wolfsbane Potion we were able to buy or steal. Rarely was there enough to go around. Others knew we were there and they'd come to spend the nights with us. Those of us who could drink the potion that month were responsible for keeping those who couldn't away from non-werewolves, those we could hurt."
His candor surprised Hermione greatly. Even after a few years working together in such close quarters, he'd rarely opened up to her about his past and experiences as a werewolf. Some topics were much too personal. Though she was unsure why he was being so honest, she appreciated it. Perhaps it was a sign that he trusted her more than he once did.
"We were able to live and work together for the better part of a year, but somehow our secret got out. Aurors actually came to kick us out of our homes. Said we were a danger being all cooped up in the same place. There was some antiquated law that no more than two werewolves were ever allowed to be in the same location at the same time. To discourage forming dangerous packs, I guess."
"I remember. That was one of the first laws I was able to convince Kingsley to get the Wizengamot to abolish."
A case was brought to her one of her very first days in her department, months before she was able to hire Robert. Two werewolves fell in love and married. Even though lycanthropy was not hereditary, they made the decision to not have any biological children of their own. It seemed unfair to bring innocents into a world where they would be taunted and possibly persecuted simply because of their parents' affliction. The fear that one of them might hurt a child when they were transformed was also not an idle fear. After their discussion to not have children was made, they learned of a young boy locked away in St. Mungo's who was the sole survivor of a vicious werewolf attack on his family. They brought the terrified boy into their home when no one else wanted him.
It didn't take long before someone altered the authorities to an illegal gathering of werewolves. That it was a loving family didn't matter. Hermione hardly slept or ate while she built her case against the cruelty of splitting up a family that for the majority of the month was perfectly normal. Without abolishing the ridiculous law, none of their choices were good. Either their marriage would be sacrificed or they'd have to give up their son and pray someone else would love him. When the law was stricken off the books by the tiniest of majorities in the Wizengamot, she'd never been more elated. The couple she helped sent her Christmas cards every year with pictures of their growing family. Sadly, there were many young werewolves who were abandoned by their families.
"For weeks all of the newspapers reported just the most outrageous lies about us. Said that we were trying to build an army big enough to take over. We were loyal to You-Know-Who and we wanted to bring him back from the dead."
"That's ridiculous."
"Even printed the biggest lie they always tell about werewolves. Claimed that we wanted to attack and bite children to form some sort of super pack that would outnumber the witches and wizards. Just absolute tosh."
The vehemence that he spat out his statement struck a funny note in Hermione. How many times had she heard over the years that Greyback's main goal was to bite children to help him overtake the wizards? She'd even heard Remus Lupin say that exact same thing. Never, until recently anyway, had she even considered the possibility that that might not have been true.
"That's a lie they use a lot?"
"Yes. Every werewolf is in danger of being accused of trying to create their own army of tiny pups. It's ridiculous. No one purposely goes out transformed with the intention of ruining some poor kid's life. That lie just keeps getting repeated over and over again. It makes me furious."
As fascinating as their conversation was, Hermione didn't want to upset him any further. Robert's teeth were clenched and the skin of his neck was turning an alarming shade of puce. While she knew that there were lies told all of the time about werewolves, she didn't realize the extent. Was everything she ever heard about them just a complete fabrication created by a government that wanted to oppress the poor beings?
She wasn't prepared yet to believe such was true about the werewolf whose very name struck fear into the hearts of her fellow witches and wizards. It was all too easy. She'd been present when he attacked members of the Order the night of the battle in the Astronomy Tower that took Albus Dumbledore's life. During the final battle, she saw him attack and mortally wound Lavender Brown. If Dobby hadn't saved her, there was no telling what he might have done to her when Bellatrix was done. No, he was the exception to the rule. Maybe they lied about other werewolves. Not him. Even Remus said he was a monster. Of all of the people in the world, he would know.
"Surely there must be some werewolves who do that sort of thing, Robert."
"Not to my knowledge, and you'll forgive me if I remind you that I have a little more experience in this area than you do."
His tone was sharp, but she wasn't offended. It couldn't have been easy for him to open up so much to her after being private for so long. She hoped that she hadn't insulted him or hurt his feelings in any way. That was never her intention.
"I'm sorry. Of course you're right. It may just take some time for me to process everything you taught me just now."
"We all have a lot of internal prejudices about werewolves that we aren't necessarily even aware of. I know I did. Before I was bitten… well, let's just say that I've learned a lot the hard way in the past ten years."
She didn't know what else to say. Without even meaning to, a wall that was built between them began to crack just a tiny smidge. Robert wouldn't likely come out and tell her everything she wanted to know, but she could feel the subtle shifting in their relationship. It was one of the first times he'd ever been so honest and open with her.
"You've never told me much about your past before."
As soon as she made the simple statement, she wished she hadn't. He was embarrassed. Maybe she'd read more into the situation than she should have. She tended to overanalyze. It was awkward of her to point it out. Deciding that that was an excellent time to leave for lunch, Hermione rose quickly to her feet.
"You don't have to rush off on my account."
"Oh, I'm not. I promised I'd meet Harry for lunch."
It was a complete lie, but she didn't care. In her haste to leave before she embarrassed him further, Hermione's sleeve brushed against the stack of parchment on top of her desk sending it tumbling to the floor. Robert, ever the gentleman, didn't hesitate to get up to help her pick it all up. She appreciated that even in the midst of what must have been a tense moment, he was kind.
One of her violet quills crashed to the floor with the parchment. Each of them reached for it at the same time. Robert's hand closed over it first. Holding it out for her to grab, Hermione didn't miss how his nose suddenly flared. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the quill in his hand.
"Hermione, are you sure everything is all right?"
He didn't seem convinced when she assured him that once again she was. Ripping the quill out of his hand, she hoped what she just witnessed was simply another moment she over-analyzed the situation. Could a werewolf tell a quill they held was held by another of their kind? If so, was her assistant able to tell who it was that held it only a few short hours earlier?
It was a relief to get out of their office. Once she was up the stairs to the corridor outside of the Department of Mysteries, she calmed down somewhat. She didn't want anyone to know she'd been in contact with Fenrir Greyback. Not until she knew what he was up to.