Chapter Twelve

No one left the house on Sunday. Once the sun was up, Fenrir came back inside to make them a simple breakfast. He could hardly keep his eyes open at the kitchen table. It had been a long night in the freezing drizzle. Instead of disappearing to wherever it was he went during the day, he fell asleep on her sofa.

Hermione was nervous all day. Even with her fierce protector close by she allowed her overactive imagination to focus on all of the possible worst-case scenarios. Every sound outside made her jump and rush to a window. The Muggle knew where she lived, had been inside the sanctity of her home. She knew obsession and for whatever reason, be it pride or the desire to humiliate her as he'd been, the Muggle was obsessed. He would be back. The only question was 'when'?

Part of her regretted her decision to not be driven out of her home by fear. It would've been much easier on her nerves to hide away in some remote location in Scotland for as long as she needed until she felt safe again. The only problem was figuring out how long that would take. It was her home, bought with her own money and the one place in the entire world where she was supposed to be completely at peace. How dare the damned Muggle try to rob her of that simple joy? She wouldn't let him.

Even with the conviction that she was making the right decision not to flee in terror, Hermione felt tense the rest of the weekend. It didn't help that Fenrir spent another night outside watching and waiting for the cretin to return. She didn't like him being outside. When he slept in the room across from hers, she felt safer, more at peace. Without another calming potion, she spent Sunday night tossing and turning in her empty bed.

Fenrir was already inside and strengthening the wards around the house when she descended the stairs. It was something of an obsession for him to make certain her home was as safe as it could be. Neither of them had yet to bring up the blood wards he used when she wasn't paying attention. She didn't even know how to bring up the subject. Offering up one's blood willingly as a sacrifice was a deeply personal, intimate act. Would he be embarrassed if she told him she knew? It was hardly the act someone just did for no good reason for a practical stranger. There was power in blood that didn't exist anywhere else.

Returning to work wasn't very high on her list of desires, but Hermione knew it was necessary. Not only could she not allow the horrible man to continually alter her life, she had a new theory she wanted to share with her assistant. In the excitement of her attack, she'd almost forgotten her notes about the dates being related to a possible serum experiment.

"Thank you for breakfast. It's really not necessary that you keep feeding me."

When she rose to clear her plate off of the table, Fenrir grabbed it out of her hand. He banished the dishes to the sink. With just a few waves of his wand and nonverbal incantations, the kitchen began cleaning itself. Magic still continued to amaze Hermione ever after so many years.

"You don't eat enough. A light breeze could knock you over."

"Oh, I see. You're fattening me up. What's that joke? Eat more cake because it's harder to be kidnapped when you're fat?"

His loud laugh made her smile.

"I like cake and I dare anyone to try to kidnap me."

"Yes, well, you're not exactly fat. Are you?"

Realizing as the words were coming out of her mouth that perhaps that wasn't the most appropriate comment to make, Hermione cleared her throat and tried not to look up at the smirking man. She remembered how firm his body felt when he held her right before he nearly burned her kitchen down. Fantasies of what it looked like underneath his clothes certainly didn't help her when she was struggling to fall asleep.

"I'm pleased you've noticed."

She was determined not to take his bait. Not yet. Whatever was happening between them was strange and unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It would be wise to keep her head as clear as possible. A flashing reminder in her mind of the night she stood in front of her bathroom window brought a hot flush to her cheeks that she knew he saw. Was he remembering that night too?

Even a short time later when she was walking down the corridor to her office she was still embarrassed. Would he always have the same effect on her?

"You've been awfully pensive this morning. Have an eventful weekend?"

It was nearing lunchtime when Robert's voice managed to break through her thoughts. She'd been trying to focus on one of their current cases. Every few minutes she'd get distracted again. It wasn't only Fenrir's teasing that morning, but everything that happened and the mystery of 'Operation Moonlight' consuming her thoughts. What she wouldn't give for a pensieve to clear some of the unnecessary chatter out of her head. Knowing Robert would want her to report the Muggle's second attack, she stepped over his question about her eventful weekend.

"I was thinking about a bizarre conversation I had with Pius Friday evening."

It was partly the truth, if not the whole. Her assistant listened attentively as she described the entire meeting and how Pius warned her just before she left. He didn't offer an opinion until she was finished.

"It's all very suspicious, Hermione. Are you really certain you can even trust Pius?"

"He's never lied to me before that I'm aware of. Even when he tried Friday night, he still couldn't do it."

"Just please remember his past. And I'm not just talking about the year he spent under the Imperius Curse. His past is all a bit shady."

"And should we always be judged by our pasts and the other parts about ourselves we are unable to change?"

She knew she struck a chord when Robert narrowed his eyes. If it wasn't fair for Robert to be judged harshly for no other reason than he was bitten by a werewolf ten years earlier, it wasn't fair not to give Pius a second chance. He knew he couldn't escape from his past mistakes, but he was trying to atone for them. That had to mean something. It would've been easier for him to hide away from the public instead of boldly face them every single day.

"I have a theory about this list of dates I found in Fenrir's file."

It seemed easier on them both to just change the subject. Hermione slid the parchment across her desk for Robert to look at. He'd already seen it before but his curious Ravenclaw mind made him examine it again.

"Do you see where it says 's-e-r' and the rest is smudged? What if they were testing a serum?"

"I suppose it's plausible, but what kind?"

"I don't know. I suppose it could really be anything. What makes him different than other werewolves? You'd probably understand that better than I would."

Robert took his time considering his answer carefully. Naturally she had her own theories but she appreciated his insight. Who better to know than a fellow werewolf?

"Fen's lived longer than most. A lot longer. Especially before the invention of the Wolfsbane potion, our life expectancy has always been fairly short. He's always been stronger than any two werewolves put together. There's a reason very few of us have ever tried to challenge him. The ones that did all ended up dead or wishing they were. He's bigger than every other werewolf I've ever known. Most of us are thin, lanky. He's an oddity."

"One summer when I was a small girl I spent a couple of weeks with my aunt and uncle while my parents went on some sort of humanitarian trip with other dentists. My cousin read every comic book he could get his hands on. I was curious why he was so fascinated in what looked like a military comic from America. In it, a small man was given a top-secret serum that made him grow to a massive size. He was stronger than all of the other soldiers too. It all sounded ridiculous to me, but that was before I learned magic was real. Is it possible that a serum like that actually exists?"

Again he considered what he was going to say before he did. It was a personality trait of his she admired. Too often she spoke without thinking, later wishing she hadn't said anything at all.

"I suppose anything is theoretically possible where magic is concerned, but it does seem a bit impractical. And why would anyone with half a brain want to give even more strength to a werewolf?"

She couldn't argue with his point. It would be rather dangerous to try to make a dangerous creature even more dangerous, but the Ministry wasn't known for always making the right decisions. Though not entirely ready to give up on her serum theory, Hermione agreed that wild speculation was getting them no closer to any definitive answers. Announcing she was returning to the Archives, he didn't even try to stop her from going. Years of working by her side taught him when his efforts would be futile.

Three clerks stood at the main counter in the Archives when she entered: one was already helping another official, another shuffled through a tall stack of parchment clearly on a search mission, and the third smiled warmly when she saw Hermione. Before the friendly witch could even ask if she could help, Pius was there to intercept.

"Thank you, Gertrude. I've been expecting Miss Granger. Here's the record you asked me to find." He pushed a scroll into her hand and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I was serious the other night, Hermione. Please heed my warning."

"Thank you, Pius."

She wasn't ready to give up on that part of her mission either, but with all of the eyes in the room suddenly on her, Hermione knew it wasn't the right time. If the information she was looking for really was that dangerous, she needed to be more careful, think her plan through a little more thoroughly than the average Gryffindor. Clutching the scroll tightly in her hand, she stepped out of the Archives and unfortunately quite literally into her ex-boyfriend Iain.

As her face bounced against his chest, Iain's hands shot out to steady her by the arms. They hadn't spoken since that uncomfortable evening in her office right before she gave herself a concussion. It was awkward to be alone with him again, even if it was in the middle of a public corridor. The fact that he didn't immediately remove his hands only exacerbated the feeling. A small part of her might always care about her ex, but that didn't mean she felt comfortable with such a familiar touch. She couldn't logically explain why it felt so disloyal.

"I owe you an apology for how I behaved the other night. It wasn't fair of me to try to guilt you into spending another evening with me."

It was odd to receive an actual apology from the wizard. A Gryffindor of the most frustrating sort at times, Iain Proudfoot rarely admitted when he was in the wrong. In some ways they were too alike to be compatible. She never wanted to admit to having the same issue with her pride and need to be always correct. If he could admit he was wrong, so could she.

"I suppose I could've been a little kinder to you too."

"Let's just put it behind us. Why are you in the Archives? Shouldn't your assistant come here instead? Ever since he became Head Auror, Harry refuses to come here himself. Always sends the one he's most annoyed with. This week it's me."

She had to laugh. The Ministry Archives were very similar to the Hogwarts library in many ways. Harry never enjoyed spending any time there during school. It wasn't a surprise he would avoid any reminder as an adult, especially with a few dozen aurors under his command to go on his behalf.

"I actually like it here, Iain. You know, maybe you could help me."

It was always a risk bringing another person into her secret quest for information, but Iain wasn't just anyone. There had been real love between them once. In another life they might've even been married with a family. If what she was searching for was indeed as dangerous as Pius claimed, Iain wouldn't be one of the people she needed to fear. He would protect her with his life.

"There's an old program I read about in some research I'm doing, but I have never heard of it. Do you know what 'Operation Moonlight' is?"

He scoffed.

"No, and I would definitely remember a name that stupid. Must've been before my time. You should ask an older auror. Kingsley would probably know and he's always had such a soft spot for you."

"Thank you. That's a good idea. I'll try him next."

Before she could move even a step, Iain playfully tugged on the end of her scarf. It was an old habit of his that made Hermione smile. Usually only doing it when he was a little nervous and trying to get her attention, she stopped to see his sheepish grin. For being such a respected auror and over ten years older than his ex-girlfriend, he could be charmingly childish at times. It was hard not to remember why she'd always been so attracted to the delightfully infuriating wizard.

"I'm sure I know the answer already, but is there any way you'd reconsider and go out with me again?"

"No."

There was no reason to give him false hope by saying anything suggesting she might change her mind in the future. Not offended, at least outwardly, by her succinct answer, Iain laughed.

"Is there someone else?"

Hermione didn't know how to answer that. What was going on between Fenrir and her made very little sense. She didn't know where it was going or even if it was going somewhere.

"Maybe."

"Damn."

With no heat behind his disappointed reaction, Iain smiled again. She hoped they would finally be able to move on. It was best for both of them. His smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared. He seemed angry when he tugged on her scarf again, completely removing it from her neck in the process.

"Is your 'maybe' man responsible for those marks?"

She cringed. The scarf had been covering up the Muggle's handprint on her neck. It turned overnight into a dark, ugly purple. Concealment charms, potions, and glamours no longer worked in the Ministry following the incident during the war when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were able to use polyjuice potion to impersonate officials. Once Kingsley was made aware of the details after Voldemort's defeat, he updated security protocols throughout the entire building. They might have concealed their identities for a noble reason, but the next person who tried might not.

"Absolutely not. He wanted to murder the man responsible when he saw them."

"Good. At least he doesn't sound completely useless."

With shaking hands she retied the scarf. Iain wasn't convinced. His Gryffindor stubbornness would make it impossible for her to leave without offering some sort of explanation. Unfortunately, he was also quite talented in detecting lies and knew her better than most. She would have to tell him the truth or at least some version of it.

"If I tell you, you have to promise that you won't tell Harry or anyone else."

"Love, I can't…"

"No, promise me, Iain."

He gave in with much reluctance.

"I was walking home from the shops Saturday evening and a Muggle tried to attack me."

"Why?"

"Why does anyone attack someone? I don't know. Maybe he needed money. I didn't ask. I was able to hit him with a wine bottle and run away. That's it."

"Did you report it?"

"No. I didn't use magic to fight him off so there was no reason to alert the Ministry and I didn't report him to the Muggle authorities because I didn't want one of the Ministry's contacts to see my name and go straight to Kingsley, or worse, Harry."

If Iain wasn't convinced by her story, he didn't show it. She hadn't lied, not really. He just didn't need to know everything.

"Why wouldn't you want Harry to know?"

"Because he would get some idea in his head that I can't defend myself and before I knew it, he'd assign a twenty-four hour auror guard for me."

"I'd happily volunteer."

"Which is another reason why I didn't want anyone to know. I'm fine, Iain. I'm not some helpless child in need of constant protection. I can take care of myself."

"Of course you can."

He sighed. It was an old argument neither of them wanted to have again. No matter what she did or how hard she tried, she could never need him as much as he needed her to need him. He deserved to find someone who would. All Hermione would ever be to him was another disappointment.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise. Just promise me you'll be careful?"

There was no reason not to promise. She had every intention of doing just what he asked. The last complication in her life she needed right then was the Ministry poking its head into her private life. As much as she wanted to curse the Muggle who dared to touch her again, Hermione was relieved she didn't. An investigation could lead to Fenrir being discovered still alive. That would be a disaster neither of them could afford. It he was arrested, she would be responsible. It was best that she remain on her best behavior where Muggles were concerned and just try to avoid them whenever possible.

The two exes parted a few moments later amicably. Iain entered the Archives and Hermione chose to head straight to Kingsley's office. She wanted to see if it was possible to be put on his busy schedule some time that week. If there was a seasoned auror older than Iain who would be familiar with 'Operation Moonlight' she couldn't think of a better option than her old friend. Besides, Iain was right. Kingsley did have a soft spot for Hermione.

"Well, the Minister does have a rather full schedule for the rest of this week. Perhaps I could schedule you for some time after the New Year?"

While Hermione didn't have anything personally against Kingsley's assistant, she was far from being Gemma Farley's biggest fan. The older witch was as ruthless and ambitious as every Slytherin Hermione had ever known. Often she felt as if Gemma did everything in her power to make it nearly impossible to see Kingsley for any reason no matter how important. No doubt it gave her a heady sense of power to restrict and allow access to her boss.

"That's a little too far out in the future, I'm afraid. Are you sure there's..?"

The rest of Hermione's question was cut off by the abrupt opening of Kingsley's office door. Kingsley had his attention focused on a roll of parchment in his hand. When he almost bumped into Hermione, he seemed surprised to find her standing there.

"Hermione, darling, what are you doing here?"

"Trying to get on your impossible calendar for a few minutes some time before next year."

"Nonsense. You don't need an appointment. Please come inside."

It took a great deal of self-control to keep from smirking in Gemma's annoyed face. There were definite perks to being a personal friend of the Minister's. She followed Kingsley inside his office to the comfortable armchairs next to the fireplace that he reserved for less formal visits.

"You're very kind to see me right now, Kingsley. I know you're busy."

"But not so important that I can't remember my friends. What can I do for you?"

"I just have a simple question about something I read about in an old file."

She had to be very careful what she revealed. Though she knew without question she could trust Kingsley with her life, she couldn't trust Fenrir's. It was imperative that she not put him in any unnecessary danger. After all he'd done for her since that Friday night she learned he was still alive, she owed him that much.

"Edgar was cleaning out the Archives and trying to clear up some space so he gave me a number of old file cartons about werewolves who have been dead for decades. Seemed like a waste of time to go through them, but…"

"You were curious?"

His dark eyes twinkled with amusement. Kingsley knew her too well.

"Of course. I hoped I could find something useful and maybe I have, but I've hit a dead-end. There used to be some sort of program for werewolves called 'Operation Moonlight'. I can't find any information about that. Iain said it was before his time. Have you heard of it?"

"'Operation Moonlight'?"

She nodded and he could no longer control his laughter. Frustrated, she feared she'd hit another block. If the Minister for Magic didn't know it, how could she expect to find anything useful about the program she was certain was responsible for ruining Fenrir's life and killing dozens of other innocent werewolves? She hated feeling so helpless.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with it. The name sounds ridiculous. Like something out of…"

"The Auror of Knockturn books. I've heard that already. Can you please explain to me what those are? I feel like there's a gap in my magical education."

"I apologize. It's easy to assume everyone is familiar. The Auror of Knockturn Alley is a series of wonderful books that were written when I was a teenager in the late sixties and early seventies. Extremely popular. A number of aurors decided to become an auror after reading them. We all wanted to be just like the handsome, dashing Auror Pond."

"'Auror Pond'?"

Animated by the topic of discussion, Kingsley moved to the edge of his seat as he continued his explanation of the fictional character beloved by so many young wizards.

"Yes, his name is John Pond, but he always introduces himself as 'Pond, John Pond'. He attracts all of the beautiful witches, has the fastest racing brooms, and always dresses in the finest dress robes. There's no mystery too difficult for him to solve and he's always able to defeat the darkest witches and wizards imaginable. It's a shame he's fictional. Could've really used someone like him against Voldemort."

It was Hermione's turn to laugh. When she had control of herself again, she gave Kingsley a very basic description of the character James Bond. Little by little, his smile disappeared.

"Muggles have taken bits and pieces from the wizarding world and claimed it as theirs."

"I'm sure that's true, but I know James Bond was first introduced in the fifties. My grandfather was a big fan."

"Damn, that's disappointing, but I suppose it makes sense. Rupert Fawley, the author of The Auror of Knockturn Alley series, was at the head of a rather aggressive movement in the early eighties to ban all Muggle literature. Most assumed he was simply a Pureblood supremacist, but if what you're telling me is true, and I've never had a reason to doubt you, it was more a maneuver to cover his arse."

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you."

"Oh, don't worry about it. There's no need. It gives me an excuse to look up this James Bond chap. In my experience, those who resort to the cheap and underhanded practice of copying other writers inevitably do it poorly. If they're not clever enough to come up with their own original ideas, it nearly always shows in their presentation."

Kingsley exhaled a deep sigh. The feeling of guilt Hermione felt was strong. She supposed she'd essentially just told the Minister that Father Christmas wasn't real. A part of his childhood would forever be tarnished. Seizing an opportunity to change the subject, she asked for his permission to search the Archives for anything she could learn about 'Operation Moonlight'.

"Of course." He crossed his office to find a blank sheet of parchment on his desk. "I trust you would never ask for something if you didn't need it."

When he handed her the signed permission she needed to search through all of the files in the Ministry Archives, she felt guilty again. She wanted to tell Kingsley the full truth, but it was too risky. Fenrir Greyback was the werewolf who bit one of his best friends when he was just a small boy. Also, ten years really wasn't that long. Kingsley fought on the opposite side in the war and hadn't had the opportunity to see for himself that Fenrir wasn't the same monster he used to be. She stood by her conviction that it would be best for all concerned if she kept the full truth to herself for the time being. Perhaps, if she was lucky enough in her research, she could find proof to exonerate Fenrir and she could tell the full truth. It was a desperate hope, but one she clung to nonetheless.

"If you need anything else, just come back. I'll make sure Gemma doesn't try that 'maybe in the New Year' stunt with you again."

Hermione felt lighter when she returned to her office. The tiniest flicker of hope appeared within her that she might actually get what she needed to solve the mystery that had consumed her thoughts since she first found Fenrir's file. It was tempting to go straight back to the Archives to shove Kingsley's permission right under Pius' nose. Only the reminder of how everyone stared at her when she was there last kept her from going. She could wait for a less busy time.

"Find what you needed?"

Robert looked up from his report when she walked back inside. She hadn't realized she'd been gone as long as she had.

"Not exactly, but Kingsley's given me permission to search." She held up the scroll with Kingsley's note. "Pius was being a bit difficult."

"What's that?"

He pointed to the scroll she held in her other hand. She'd been too annoyed with Pius' dismissal to unfurl it before she bumped into Iain. Nothing kept her from doing so as Robert watched. It was all very anti-climactic.

"It's just a transcript of one of my old court cases from last year. He was just trying to get rid of me before…"

A smaller piece of parchment slipped out when she unrolled it fully. Written in a small, neat script, she was torn between being entertained and annoyed with its writer.

H, Had a feeling you would be back. I must urge you again to be very careful, but because I can see a little bit of my younger self in you, I know I've only made you even more curious. If it helps, I have it on good authority that the Archives clerk in charge of locking up each night can be a bit forgetful. Do with that information what you will. -P

The grumpy wizard was giving her a chance to check the files in the Archives without anyone knowing. She smiled and handed it over to Robert. He, however, was not amused.

"I don't think you should trust him, Hermione. I really don't."

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only werewolf in her life who held the same opinion. Over dinner that evening, Hermione told Fenrir everything that happened that day in the search for more answers. He didn't like the sound of Pius' note either.

"Thicknesse never did a damn thing his whole life without a reason. You should be very careful."

Hermione didn't have it in her to argue. It had been a long, exhausting day. All she wanted was to slip between her covers for a long, deep sleep. Two nights of rather fitful sleep were taking their toll.

The kitchen was clean again after their meal with just a few well-practiced charms from the cook. Seeing Hermione try and fail to hide her yawns, Fenrir headed for the back door. Even just the thought of him spending another night in the cold made Hermione unbearably sad. She grabbed his arm before he could take a single step outside.

"Please don't. It's freezing out there and I sleep so much better knowing you're in the other room."

His response was a single nod and the closing of the back door. A short time later tucked underneath her heavy blankets, Hermione fell deeply asleep in a matter of moments.