Chapter Fifteen

Running away wasn't an option. At least not a very good one. They'd already been spotted and their abrupt departure would only make Harry suspicious. Briefly, Hermione thought about casting a stinging hex on Fenrir's face like she'd done for Harry during the war, but she couldn't bring herself to do that either. Besides, Harry wasn't an idiot. He would recognize something was wrong.

Fenrir's grip on her hand tightened the closer Harry got to them. If she could read his mind, she was sure she'd learn he had some of the same thoughts she had, likely more so. He'd been in hiding for over ten years. One wrong person recognizing him and he had only Azkaban at best to look forward to and a painful death at worst.

"I was hoping I would see you again before I went home. Robert said I might find you out here."

Hermione's stomach sank. Was Robert intentionally trying to get Fenrir caught? She knew their friendship was complicated, but that just seemed vindictive. He'd already had years he could've announced to the world that the werewolf who bit him wasn't dead like everyone assumed. Though it hurt her to think so, she was glad she hadn't told Robert everything. Would he be able to look past Fenrir murdering an unarmed Muggle? She wasn't sure he could.

"Hello, Harry."

Even in her own ears her voice sounded strained and odd. She hoped Harry wouldn't notice. Fenrir moved closer to her side. Would he fight Harry if it came down to it? Or would he just run?

"I'm Harry Potter."

Neither of them expected Harry to smile and extend his hand to Fenrir for a friendly handshake. Did he not recognize him? With reluctance, Fenrir dropped Hermione's hand to shake Harry's. She didn't know what suddenly came over her, but she made a swift decision she knew would be difficult, if not downright impossible, to walk back from.

"Harry, this is Clark Smith, my friend I'm staying with."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith."

When they dropped hands, Fenrir reached straight away for Hermione's again, a move that did not go unnoticed by Harry. He was always terrible at hiding his pleased grins. If he recognized the werewolf that was once responsible for their capture during the war, he was doing an excellent job at pretending he didn't. Too good of a job. A tiny flicker of hope that they might make it out of the dangerous situation unscathed and unnoticed began to take root inside her chest.

"You seem very familiar, Mr. Smith. Have we met before?"

"Clark, please, and yes, we've met before but it was years ago. You've met thousands of people since the war, I'm sure. You shouldn't be expected to remember them all."

Harry let out a relieved chuckle. The tiny flicker grew. Hermione felt more confident that they would be all right. The gentle squeeze of reassurance from Fenrir's hand helped even more.

"Too right you are, Clark. I try, but it can be damned difficult. Do you work in the Ministry too?"

It was Fenrir's turn to laugh.

"Absolutely not. I'd go mad cooped up in an office all day. I'm a herbologist."

"I understand. I used to spend a lot less time in the office, but now…" Harry sighed. "A herbologist though. That's fascinating and I'm sure you already know Herbology was probably Hermione's least favorite subject after Divination."

Fenrir smiled at Hermione, but didn't tease her outright. It was partially true. There were many other subjects that fascinated her more than Herbology. She only got high marks in it because she was determined to get high marks in everything. After Hogwarts, however, she hadn't even attempted to keep a houseplant alive. She wondered what made Fenrir claim to be a herbologist. Was that what he did before he was bitten? There was still so much about him she didn't know.

"Hermione, are you absolutely sure that you don't need a guard?"

"I won't allow anyone to harm her again."

There was a finality in Fenrir's statement that just dared anyone to contradict him. The flicker of hope within Hermione was fanned into a full flame in her chest. She knew he would fight to the death to keep her safe, if necessary. Harry took a moment to look over Fenrir's massive and impressive physique before nodding his approval.

"I don't doubt you will. Thank you, Clark. I'll sleep much better tonight knowing she's not alone."

The two men shook hands one more time before Harry Disapparated away. With her hand clasped firmly in Fenrir's, he took them to his home. Neither spoke until they were safe inside with the front door shut behind them. Before Hermione could utter a single word, Fenrir's loud, nearly hysterical laughter caught her off-guard. It only took a second or two before she joined in.

"I was sure I was about to be caught and dragged off to Azkaban. Not to mention I was a bit worried what you might think of me if I had to curse your best mate."

Though she didn't even want to think about that possibility, she still laughed.

"I actually considered casting a stinging hex on your face like I did to Harry the night we were caught by Snatchers."

The smile disappeared at once from his face. Why did she have to bring up that night? Fenrir released her hand to remove his heavy cloak. When his back turned towards her as he crossed the room to hang it up, she feared she'd made a terrible mistake. Her desire to set it right morphed into nervous rambling.

"Harry is notoriously unobservant. The number of times in school when he would miss what was right under his nose. I'm sure he's had to improve since he became an auror, but Harry will always be Harry."

She felt her eyes sting with hot tears. Why did she always have to say the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time? The sound of his laughter was so lovely and she thought it was a shame he didn't laugh as often as he could. With his cloak hanging on its customary hook, Fenrir turned back around, all humor gone from his features. In its place was something more serious, something she thought might be shame. Even more nervous than before, she couldn't stop talking.

"And you know, you don't really look like you did during the war. You're much less threatening. I didn't recognize you that night in the alley until you spoke. I'm sure I'll never forget your voice, but even that isn't as rough as it used to be. Or maybe I'm more used to hearing it."

He moved slowly towards her, stopping just a few steps away. When he spoke, his voice was soft, quiet.

"I've never apologized for that night."

"And I'm not asking you to. You're not the same person you used to be."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

Offering her no chance to respond, Fenrir went straight into the kitchen, leaving her standing alone by the front door still dripping from the snow melting on her cloak. As much as she wanted to go to him, she knew he needed his space. She removed her cloak, kicked off her shoes, and climbed into the large armchair next to the fireplace.

A book lay on the table next to her, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't focus enough to understand the words. Giving it up as a lost cause, she set it back down to stare into the flames. The sounds of Fenrir moving around the kitchen as he made dinner usually brought her an odd sense of comfort, but all she felt that night was shame that she brought up the past.

Eventually, she knew that they were going to have to talk about that night. It was too big to sweep under the rug forever, but couldn't she have waited for a better moment? There was no question that that night in Malfoy Manor was the worst night of her entire life. Fenrir played no small part. His was the voice that mingled with Bellatrix's in her worst nightmares. When she allowed her mind to wander to what would've happened to her if Dobby hadn't saved them all, she knew without question that the monster would've hurt her in innumerable ways. The whispered promise of how sweet her flesh would taste weren't all just about biting her. He'd all but confirmed it the only other time they dared to speak of that part of their shared past.

He wasn't the monster he used to be. She knew that with as much certainty that the sun would rise in the east in the morning. Whether it was a physical change in his body or a mental or even a spiritual made no difference. He was not a monster any longer. Even if he didn't seem convinced of that truth, she was. If she had to spend the rest of her life proving it to him until he believed it too, she would. She was determined that if 'Operation Moonlight' held all of the answers, she would uncover them. If it didn't, she would just keep looking.

The loss, or more likely the theft of her list of names wouldn't be the end of her search. They could try to intimidate her, try to kill her even, but Hermione wouldn't stop looking. She was going to find definitive proof that he wasn't a monster. She would make him believe it too.

"It's ready."

Few words were spoken over the kitchen table. One of the more uncomfortable meals dragged on that evening. Hermione hated every moment of it. She wished she knew what she could say to try to make up for what happened. Talking only made it worse so she waited until he was ready to speak first.

To her disappointment, once dinner was over and he had all of the dishes washing themselves, Fenrir announced he was going to take a shower and go to bed early. Nothing more was said. Once again that evening Hermione found herself alone, staring at the fire. She wasn't really sure how long she'd been out there. Part of her was tempted to sleep on the sofa. Only a small part of her though. Even if all they did was lie next to each other without speaking, she knew she would be more comfortable than tossing and turning in the next room all night.

An ache through most of her body made remaining in the chair uncomfortable after an hour and a half. When she stood up, her back felt even worse. She hadn't considered there might be some lingering pain from the Muggle's attack once the last of the shock wore off. Like the poor Muggles who claim they feel fine after an automobile collision only to feel the delayed aches and pains a day later, Hermione realized she was more hurt than she initially thought. The Muggle had been quite heavy and it took a lot out of her to fight back a much stronger opponent.

One of the more pleasant surprises she'd discovered about Fenrir's home was his extra-large bathtub. Big enough for him to bathe comfortably, she knew she would have no trouble soaking her entire body up to her neck. After turning off all the lamps and making sure Crookshanks wasn't still wandering outside, she crept quietly into the bedroom. A large lump in the middle of the bed slowly rising and falling confirmed Fenrir wasn't looking to continue their discussion. She failed to suppress a sigh at her disappointment.

Inside the bathroom with the door closed, she forced herself to take several deep breaths while she waited for the tub to fill. It only sort of helped. She was pleased to find two glass jars sitting on the side of the tub: one filled with epsom salts and the other with a fragrant blend of oils that calmed her senses with a single inhale. Was he thoughtful enough to leave them there for her to find knowing she would need them? She suspected it was no accident. Hadn't he already proven to be both perceptive and kind? No other man in her life had ever been able to win over the affections of her grumpy cat after all. That in itself was something of a miracle.

The hot water felt incredible on her tired body. Whatever the blend of oils was, it turned out to be exactly what she needed. Within moments of slipping underneath the steaming water, relief spread all the way down to her toes. Relaxing at once, she worried she was in danger of actually falling asleep in the deep tub. Ignoring her yawns, she refused to waste the opportunity to soak. She didn't want to ever think about the Muggle again. Soaking away the aches he forced upon her was one way she could start.

Of course she couldn't seem to get her mind off of how she was going to make it all right with Fenrir. Words had power. That was something she'd learned all too well when she was younger. Even innocently bringing up the night she was captured by his gang of Snatchers during the war was too much for him. Was it guilt and shame that forced him to run out of the room? She couldn't even imagine what he must be thinking. Indeed, part of her was even scared of learning.

She waited until the water was lukewarm at best before forcing herself out. The bathtub was molded to allow comfortable lounging underwater. If she had ever been in a more relaxing bathtub, she certainly couldn't remember it. Even the one in the Prefects' bathroom lacked the same comfort. Besides, she'd never much cared for a bathtub big enough for swimming. What was the point?

By the time she was dressed in her nightgown with teeth brushed and stepping back out into the darkened bedroom, she could hardly keep her eyes open. If there was something special in the oil blend to induce sleep, she wouldn't be surprised. At least she didn't think she would have to suffer through a night of her overactive mind keeping her awake. She'd had enough nights like that in recent memory.

When she gently pulled the bedcovers up on her side of the bed, she saw with great disappointment that Fenrir's back was turned towards her. There was no more effective use of sending a message with body language that he didn't want anything to do with her than that. Maybe it would've been better if she tried to sleep on the sofa, but the thought of running away made her unbearably sad. She didn't want him to think that he'd been able to convince her that he wasn't who she thought he was. As carefully as she could, she slid beneath the covers. Out of respect for his desire to be left alone, Hermione laid with her back to his. They could address what needed to be addressed at a better time.

Only just able to settle her head down on the pillow, she nearly jumped when she felt strong arms slide around her from behind. He'd moved so quietly and so swiftly she hadn't even felt the bed shift. Hermione relaxed easily with her back against his firm chest. No words were spoken by either of them. They weren't necessary. She rested her hand on top of his arms. Silently he made it clear that he wasn't pushing her away even after she'd blurted out the wrong words at the worst time. Feeling safe in his embrace, she was asleep in moments.

Cold air on Hermione's back woke her up long before she was ready. She'd been enjoying a rather nonsensical dream filled with bright colors and odd sounds. Every second she was awake more of the details slipped through her grasp. Rolling over to the other side of the bed, she was surprised to find it empty. She knew it wasn't a dream that she'd fallen asleep with Fenrir spooned up behind her. That had been very real. The bed felt cold where he'd been. How much time passed since he got up?

She didn't like waking up alone. It bothered her more than she realized. Was he still upset with her? Willing to do or say whatever it took to get him to forgive her, she threw off the rest of the covers and got out of bed. Ignoring her bare feet and the nightgown that was probably too thin for wandering around a dark house in the midst of a Scottish winter, she began her search for the werewolf.

The fire in the main room of the house was burned down to just embers. It would be hours yet before she needed to get up. There was no sign that he was there. She hadn't had much opportunity to explore his house since she'd been there. Besides not having spent that much time there awake, it felt wrong to push in and invite herself into the closed rooms. Didn't he have a right to privacy? Though he claimed the other rooms were mostly used for storage, she saw light underneath one of the doors in the corridor outside of the kitchen. Knocking softly, she was surprised to hear him call out to enter.

Stepping into the warmth of a greenhouse in the middle of the night wasn't what she was expecting. The door led to a fascinating room made up entirely of windows that was at least the size of the rest of his house. Taking a deep breath, she was blown away by the rich fragrance of fresh soil, water, and countless plants. Every square centimeter of the space seemed to be filled with another pot or raised garden bed. She was amazed. Beautiful plants grew to astonishing heights. Many of the plants she could recognize from her years studying Herbology, but most of them she didn't know at all.

Following the sound of his voice, Hermione moved down a narrow pathway to find Fenrir standing still shirtless over a workbench filled with pots and seedlings. She'd caught him in the middle of repotting a plant with vibrant red flowers she couldn't identify. The aroma wafting off of the specimen was heady.

"You weren't lying when you told Harry you were a herbologist, were you?"

He smiled, but kept his attention focused on the task at hand until he was finished.

"Had to find something to do to earn an honest galleon after the war. Now you know my secret."

"Secret?"

"Where I go during the day."

"Ahh, yes, your 'nowhere exciting'."

The pride that he took in his work was evident. Once the red flowering plant was in its new pot, Fenrir offered her a tour. It didn't take Hermione long to realize she was wrong about the size of his greenhouse. Not the size of his house, it was at least twice the size.

"I prefer working outside in the garden, but I have to make this work during the winter. If you think this is impressive, wait until Spring. It's all underneath a blanket of snow or I'd take you out there and show you now."

"I'd love to see it, but I don't think either of us are properly dressed to go outside."

He smirked, making her feel suddenly embarrassed. Desperately she hoped he wouldn't always have that effect on her. It was getting very old. Maybe when they finally stopped dancing around what was happening between them he would stop teasing and she would stop blushing.

"What are these plants over here?"

Trying to forget that she didn't cover up her nightgown and he hadn't even bothered to hide the fact he liked it, Hermione moved closer to a random grouping of plants in hopes they could change the subject. His chuckles proved she wasn't as subtle as she hoped, but he followed her to explain the different types of plants. When she didn't recognize one of the names from her years studying Herbology, he patiently explained their uses.

"I'm able to grow most of the ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion myself. That's been very helpful. The ingredients can be rather expensive. I'm able to share with others who would never be able to afford it on their own."

They'd yet to discuss the fact that he had to undergo painful transformations each month. She only knew he had access to Wolfsbane some of the time because he mentioned it to Robert when she was eavesdropping on them from the top of her stairs. It was a relief to know that he had something that could ease the symptoms. When Robert spoke to her about the small group of werewolves that passed the Full Moon together in a remote location in Scotland, she'd never dreamed at the time that it would've been Fenrir Greyback's land. She certainly never would've dreamed that he was also responsible for them being able to have Wolfsbane potion.

"That's very generous of you."

"In some ways, but also selfish. I provide the ingredients and a woman I know brews the potion."

"Oh? A woman?"

She hoped that she sounded more like she was teasing him than she was legitimately curious. Based on his laugh, she didn't think she was successful. When he spoke, she knew she wasn't.

"It's nothing more than a business transaction, I assure you. Chiara hates me. Hates me, but needs me. I don't hate her, but I need her too."

"Why does she hate you?"

"Because I bit her when she was a child."

Fenrir sighed. There was a wealth of information in that single sound. The way he stared at his largest aconite plant and wouldn't meet Hermione's eyes told her all she needed to know. His regrets must have been many, must have been suffocating. She couldn't begin to fully understand. When the air grew thick again with an awkward silence, he cleared his throat and tried to lighten the mood.

"I'm rubbish at Potions. Never been patient enough for it."

"But you're a wonderful cook."

"Thank you, but it's not the same thing. I've never had to wait longer than a couple of hours to eat whatever it was that I was cooking. It's been hard when I was hungry, but nothing like some potions. Waiting three days just to stir a cauldron once and then wait another three days? I'd go mad."

His was a common enough complaint when it came to the subtle science and exact art of potion brewing. Certainly she'd felt the same way a time or two when she'd been brewing a particularly difficult potion. It had been maddening in her second year when she brewed the polyjuice potion in the girls' lavatory not to be too impatient. While she had nothing but respect for professional potioneers, she would never find herself in their company.

"You are patient though. Growing such a large and fabulous garden takes time."

"Yes, you're right, but it's a different kind of patience. I can be patient enough to plant a seed and wait for weeks for it to grow. Staring at a cauldron for that long? No."

"You're very surprising. This is all very impressive. I never expected this when you told Harry you were a herbologist."

"I didn't lie to him. Not once. Not really. That's something else I no longer have patience for: liars. I've had my belly full of them over the years."

She could understand. It was infuriating to always feel like the truth was being willfully kept from her. Long before she ever heard a whisper about 'Operation Moonlight', she'd felt there were those in her life who weren't always honest. Knowing he would be truthful, she asked him a question to soothe her curiosity.

"Why are you out here in the middle of the night? When I woke up… I was worried."

"I couldn't sleep."

"It's not because I was snoring, was it?"

He laughed, but Hermione was only half-joking.

"No, your snoring didn't bother me. It's actually adorable."

She rolled her eyes in a dramatic attempt to hide her embarrassment.

"Now it's likely that it won't always be adorable and eventually will annoy me, but I promise to sleep on the sofa before I hold a pillow over your face."

"I suppose that's all a person can really ask for."

As much as she enjoyed seeing the more playful side of the man, she wished he would answer her question. He might not lie, but avoiding questions could be just as infuriating. Perhaps realizing she was stubborn enough to wait for the true answer, Fenrir blew out a deep exhale.

"No one has called me Clark since my mum died. It was… strange."

Hermione struggled to relate. It was such a unique situation that she wasn't sure there were many, if any, other people in the entire world who could understand what he meant through their own experiences. Fenrir grew more serious.

"I've stayed hidden for ten years. Only a handful of people know I'm alive. When your mate didn't recognize me and called me Clark, I allowed myself to fantasize for just a moment that maybe I could be Clark Smith and be free to live my life like I was just a normal bloke again. But it's just a foolish dream."

"Does it have to be?"

"The things I've done… there's no excuse. I don't deserve another chance. If I was really a good man, I'd turn myself into the Ministry right now and face my punishment. There's a cell in Azkaban with my name on it."

"Not your name. Fenrir Greyback's maybe, but not yours."

He smiled. The sadness behind it was enough to break her heart.

"Hezekiah Clark Smith exists only on parchment now. I am Fenrir Greyback. I can't be anything else ever again."

Spitting the words out as if they were laced with poison, he couldn't look at her anymore. Focusing once more on one of the plants next to him, he reached into the wet soil to pull out a brave weed that dared to grow in his greenhouse. Hermione felt her heart aching for the pain and regret he felt. Even not understanding it all, she didn't want him to feel like he was alone. For whatever reason, fate brought them together. Everything in their lives changed the night he followed her down a dark London street and saved her from robbery and worse.

She touched his forearm to stop him from picking more weeds. Getting his attention was paramount. When he turned his watery, embarrassed blue eyes to look into hers, she wanted to make him forget what had his mind so troubled. Leaning up on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips against his before he could find an excuse to walk away. She'd been fantasizing about kissing him for weeks, but had been too afraid to try. There had still been so much about him that frightened her before. Seeing him so vulnerable, she no longer felt that way.

Though he was startled, he didn't pull away. It took him a couple of heartbeats to kiss her back. Gentle and really quite sweet, Hermione smiled against his mouth. He didn't want to push her, didn't want to escalate it past what she was comfortable with. Their first kiss was nothing like she expected and yet, it was indescribably better. Assuming that he would be all hard edges and mad passion, feeling his soft lips tenderly caress hers was a surprise. They had nothing but time to learn the feel and shape of the other's mouth.

Hermione was the one to seek to deepen the kiss, yet another surprise. Playfully sliding her tongue along his bottom lip, his groan gave her the access to his mouth she desired. She knew she could lose herself in him if allowed. Every second that passed she felt more and more intoxicated. Wanting to feel more of him, she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, loving the texture of his hair running through her fingers. She'd wanted to touch him longer than she should admit. Fenrir's hand cupped her cheek.

A lifetime passed in those few minutes. When they had to break apart to catch their breath, Hermione knew they'd never be able to go back to what they were before she kissed him. His hand trembled against her cheek. Did she really make him that nervous? She couldn't imagine what he could possibly have to fear. Offering him an encouraging smile, she was pleased to see him return it. As he moved his head closer to resume, he dropped his hand off her cheek. A breath away from her lips, he stopped. With his eyes focused on the side of her face he'd been touching, he dropped his shoulders and sighed.

She didn't understand what was wrong. What made him stop? Picking up a white towel from a nearby table, he gently wiped her face. When he was finished, he held up the towel for her to see the brown spots of mud.

"I soil everything good I touch."

Fenrir rotated in place, knocking her hands off his neck in the process. Everything about his posture told her not to follow him as he headed further back into the greenhouse. After suggesting she go back to bed, he promised her he would join her soon. Hermione agreed to leave, but she didn't believe he would be back. Not that night at any rate. Maybe not even ever again.