Chapter Seven

Waking up to a painful, crushing headache, Hermione was certain she'd never been more embarrassed in her entire life. How was she supposed to leave her home with her head held up high after such a mortifying display the night before? Alcohol could only be blamed for part of her foolish act. There was absolutely no excuse for willingly stripping her clothes off piece by piece where he could watch her. Nothing but temporary madness could explain it.

She could sense a change in her that started the night the Muggle held her at knifepoint. Whether it was positive or negative remained to be seen. Considering she'd bared herself for the private viewing pleasure of a known homicidal monster, she was leaning towards negative. Months earlier when she bemoaned the lack of excitement in her life, she should've been more careful what she wished for. There was such a thing as too much excitement.

It wasn't like her to consume alcohol in excess as she did the night before. If she bothered to drink at all, it was usually a single glass of wine with dinner or after a particularly trying day at the Ministry. Even when she was all but forced to attend some hideous formal event she tried to only sip on one glass the whole event. It helped her to keep a clear head and prevent her from doing anything stupid or embarrassing.

Another reminder of standing in front of her bathroom window flashed across her mind causing her to groan. Pain followed the groan, forcing another one out of her mouth and thus beginning a vicious cycle. She wasn't sure she even had a vial of hangover potion to ease her misery. A staple in many wizarding houses, she couldn't remember the last time she even needed one. She likely hadn't since she was last in a relationship with Iain and prone to do all sort of thoughtless, reckless acts. Her ex was a terrible influence.

She bit back another groan as she recalled her passionate kiss at her front door. That was just another in a long line of stupid decisions she made under the influence of that damned wine. Iain would be unbearable. There was no possible way she hadn't given him the wrong idea. He was bound to make a nuisance of himself if he thought there might be the slimmest hope they could make another go at it. Especially after he confessed he missed her. He had too much of a hopeless romantic in him while she'd always been forced to be the cool, pragmatic one explaining why they shouldn't see each other any longer.

If only it was Saturday, she thought. Staying hidden inside her house all day would help her recover from her mortification, assuming that was even possible. But, sadly, she couldn't take refuge under her blankets. There was too much work waiting for her at the office. Important work. Work she was proud to be a part of. She couldn't allow one night of bad decisions to stop her even for a single day. As difficult as it might be, she knew she had to face down the world. At the very least, Robert was likely to worry if she wasn't in the office by her usual time. If he came to check on her only to discover another werewolf nearby, she couldn't continue to keep her secret.

Despite bathing the night before, Hermione forced herself into a hot shower with hopes that the water and the steam might help her tired body wake up. It was impossible not to stare at the covered window she'd stood in front of only hours earlier without remembering her shame. It was a struggle to make it through the usual motions of something as simple as a shower. She was glad there was an apothecary on the same floor as the Atrium for Ministry officials. There she would be able to purchase a potion that hopefully would make her feel less like she was on the verge of dying. The older she grew, the harder it was to recover.

Crookshanks was annoyed that his breakfast was later than usual. She filled his bowl in the kitchen while she tried very hard to ignore the figure still standing in her back garden staring at her through the large kitchen windows. As curious as she usually was about everything else, she was certain she didn't want to know what was going through his mind. Thankfully, she was late enough that there wasn't adequate time to linger in her house worrying.

The familiar sensation of being watched prickled the skin on the back of her neck as she locked and warded her front door. How he was able to move so swiftly and silently was just another mystery to add to the pile. He didn't speak a single word nor give any indication he wanted to. Each step she took towards the quiet alley she used for Apparition brought him along at a safe distance. Whatever his plans were it was evident that keeping an eye on her was the present priority. It should've frightened or at the very least annoyed her, but she couldn't even muster up a slight dislike. She felt safe knowing he was there. Almost comforted. Surely that was a sign she'd gone completely round the bend. Up until the moment she entered the employee entrance at the Ministry, she could feel her shadow close by.

Just as she expected, Robert was worried to be the first one in the office. After a quick stop in the apothecary and then to the Ministry canteen for the largest cup of tea she could find, Hermione was late. So unlike her, he started to bombard her with questions.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right enough to work? What sort of potion did you need to buy?"

"If I told you it was for a 'female complaint' would you want to know the details?"

Robert was no different from the vast majority of men, attached and unattached, when faced with the prospect of hearing more about the mysteries of the female body they didn't understand. Turning slightly green, he grimaced and promised to ask no more questions about her health. She couldn't help but laugh. It was too easy. The morning passed quickly as they each focused on their current cases.

After pausing long enough mid-afternoon for a quick sandwich in the canteen, Hermione found her mind drifting. Even she couldn't hide away forever in her work. Eventually reminders of her brash acts at the front door and her bathroom window were going to come back to haunt her thoughts. She'd been fortunate that her auror ex-boyfriend had been too busy to come by her office. That was likely to be an awkward conversation she wasn't looking forward to having.

But most of all, she thought about her constant shadow waiting silently for her in her back garden. A normal, rational person would confront him long enough to at least ask why he continued to follow her and keep watch over her when she was home. Usually she considered herself a logical, rational person, but when it came to Fenrir Greyback, she was content in the moment to live in ignorance about his motives or plans. Part of her was afraid to learn the truth. Years of living in a peaceful world made her fearful of disrupting the balance. She didn't want to fight again. As long as he remained silent and didn't hurt her, she could keep living her life as she'd grown accustomed to.

It was a pathetic excuse to keep from confronting him and she knew it. Where was the bravado and fearless courage that exemplified the Gryffindor spirit? The older she grew and the more she learned about how the world actually worked, the less she could see the need for that sort of brashness. Maybe she would've been better served by allowing the Sorting Hat to place her in Ravenclaw after all. Sometimes she didn't feel as brave as an adult as she'd been when she was a teenager.

She couldn't ignore, however, the distinct feeling she had that she wasn't in any danger around him. That was perhaps the most illogical of all. No matter how hard she tried, she could never forget the night she spent on the drawing room floor in Malfoy Manor. Bits of memories would still flash across her mind at random times. Nightmares, thankfully, rarely bothered her, but she could never forget that he was there that night. If Dobby hadn't been able to save them in his final act of bravery, who knows what might've happened? Bellatrix Lestrange offered whatever remained of her prisoner to the monster terrorizing the nation. She tried never to dwell on the possibilities of what that might've meant.

There had been no intuitive assurance that he wouldn't hurt her that night. She knew he would. Why then was everything different? It made no sense at all and Hermione preferred a life that made sense. Possibly she would never get a truthful answer even if she did confront him. She might have even been a victim of some horrible, powerful enchantments that lulled her into a false sense of security right before he made his true intentions known.

Except she didn't believe that was the case at all. Something compelled him to stand silently in the shadows. Did he want something from her but wasn't sure how to ask? Was it something insidious? What if it was all perfectly innocent? She couldn't reconcile the man who saved her from the Muggle and cleaned up her kitchen with a series of complex spells and a cheeky grin with the monster she knew from her adolescence. What was different? Why was he suddenly so watchful and protective of her?

"Robert, may I ask you a question about werewolves?"

She didn't know what possessed her to even think about asking him a potentially awkward question. A theory of why Fenrir Greyback might've been stalking her came to her that she didn't really want to consider. It was all too weird if it turned out to be true. Always willing to be of service when she had questions, her assistant set his quill down on his desk and gave her his full attention. A nod was all the encouragement she needed from him to go ahead.

"Do werewolves have a tendency… do they have an urge to seek out their potential mates?"

Worded strangely because she was nervous to ask, Hermione wasn't sure she'd made herself clear. There were stories of mythical creatures being bound to their potential mates automatically, even against their own wishes. Did Fenrir Greyback believe she was supposed to be his mate? Was that why she never feared since he turned back up that he'd hurt her? And was she somehow responding to him too? What else could possibly explain her boldness in front of the window?"

"What I mean to say is…"

"No, I understand perfectly what you meant."

There was a chill in Robert's tone of voice that surprised her. She'd been so focused on how to ask the strange question that she hadn't paid attention to how it was received. Even just a quick glance at her assistant was enough to see she'd offended him dearly. His jaw was clenched and his cheeks were beginning to flush. Even his nostrils flared. Usually such a calm, gentle man, she got a frightening glimpse of what he must've been like when he transformed under the Full Moon. He'd never scared her before.

"You want to know if werewolves have some animalistic instinct to seek out their perfect mate. You want to know if we are slaves to these instincts and have no choice but to be drawn to some unsuspecting woman we desire only to mate with against our will."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh, it isn't?"

He was unconvinced. The mocking tone he used was so unlike his usual self that Hermione desired nothing more than to escape from their too-small office. Evidently her question struck a tender nerve. She wished she hadn't asked. While she didn't blame him and couldn't hope to understand all that he'd been subjected to since he was bitten, he could be quite sensitive about his infection. She never wished to offend him.

"You weren't asking me if werewolves were slaves to their animalistic desires? That they don't have any choice in the matter of whom they love and desire?"

She couldn't deny that she was asking him that very question because she was. There was nothing she could say in response that felt adequate, so she chose not to say anything. Robert, perhaps realizing she had no wish to upset him, took a deep breath and calmed. When he spoke next, his tone was almost back to its regular tenor.

"You've read too many romance novels, Hermione. Too many have been written that aren't anywhere near the truth. Personally, I'll never understand why so many witches seem to want to read about a dangerous, feral creature ravishing them against their will. Hardly sounds romantic to me."

"I've never read one of those novels."

"I highly doubt that. Seems like every woman I've ever known has. They all want to know if the stories are true."

He exhaled a deep sigh. The flush in his cheeks returned, but instead of being related to rage, he appeared embarrassed. Once again she wished she hadn't asked. Didn't he deserve some privacy? He never asked to be bitten.

"Most of the women I meet who show the least bit of interest in me after they find out what I am, do so because they want to know if all of the stories are true."

"I'm sorry, Robert. I had no idea."

"Yes, well, it's hardly something that one wishes to admit in polite company. It's humiliating."

Hermione was well aware that she could isolate herself too much at times. It was the main reason why her old friendships weren't nearly as strong as they once were. In the naïveté of youth it was all too easy to assume the deep friendships made during those important school years would last for a lifetime. Especially considering how fiercely she'd fought during the war with her two best friends, it was even easier to take those friendships for granted, to expect they would always be close. Unfortunately, she'd learned the hard way that that wasn't always the case. One could only take their friendships for granted for so long. Eventually choosing work over friendships meant fewer and then no invitations.

Because she isolated herself so much, there was a great deal about the society Hermione lived in that she didn't understand or even know anything about. Though she knew many werewolves on a professional level because of her position, she hated to admit their personal lives and their private struggles were unknown. Remus Lupin certainly never mentioned women throwing themselves at him to find out whether or not rumors of a werewolf's virility were true. She shouldn't have been surprised that there were women like that even if she never stopped to consider it before. Usually she didn't care what sort of kink a person liked, especially if it happened between two consenting adults. Her worries usually centered on what was happening or not happening behind her own closed bedroom door. It angered her to know that Robert had been hurt. He deserved more than that.

"You say you've never read the books and as you've no reason to lie to me, I believe you."

Robert sighed, his shoulders drooping. She felt angry again that those faceless women existed.

"I certainly don't recommend you pick one up either. They're disgusting and there's no basis in reality. Werewolves are written as these sex-crazed deviants who have one thing and one thing only on their minds. They say that we are slaves to our animal instincts and any woman we set our sights on to "be our mate" is powerless to refuse us. I have never forced myself on a woman nor would I ever."

"Of course you wouldn't."

"Do you believe any of the men you've met while doing this job are any different?"

She didn't mean to hesitate answering the question that should've been quite simple. Only one werewolf she'd met since she started working for the Ministry of Magic ever frightened her, but that had nothing to do with his affliction. Reports from those who knew him before he was bitten all indicated he'd never been a terribly nice person. Even then she didn't expect him to pull her hair and force her into sex. She feared more that he'd say something nasty or maybe even hex her.

Only one werewolf had ever made her believe he'd force himself on her given the chance. She'd been so terrified that night that she spun a web of all sorts of nightmares in her head. The Greyback she knew years earlier was the only one who ever scared her. That was why she had such difficulty reconciling the man who saved her and kept a silent watch from the monster.

"We are all just men, Hermione. For the vast majority of our lives, we are just ordinary men."

"Of course you are."

Robert made an excuse to leave the office shortly after their conversation ended. Based on the redness still present in his cheeks, she knew he was still embarrassed by all that he had to explain to her. As long as she knew him she'd just assumed he was shy around women and that's why he was single. To know that he had to constantly wonder if a woman who showed any interest in him just wanted to see if the rumors were true threatened to break her heart. It also made her wonder if being too old and poor weren't the only objections Remus had when his wife fell in love with him. It was very unfair.

Sitting alone in her office gave her even more opportunity to allow her mind to wander as she dissected and analyzed all Robert told her. No closer to understanding why Fenrir Greyback followed her around, at least she could be confident knowing it wasn't because of some sort of mystical mating ritual. She was thankful for that. Their situation was complicated enough as it was.

A knock on the doorframe startled her out of her thoughts. Recognizing her visitor as the former Minister for Magic Pius Thicknesse, she offered him a friendly smile and waved him inside. Any distraction was welcome.

"Sorry to bother you, Miss Granger, but I've got a delivery for you, I'm afraid."

"Pius, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Hermione before you do? We're colleagues."

He smiled, but she could tell she still made him uncomfortable with her friendly attitude where he was concerned. Most Ministry officials chose to ignore his existence, a feat made easier by his position as a lowly clerk in the Ministry Archives. Following the end of the war when it was made evident he'd been under a very strong Imperius Curse cast by Corban Yaxley, he'd been stripped of his position as the leader of their government. After several months of recovery in St. Mungo's, Pius wished to make amends for what he'd been ordered to do. Hermione had to admire him for approaching Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt for a job, any job. Most people in the same position would've left the country or at the very least become a recluse. With the surprising help from his staunchest supporter in turning over a new leaf, Percy Weasley, he was offered the chance to work in the dusty archives, a position few wanted. He kept a good attitude about his changing circumstances and Hermione had no doubt he was sincere in his desire to start over. When he was released from St. Mungo's, the first person he sought out was Percy to thank him for stopping him in the final battle from being able to do any real harm. Transfiguration into a sea urchin had to have been humiliating, but he was grateful that he couldn't continue to fight under the Imperius Curse.

"All right, Hermione."

His self-deprecating smile only endeared the wizard to her more. She had a long history of caring about the downtrodden. Despite his hard work to redeem himself, Pius was still despised by a great number of his former subordinates. More than once she'd been a witness to the harsh insults and rude behavior he could be subjected to by those who would never forgive him for what atrocities he committed under Yaxley's orders. It wasn't fair. Hadn't he made up for what he did already?

"Mr. Bletchley told me to bring some old files to your office. He wants to clear up space in the Archives and thought you should have them down here."

"Oh, lovely."

Edgar Bletchley had been unsuccessfully trying to force the old files on her for years. Each time he tried she'd been able to give him an acceptable excuse why she couldn't take them. She should've known he would eventually give them to her without asking. Sending Pius had been a well-calculated move as she was always friendly and polite to the social pariah. Edgar must've assumed she would never tell him 'no'. He was correct, unfortunately.

"Yes, well, perhaps the files could come in handy for some of our current cases."

Pius offered her a warm smile she knew was hiding a laugh.

"I highly doubt so. Most of these files are from before I was born and you and I both know the Ministry's treatment of werewolves hasn't ever been very kind. And when you factor in the lowered life expectancy of those afflicted, the likelihood of any of the werewolves in these files still being alive are quite slim."

Hermione didn't want to dwell on some of the more depressing aspects of a werewolf's life. Especially not when one of her dearest friends was so affected. It was all so unfair. With a tight smile, she pointed to an empty corner where he could store the cartons. She would have to come up with a plan for what to do with them at a later time.

"I can see why Edgar has always been so eager to get rid of these files."

She didn't bother to hide the annoyed roll of her eyes to Pius' amusement when he finished stacking the old, dusty cartons almost to the ceiling. There was usually hardly enough space in her tiny office to move around, even less with the damned files. At any moment one of the stacks could topple over.

"Would you like me to teach you the shrinking spell we use down in the Archives to store files long-term? Most shrinking spells wear off too quickly."

"No, thank you. I can manage. I may want to take a closer look at them."

Pius didn't linger in her office any longer than necessary. She suspected he might've been nervous she'd change her mind and make him take all of the files back. No doubt he was under strict orders from his difficult boss to get rid of them no matter what.

"What's all this?"

Hermione was so lost in her own thoughts for another time that day she didn't even hear her assistant return. It upset her to know she upset him by her impertinent questions. If she was completely honest with him about why she was so curious lately about certain aspects of being a werewolf she didn't know anything about, she felt sure he would understand. Of course she also knew that any mention of Fenrir Greyback still being alive and standing watch nightly outside of her home would send Robert running off to the aurors.

"Edgar Bletchley finally figured out how to clean out the Archives. He sent Pius Thicknesse down with the cartons and I couldn't say no."

As Robert took his seat at the desk with a soft chuckle, Hermione waved her wand to shrink the files down to a minuscule pile in the corner. One day she would be bored enough to dig through them, but not that day. There was already enough to keep her mind occupied.

"I'm sorry for offending you with my thoughtless questions, Robert. I hope you can forgive me."

He might've sighed once more, but the gentle pat on the top of her hand with his calmed her down.

"Curiosity isn't a crime, Hermione. I shouldn't have been so sensitive. I know you weren't trying to upset me. Please accept my apology."

With the air cleared they were able to return to their work as usual. No further inappropriate questions were asked by either of them and the rest of the work day passed swiftly. A few minutes past six, Robert left for the evening, forcing a promise out of his boss that she wouldn't work too late and would go home at a decent hour. It was a promise she had no intention of keeping.

Work was her escape. As long as she could hide away in her office, Hermione didn't have to think about her next steps once she stepped outside. She knew she was being an irrational coward, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Facing problems head-on was tiring and she'd been exhausted for far too long. She wished she'd known when she was young how tiresome and frustrating being an adult could be. Perhaps she wouldn't have been in such a hurry to grow up.

Eventually, she knew she couldn't keep hiding. Most of the Ministry officials had been home for hours already when she dropped her quill. No longer able to focus, Hermione needed to go home. There was no sense falling asleep at her desk when she had a comfortable bed waiting.

The temperature dropped sharply as the day wore on. Already quite cold that morning when she arrived, it was even colder when she made her exit from the building. Rain fell steadily all around her, further prompting her need to hurry home. Hermione could feel her shadow watching her, but she chose not to acknowledge him. Not yet. She wanted to live in ignorance a little while longer.

Crookshanks was pleased to see her when she pushed open her front door minutes later. Always eager to fill his belly, he rushed ahead of her to the kitchen where his bowl stood empty. As Hermione fed her cat, she tried to ignore the now-familiar presence standing in her back garden. Would he never let up his mysterious vigil? In the midst of the coldest, wettest night since she became aware he was still alive, he must've been miserable. Warming spells and heavy cloaks could only work for so long. Did werewolves ever succumb to something as banal as the common cold?

Hermione didn't waste any time retreating to her bedroom upstairs. It was her hope that she could stop thinking about the werewolf if she was asleep. Dressed in her warmest pajamas, she slipped between the sheets of her empty bed only mere minutes after arriving home. Too much work usually left her unable to do much of anything when she got home. She fully expected to fall asleep the moment she closed her eyes and rested her head on her soft pillow.

Except she didn't. She couldn't. Not with him standing outside in the freezing rain. Before she could stop herself, Hermione got up, put on her dressing gown, and headed for the ground floor. She was being reckless, but she didn't care.

Her shadow met her eyes the moment she opened the kitchen door. As usual, he didn't say a word. Just stood there waiting for her to speak.

"Come inside. You'll catch your death of cold if you stay out in this."

Fenrir Greyback must've been caught by surprise by the unlikely invitation, but he didn't show any signs. Silently, he crossed her back garden. When Hermione moved aside to allow him entrance into the warmth of her home, he entered as if he'd done so a hundred times before. Once she had the back door locked and warded, he followed her up the stairs.

She couldn't believe she willingly invited the known murderer inside her home, but even as she felt him only steps behind her, she wasn't afraid. He wouldn't hurt her. He would never hurt her again.

"There are extra blankets in the wardrobe if you get cold."

Fenrir stepped inside the spare bedroom across the corridor from her room when she pushed open the door. After a quick scan of the room, he nodded his approval. Raspier than usual due to its disuse, he uttered his first words to her as she moved into the corridor.

"Thank you."

It was her turn to silently nod. Despite having the most fearsome werewolf in recent history just on the other side of her closed bedroom door, Hermione fell into a deep sleep just as she laid her head down.