Chapter Fourteen
"Pack a bag. You and your wee beastie are staying at my house for a few days."
Though she could hear the words coming out of Fenrir's mouth, Hermione couldn't make any sense of them. She couldn't make sense of anything at all. Frozen in place sitting up in her bed, she stared at the corpse on the other side of her bedroom. Was it all just one horrible nightmare or was it actually happening? She didn't know the difference between reality and fantasy.
"Hermione…"
Fenrir placed a gentle hand on her cheek to get her attention. How was it possible that the same hand that could be so soft and tender on her face was capable of the brutality necessary to kill a man so easily? She pried her gaze away from the bloody scene to look up into his concerned blue eyes. The tears she was on the verge of shedding distorted her view of her protector. As she allowed herself to consider for the first time what very well could've happened if he hadn't been in the spare bedroom, a choking sob tore the very breath from her lungs. Those same arms that had been instruments of painful death mere moments before cradled her body against his chest.
"Shh, it's all right. You're okay."
The words he whispered into her hair weren't important. Just the softness of his tone helped Hermione regain her breath and her senses. With the initial shock of the wretched ordeal over, she could feel the danger still present in the air. They weren't safe there anymore. Rarely had her instincts been wrong. Reluctantly she removed herself from Fenrir's embrace and placed her shaky legs on the floor.
"Pack a bag. We need to leave."
"What about..?"
She pointed to the dead Muggle, unsure how to even put her question into words. There didn't seem to be a need. Fenrir understood.
"We'll worry about that later."
Repeating his order about packing for a third time, Fenrir crossed the corridor to the room he'd been sleeping in. As she fought the urge to scream at him not to leave her alone, she noticed for the first time how little he'd been wearing. What a terribly bizarre fact to dwell on in the moment. Shaking her head to try to dislodge any further thoughts that could be reviewed and dissected later when she no longer stood at the scene of a crime, Hermione moved towards her wardrobe.
A pool of blood underneath the Muggle's body continued to spread across her carpet. Nearly stepping in it with her bare feet, she had to stop to throw up. It had been years since she was so close to death she could smell it and never in her own home. That was where she was supposed to be safe, to be at peace. One horrible experience could change all that in a matter of minutes.
Not wanting Fenrir to come back in the room to see her in another moment of weakness, Hermione took a deep breath and tried to ignore the metallic stench of hot, fresh blood. Using only her wand, she summoned the beaded bag she used throughout the last year of the war. Gathering dust in the top of a cupboard, she hadn't had need of it for years. Ignoring the onslaught of memories that all but attacked her when she touched the bag again, she reached randomly in her wardrobe for several garments she hoped would make sense in the light of day.
There was a clear path to her private bathroom unimpeded by carnage. Rinsing her mouth, she tried and failed to get the taste of fear off her tongue. A quick brush of her teeth helped but she worried she would feel and taste that fear for a long time to come. Even being in another room from the body didn't make her feel any calmer. She wanted to get as far away from the Muggle as possible. Waving her wand around the bathroom, she summoned just about everything she thought she might need into her beaded bag.
Fenrir was the one to remind her she needed shoes. Once her bag was filled, she'd run out of her bathroom, through her bedroom without looking in the dark corner where he would be, and all the way down the stairs in her bare feet. Grateful for magic, she didn't even need to go back upstairs. Still clad in only her nightgown, a fact that might've made her blush around the werewolf on a normal day, she slid her feet into shoes that had come flying through the air and wrapped her heavy cloak around her shivering body.
There was no mad rush out the front door when she was finally ready as Hermione expected there to be. Fully clothed again and carrying a cranky, confused Crookshanks under his arm, Fenrir stood frozen staring at the open door. No sign of damage could be seen from inside. It appeared as if the Muggle simply turned the doorknob and pushed open an unlocked door. It was one more piece of a frustrating puzzle that didn't make any sense. Every single night Fenrir slept inside her house he wouldn't go to bed until he checked her security wards. There was no way anyone, let alone a magic-less Muggle, could enter her home.
"How could he just walk inside? You checked the wards, right?"
"Of course I did. Twice."
"Do you think he was actually a wizard and we just didn't realize?"
"I don't see how that's possible. We recognize our own kind and I never felt any kind of magic from him."
Neither did Hermione, but it didn't make sense otherwise. Nothing made logical sense and it was threatening to drive her round the bend. Fenrir raised his wand and pointed it at the front door.
"Damn! The wards are gone."
"What do you mean 'gone'?"
"Someone removed them. We can't stay here. He wasn't working alone. He had help from a witch or a wizard."
Tightening his grip on Crookshanks with one arm, Fenrir then used his other to reach for Hermione's hand. The very moment their fingers laced together, he Disapparated them out of her house. When the uncomfortable squeezing ended, she took another deep breath. The cold, fresh air calmed her down considerably. Most of the tension and fear she felt standing inside her unsecured house melted away.
Fenrir didn't immediately drop her hand, another factor in the speedy calming she experienced. They stood in front of a snow covered house nestled in the middle of a large grove of thick trees. A heavy blanket of snow also covered the entire ground as far as she could see in the darkness. It smelled like she was back at Hogwarts during Christmas. She closed her eyes, imagining for just a moment that she was at the castle again without any cares beyond exams.
When she realized she must've looked ridiculous or half-insane, she opened her eyes to find Fenrir smiling. The stress from just a couple of minutes earlier was forgotten for the present. Crookshanks wiggled out of his grip to fall down into the snow. Immediately he began a thorough inspection of his new surroundings.
"He's been missing Scotland. I have too, honestly."
Despite the beauty of the area, the winter cold couldn't be ignored. Her host led her towards the front door. He tapped it with his wand and it swung open. Inside, the house was small, but immaculate. Everything seemed to have its place and its purpose. It reminded her strongly of one of those holiday cabins in the mountains she'd seen in magazines where everyone lounged around great big stone fireplaces in flannel pajamas and drank hot cocoa. Whatever she imagined the man's home to be, it wasn't that.
"Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"
Lamps were lit all over the main room of the tidy home. A spell crafted a roaring fire that instantly began to warm them both. Fenrir dropped her hand only so he could stand in front of her to get a better look. They'd been moving so quickly since he pulled the Muggle off of her that he didn't take the time to check her wounds.
"I think so. Just shaken. My throat hurts."
That was an understatement. Every time she swallowed she fought back a wince of pain. The bruise he'd given her days earlier hadn't finished healing before the bastard gave her another one much worse. She wouldn't be able to hide it with cleverly tied scarves. A healing balm would need to be found. The tips of his fingers gently brushed the marks on her neck. She gasped, unsure if it was because of the pain or something else entirely. His eyes moved from her neck up to her lips. Lasting only a second or two, he stepped quickly back and averted his eyes.
"I have something that will help with the pain."
He cleared his throat and disappeared into a room she assumed was his bedroom. The air in the house suddenly felt thick and heavy, but not oppressive and frightening as it had been in her home. Still dangerous, however, in a much more exciting and less evident way.
When he returned he seemed more in control of himself. Very gently he used two fingers to spread a healing salve on her throat. Focusing solely on the task at hand, she bit back a smile at the obvious manner in which he refused to look up from her neck. The salve began to work the moment it touched her skin.
"Thank you. That's much better."
"Did he touch you anywhere else?"
Fenrir's jaw clenched as he asked the uncomfortable question. There was fury in his blue eyes that would've frightened her if she didn't know he would never hurt her again. That anger wasn't for her. If possible, she felt certain he would return to her house, bring the Muggle back from the dead, and kill him again in an even more brutal fashion. Maybe it should've scared her or disgusted her. Was it a flaw in her personality that it made her smile?
"No, I think I woke up just as climbed on top of me."
His nostrils flared. Feeling oddly bold, Hermione raised her palm to lay it softly on the side of his face. He leaned his cheek into the touch, visibly calming.
"I'm all right. There wasn't time for him to hurt me because of you. You saved me. I don't know how I can ever thank you enough."
"He should never have been able to get close enough to touch you in the first place. I didn't even hear him. I was asleep. The only reason I even knew something was wrong was because I could smell your fear. If I hadn't been a werewolf… then you would probably be dead and I wouldn't have even known."
"Then is it wrong of me to selfishly be thankful that you're a werewolf?"
The scowl on his face was instantly replaced with a genuine smile. His smirk was nice, but she preferred this expression. It felt more natural, less practiced. Almost as if he hadn't had much opportunity to use it in a long time, he seemed more relaxed and less intimidating.
"Not sure anyone has ever been thankful for that before."
"Well, I am. It's not surprising you could smell it. I've never been so scared in my entire life. There was something seriously wrong with him. In his eyes. I thought he was on drugs. They were glazed over and unfocused. It was terrifying."
"His eyes? That sounds like he was under an Imperius Curse, but who would be foolish enough to cast it on a Muggle?"
She didn't know how to answer that. Even without the Trace on adult wizards and witches, the Ministry would be alerted by any Dark curse used on a Muggle. At least she thought that was the case. There had been warnings about it after the war ended. Someone in the Improper Use of Magic office discovered a more effective method of tracing unfriendly spells against Muggles. Many were angry when it was announced, believing that their rights were somehow being infringed upon. Hermione didn't think much about it at the time because she certainly never had any plans on using Dark magic, let alone against a Muggle.
"I don't…"
A yawn overtook her before she could finish her thought. She'd already been tired when she went to bed. Recovering from the shock and her adrenaline returning to normal levels only reminded her that she should still be asleep. Fenrir led her into the room she'd assumed earlier was his bedroom.
"I'm sorry that I only have the one bed. I rarely have visitors and an extra one is never needed. The others rooms are just used for storage of rubbish I should really get rid of."
The large bed seemed to dominate the entire space. Whether that was true or only in her mind wasn't clear. If there was only one bed…
"I'll sleep on the sofa. It's really quite comfortable."
"No, please don't."
Maybe she was making a huge mistake asking him to stay, but Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever be able to fall asleep alone again. Not after waking up to the feel of the Muggle straddling her hips and crushing her throat. Even a few steps away was too far. For the briefest of heartbeats, he actually seemed nervous. All signs were soon replaced with the amused smirk he'd been so easily able to hide behind.
"Do you have a preferred side?"
The question made him snort out a chuckle. She wasn't sure what was so odd about what she asked. Iain claimed he couldn't sleep if he wasn't on the right side of the bed. Ron always wanted the left. Each of the other men she'd allowed into her bed seemed to have their own favorite side.
"I'm not sure that I do."
"You must not have had to share a bed very often."
"No, I can honestly say that it's been a long time since…"
Fenrir cleared his throat and excused himself to retrieve Crookshanks from the snow before he froze to death. Wishing at first that she hadn't said anything, Hermione discovered as she took her shoes off and laid her cloak across a comfortable looking armchair she was glad she did. Inviting her to his home, into his bed, even if it was entirely innocent, wasn't something that he did for just anyone. The thought made her smile.
Her eyes were too heavy to keep open much longer. Slipping between the sheets, she sighed at the feel of the soft fabric and the unexpected warmth. She'd thought that it being empty for so many days as he slept in her spare room would've made it ice cold. When she could string together a coherent question, she would have to ask him what warming spells he used that lasted so long. The one part about winter she loathed was climbing into freezing sheets.
At the sound of the front door closing again and the nearly inaudible muttering she'd gotten so used to hearing as he checked the wards, she relaxed. There was no fear in that house, in that bed. When she felt the mattress dip down next to her and the blankets shuffle, she'd never felt so safe. Her last thought she could remember was she hoped very much that she wouldn't snore.
A heavy weight across Hermione's stomach was the first sensation she noticed when she woke up a few hours later. Remembering the Muggle on top of her and the feel of his weight, she was afraid to open her eyes. What if she hadn't been saved after all? Was it all just one horrific dream that was coming true? She tried to remain as still as possible on her back, hoping that if she didn't move and alert whatever it was that was on top of her that she was awake that she would be left alone. It was a childish, irrational hope.
When the weight remained and nothing else happened, she dared to open her eyes for the tiniest peek. Realizing what the weight was made her relax for half a second before she nearly jumped completely out of the bed. She forced herself to take a deep breath and calm her rapidly beating heart. All leaping to her feet would do was cause unnecessary anxiety for both of them and then subsequent humiliation for her.
It was only an arm. A very well-toned, very muscular arm, but an arm nonetheless. At some point in his sleep, Fenrir rolled over onto his stomach, snuggled closer to her side of the bed, and laid his arm on her waist. Scared to move lest she wake him up, she turned her head very slowly to look at him as he slept. She thought it a bit creepy to stare, but he'd never given her the opportunity for a thorough examination of his features without teasing her about it.
There was no denying he was handsome. When she knew him in the past as the monster he'd been, she'd thought privately that he'd likely once been attractive. It was difficult to see it past her fear and his snarls. He was softer now, if that was even the right word to describe the change in him that was both physical and not. Despite ending a cretin's life only hours before using just his hands and unnatural strength, she thought she could almost see who he'd been before he was bitten and transformed into a monster. He claimed he'd once been a sensitive soul like his father. There was no question he'd been loved dearly as a child by his parents. Indeed the way he'd spoken about his mother, he'd been loved for the rest of her life. How could a pampered, privileged mummy's boy become such a murderous brute?
A lock of his thick hair had fallen over his eyes. It was difficult to resist the urge to gently brush it back with her fingers, but she managed to keep her hands to herself. Just because she shared his bed and he'd thrown an unconsciously possessive arm over her waist didn't give her the right to be so familiar. There were enough complications to deal with without inviting even more.
"See something you like?"
He didn't even need to open his eyes to tell she was staring. Whether it was because of his heightened senses or because she wasn't as careful as she thought wasn't obvious. When she didn't immediately respond, a grin formed on his lips and he opened his eyes. Both embarrassed and absolutely not about to admit that she had, Hermione rolled her eyes and playfully pushed his arm off. She waited until both of her feet were firmly on the floor before she turned around to say something cheeky back.
The words caught in her throat. He didn't even try to hide that he was admiring the way her nightgown clung to her curves, slight as they might be. Remembering that it hadn't been long at all since he held her against his bare chest, her cheeks burned. Would she always be so nervous when it came to him? She wasn't a child any longer. Why did he make her feel so naïve and inexperienced? A loud chiming of the hour from a clock in the next room broke the spell of the moment to give her back some of her self-assuredness.
"It's getting late. I should get ready for work."
"Maybe you should stay here today to recover from last night."
"No, I need to go back, figure out some way to deal with the dead Muggle in my house."
Fenrir sat up in bed. The heavy blankets fell off him, revealing the broad, muscular chest in the morning light. Hermione almost forgot to breathe. It was one thing to know he wore very little when it was dark and she'd been in real fear for her life. Seeing him during the day when she was perfectly safe made her want to both run away and crawl back in bed next to him. She was in an altogether different sort of danger than she was the night before.
"I'll make us some breakfast if you want to shower."
Taking pity on her, Fenrir pointed to his bathroom to give her an excuse to escape. She thought she heard him chuckle again when she closed the bathroom door. What was he thinking? Both scared and curious to know, Hermione was thankful he couldn't read her mind. It would be too embarrassing. Of course there was always the possibility he could just see her thoughts written across her face.
By the time she was showered, dressed, and ready for the day, Hermione felt more in control, more like herself. That was until she found her way to his kitchen. Wearing only the bottom half of his pajamas low on his hips, Fenrir stood at the cooker finishing up breakfast. Suddenly nervous again, Hermione couldn't stop the question that fell off her shocked tongue.
"Aren't you concerned about burning yourself cooking without a shirt on?"
That same devilish smirk that made her head go all fuzzy appeared on his face when he turned to look at her over his shoulder.
"I have thick skin. I'm not worried."
Unsure what to say in response, she sat at the table and grabbed the morning's Daily Prophet for something to keep her hands busy. When he spoke again, she was glad to have the newspaper to hide her blushing face behind.
"I didn't want to get dressed before I took a shower and since you were using it, I had to wait. Seemed a bit inappropriate to invite myself into the shower with you no matter how much water we could've conserved."
There were moments when she missed all the days he was the strong, silent type watching her from the shadows. The better they got to know each other, the more comfortable he became. While it was certainly amusing, she didn't care for how she felt like an embarrassed teenaged girl all over again. He set a plate in front of her. All she could manage was a quiet 'thank you'. She didn't trust herself not to say something else she would regret.
"How does your neck feel?"
Not wishing to be rude to her gracious host, Hermione folded the newspaper and summoned some of her Gryffindor courage. What did she have to fear? He'd already proven he was willing to kill for her. She could have a mature, sensible conversation with him without openly gawping at his chest.
"Much better, thank you. It doesn't hurt at all."
"Good. Maybe when your skin stops being flushed we can see if the marks are gone."
Naturally his calling attention to her reddened skin only made it worse. He was a man fond of torture. She supposed she should be grateful it wasn't the painful kind. Neither of them said anything for the rest of the meal. At least he knew how to be merciful.
Before she walked out of the front door to face whatever consequences might stem from the previous evening's events, Hermione thanked Fenrir again for saving her life and giving her a safe place to stay. He promised she would be welcome for as long as she wished. Most open invitations were hollow, but she knew his wasn't.
"I'll be outside the Ministry when you're ready to come back. It might take you a few trips to learn how to get here on your own without getting splinched."
Returning to the Ministry felt so normal after all that happened. Part of Hermione was scared to return. The Muggle was dead, but what if Fenrir was right that he'd been working with someone with magic? It made perfect sense whether she wanted to admit it yet to herself or not. How else could she explain the wards on her house being completely removed? That wasn't something that could be done accidentally. No, there had to be some intent behind it.
Robert was already seated and working when she arrived in their office. She hadn't realized it was as late as it was. If she was honest, she wished she's listened to Fenrir's suggestion that she stay at his home that day to recover. It wasn't a bad idea. Already she was exhausted and the day had hardly begun. How was she supposed to make it?
"Late night?"
The moment she yawned the first time, her assistant lifted his head and asked her a question she didn't know how to answer. Hermione trusted Robert to a point. What would he do if he found out how close she'd gotten to nearly being killed? For the time being, she chose not to tell him about the Muggle returning.
"I didn't sleep very well last night. Thought about just staying in bed all day."
"It would've been a good day to do it. There's not much going on. Certainly nothing exciting."
Hermione almost laughed, but was relieved she was able to keep the nervous urge under control. Perhaps his life wasn't exciting. She, however, had a dead Muggle in her bedroom she didn't know what to do with. Needing a distraction for the immediate future, she unlocked the top drawer of her desk to review the list of names she'd written down the day before. A sudden stroke of genius might strike her and she'd know what to do next.
Except she couldn't find the list. It was gone. Not wanting to panic unnecessarily, Hermione checked the other drawers in her desk. It was always possible she'd put it in a different drawer. When her search still left her empty-handed, she calmly shuffled through a stack of reports she'd left on top of the desk.
"Missing something?"
It was pointless to lie to Robert when he was perceptive enough to guess. Hermione sighed.
"I had a list of former Ministry officials who might've been involved in 'Operation Moonlight' in my desk. It's no longer there. Have you seen it?"
If he was annoyed or offended she would ask him if he rifled through her desk, Robert didn't show it. He claimed he'd never seen the list. As far as Hermione was aware, he had no reason to lie, but the whole concern left her bothered. Why would someone remove the list from her desk? Was there something or someone on it she wasn't supposed to know? Who would steal it? She couldn't remember any of the names except for Lyall Lupin.
"Could you have inadvertently taken it home with you last night? Slipped it in your pocket?"
"Anything is possible, I suppose."
There was a time when Hermione would've told Robert everything that had happened to her the day before. She wasn't sure what was different. Maybe the thought of there actually being someone out there who wanted her dead made her less reluctant to trust. Someone removed the security wards on her house. The more time passed, the more convinced she was that the Muggle was indeed under the Imperius Curse. Who would have that much to gain from hurting her? She had to be very careful what she revealed to anyone.
"I'm going upstairs for a little while."
Robert didn't even look up from the report he was working on. Just promised her that he would make certain the dozens of people who were no doubt going to drop by while she was gone were taken care of. It was an old joke they never got tired of telling. There were entire weeks that passed by that no one bothered to come to their office. Never had they had more than two or three visitors in a single day.
Grateful for the long walk down the corridor and then up the stairs to Level Nine where she could catch the lift, Hermione still wasn't certain what she was going to do next. The Muggle couldn't just stay in her bedroom. Eventually he would have to be removed. The sooner, the better she imagined. If Margaret wandered into her house to find him and alerted the Muggle authorities, it would be terrible. How could she explain that a woman living alone with no discernible upper body strength was able to slam a man's head against a wall so hard that he died? No one would believe she acted alone and she couldn't afford to have Fenrir suspected.
There was only one person she knew with any amount of power who wouldn't question her when she needed help. Sure, he would certainly ask her a number of questions, but he wouldn't question her. She was standing in front of Harry's private office long before she was ready to face her oldest friend.
"This is a surprise. What brings you to my Level?"
Surrounded by piles of paperwork, Harry was glad to see anyone who would be a large enough distraction to keep him from doing the less exciting parts of his job as Head of the Auror Office. Some traits would never change. He waved her inside, only narrowing his green eyes slightly when she closed the door and discreetly coated the entire room in silencing spells. Hardly the first time they had to employ such tactics, it had been long enough living in peace that his instincts were rankled.
"What's wrong, Hermione?"
She waited until she was seated in the chair across from his desk before she answered. The extra few seconds were necessary to figure out how she was going to tell him the truth. When she played the options over in her head, she determined blunt was best.
"Harry, I have something of a delicate problem. There's a dead Muggle in my bedroom and I don't know what to do with him."
To his credit, Harry didn't immediately lose his calm. Years as an auror after the end of the war allowed him to hone certain skills he needed to do an effective job. Flying off the handle and rushing into danger might've worked when he was younger, but as a professional with the lives of others in his charge, he had to be more careful. Hotheadedness and impatience could get him, or worse, others killed. Hermione knew him long enough, however, to know when he was trying to hide his horror. What could he be thinking?
"Hermione… why is there a dead Muggle in your bedroom?"
"He broke into my house last night when I was sleeping. He was… Harry, he was on top of me and I panicked. I didn't know what else to do. I grabbed my wand and blasted him off of me, but I used too much force. I didn't mean to make the spell that powerful. His head slammed into the wall and he… just died. There wasn't anything I could've done to save him."
Harry's jaw was clenched and he was taking measured breaths. She admired that he hadn't completely gone mad yet, but knew that he was circling around an eventual outburst. Both of his hands were also clenched into fists. He jumped up from his chair without a word and yanked open the door.
"Proudfoot, come here!"
She should've known it wasn't going to be simple. Closing her eyes and exhaling, Hermione waited for her ex-boyfriend to enter the office with about as much gleeful anticipation as one might wait for an invasive medical procedure in a highly private part of the body.
Iain didn't seem surprised to see her sitting in the chair. No doubt he'd noticed her enter the department the second she did. Somehow he always had a knack of knowing when she was nearby. He sat down in the chair next to Hermione's at his boss' command. No one spoke again until Harry had the office locked and silenced once more.
"We have a problem, Proudfoot. A Muggle broke into Hermione's house last night and attacked her. She used a spell to knock him off her and unfortunately, he's now dead and still lying on her bedroom floor."
Her ex-boyfriend's eyes widened at the announcement. Ignoring Harry, he spoke directly to Hermione.
"Was it the same Muggle that attacked you last weekend?"
"What? You've been attacked before? Hermione, why am I just hearing about this?"
She cringed at the high, worried pitch of Harry's voice.
"Because I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd overreact and try to put a guard on me."
"That's exactly what I'm going to do."
"No, you're not. It's over. I'm fine. I took care of it. He won't be bothering me again."
There was more confidence in her voice than she actually felt. If she had to be even more stern to keep Harry from infringing on her personal life with the ridiculous need to appoint a guard, she would do it. There was too much at stake. She wasn't just worried about herself any longer.
"I just don't want it to be a big scandal."
"I don't know how it's possible to keep it quiet, but I'll see what we can do."
"I can take care of it, sir. I know a chief inspector who is a squib. He's very discreet. Based on what I've heard about this damn Muggle already, he'll be pleased to have one less arsehole to worry about."
Once Harry brought Iain into the secret, there was nothing Hermione could do save for obliviate him to keep him out. Liking the sound of his plan, Harry told him he could start there. He would meet him shortly at Hermione's house to help take care of it personally. Before he left the office, Iain turned once more to address her directly. His attempt at a small smile wasn't successful, but still appreciated.
"I'm glad he's dead too. You did exactly what you should've."
When he left, Hermione wasn't sure whether she should feel relieved that she had help or worried that she had the wrong kind. Maybe she should've waited to hear Fenrir's plan, assuming he had one, before she told anyone else what happened in her bedroom. Harry she could trust with her life. Iain was another story. Once, a long time ago, she could've said the same about him without question. A lot was different now.
"Did you stay in the house all night with the body, Hermione?"
"No, of course not."
"Would you like to stay with Ginny, me, and the children for a few days?"
"No, thank you, Harry. That's very generous but I'm staying with a dear friend. I promise you I'm very safe now."
They parted ways at his office door, but not before he made sure to hug her tightly. As a man deep in the trenches of law enforcement, he understood all too well what could've happened to her if she hadn't taken the proper steps to protect herself. She had to stop herself from smiling when she wondered if he would think the same if he knew the real reason she wasn't hurt was because Fenrir Greyback was alive and her odd protector.
Several searches of her desk throughout the rest of the day yielded no list of names. It was frustrating to know someone had been in her desk. Was that the first time? The worry and fear that any second someone would run into her office to attack her face-to-face or the concern that she wouldn't be able to hide the death of a Muggle in her own home made for an exhausting day. Long before her usual time to go home, she said 'goodnight' to Robert and made her escape.
Only one step outside of the Ministry of Magic and she could sense Fenrir's presence nearby. Just a few more steps and she could see where he was standing next to a wall. The simple fact that the closer she got to him, the calmer and less afraid she became was significant. Needing his help to get back to his house, she didn't even try to pretend like she didn't know he was there as she usually did.
"You're early. Thought I'd have to shiver at least another hour."
"I'm tired. Can we go home?"
Fenrir smiled and reached for her hand.
"Is this your friend, Hermione?"
All of the worry and fear came rushing back at the sound of Harry's voice. She knew it was only going to be a matter of time before Fenrir was seen and everyone knew he was still alive.