Chapter Eighteen
She wanted to scream at him for being such an idiot and hurting her feelings, but her tongue was otherwise occupied. Later, when she had time to come back to her senses and think logically, Hermione would let the infuriating man know that he couldn't just kiss her breath away every time she was upset with him. It wasn't fair.
Fenrir kicked the door to the spare bedroom hard enough that it splintered and cracked. A smile formed against her lips. He removed his mouth long enough to apologize, promise to fix it later, and kiss her again. Part of her wanted to be angry with him for barging into her house and just assuming that she would be receptive to his heated kiss. What did he expect the next time they had an argument or a failure to communicate? That he could be forgiven for running away if he returned to kiss her until she forgot what she was angry about in the first place? Successful communication was key for any relationship. When they reached a stopping point to whatever it was that was happening and her brain stopped being so fuzzy, she would give him a piece of her mind.
Inside the spare bedroom the atmosphere changed entirely. Where Fenrir had been nothing but brash bravado and smooth confidence in the kitchen and the entire heated journey up the stairs, once he carefully set Hermione down on her feet, he appeared nervous. She felt his hands tremble again. What was it about her that made him so anxious? When he touched her face when they shared their first kiss he'd trembled. It wasn't the only time. How could she instill such an uncertainty in a man who had literally killed people with his bare hands? What was there to fear?
Hermione laced her fingers through each of his. With their palms touching, she rose up on her tiptoes to gently kiss his lips. His breathing was heavy. She thought about the day she fantasized about whether he would be the sort to be rough and passionate or gentle and reverent. The former seemed unlikely, at least for their first time together. Until he moved past whatever it was about her that made him so unsure of himself, she couldn't see him being anything but gentle. That was fine with her. Mad passion had its time and place. There was always tomorrow.
As soon as she thought he was a little calmer, she released his hands to reach up to undo the clasp of his cloak. He must have been broiling in the heavy garment. She took the opportunity to slide her hands up his broad chest to knock the cloak off his shoulders. Countless times since he'd appeared back in her life in such a dramatic manner, she wanted to know what it felt like to touch him. The times he'd comforted her when she was upset didn't count. Her brain couldn't focus on what she was feeling.
"Why are you so nervous?"
It hadn't been her intention to ask the obvious question. Part of her was afraid she might insult the man in a very delicate moment. No man liked to be questioned or made to feel inadequate when they were standing next to a bed with a woman slowly removing his clothing piece by piece. Once the cloak was on the floor, she went straight to work on the buttons on his shirt. With each button undone, she noticed his breathing increase ever so slightly. But the question was out there. There was no way to take it back. To her relief, he didn't push her away or get angry. He only smiled.
"I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
"It's kind of hard not to. Do I scare you?"
His laugh made her smile. Her question was meant as a teasing joke and she was glad to see him take it that way.
"I know it must seem ridiculous. The big, bad, terrifying werewolf afraid of a little witch less than half his size, but yes, you do scare me."
"Good. That puts us on an even playing field."
As much as she wanted to know what it was exactly about her that frightened him so much, she was nervous to ask. What if the communication they needed to work on ruined the moment? She didn't want him to rush away again just because of something she said. The very fact that he could admit she scared him, even if she thought he was only half-serious, was a big enough step. They could deal with the rest later when they were too tired to do anything else but talk.
Fenrir's shirt fell to the floor on top of his cloak. It was more than a little tempting to reach for his trousers to complete the disrobing of the handsome man, but Hermione stopped herself. It bothered her that even though his lips continued to seek hers out and he was brave enough to kiss up and down her neck, he hadn't even tried to take any of her clothes off. Was it just a matter of respect for her personal boundaries or could he not trust his hands to function the way he wanted to complete such a delicate task?
Some of her Gryffindor boldness welled up inside. Stepping backwards so she was out of reach of his long arms, Hermione had an idea that would either blow up in her face or help Fenrir to get past some of his nerves. Recalling the night that she stood in her bathroom window while he watched, she recreated the moment. He didn't dare to blink while she slowly peeled each layer of clothing off of her body. Even from the other side of the narrow room she could hear his breathing. The power she felt from the act was intoxicating. To know she could elicit such a response from a man like him was nothing small. The last scrap she wore fell to the floor and she stepped out of the pile of clothes, entirely exposed to his view.
"Does this remind you of anything?"
The devilish grin she'd come to love appeared on his face. Some of his usual confidence returned. He took a step in her direction.
"You can call me the king of self-control. The night you stood in front of your window knowing I was watching? I almost climbed up the side of the house and broke your window."
"Maybe you should've."
Her mind didn't have time to imagine what might have happened if he'd done just that. The second her bold statement tripped off her tongue, he was there to recapture her mouth with his. No longer appearing to be nervous, or at least adept at concealing it, his hands began a thorough exploration of her bare skin. It was her turn to be nervous, but in that excited, anticipatory way it had been ages since she last felt. A long time had passed between lovers, something that she was almost embarrassed to admit. Needing something to keep her mind off of thoughts like that, she knew just what to do.
Fenrir groaned at the feel of her hands brushing against the front of his tightening trousers. She couldn't resist smiling against his mouth, pleased with knowing she was responsible for the guttural sound. Though her hands shook every bit as much as his had only minutes earlier, somehow she was able to strip him of the last of his clothes too. He kicked his heavy dragonhide boots off and stepped out of his trousers. Now both naked as the day they were born, he picked her up again just as he had downstairs. He was more assured in his movements.
Gently, he laid her down on top of the bed. His eyes moved up and down her body from the top of her head to her toes. The light might have been low in the room, but he didn't need it to see what he wanted. For the first time since she'd seen him again so many years after believing he was dead, Hermione thought she might finally understand what it felt like to be his prey. The way he stared at her, devouring her with his eyes alone might've frightened her once upon a time. Not any longer. She feared she might go mad if he didn't hurry up and crawl on the bed with her.
"You are so fucking beautiful."
"So are you."
She meant it too. Moonlight streamed in through the window to illuminate his bare chest. Scars crisscrossed nearly every bit of his flesh. Each spoke of a dangerous history, a life where more wanted him dead than alive. It was the wrong time to think about what she learned that morning from Lyall Lupin. As much as he deserved to know everything she did, it could be saved for later. She didn't want to even think about it. Didn't they deserve a few hours of happiness at least before they had to confront the horrors of the past?
Everything she expected to happen when that night finally came was wrong. When she had the uncomfortable conversation with Robert about the inaccuracies of trashy werewolf romance novels, she lied when she told him she'd never read one. She'd actually read quite a few, but was too embarrassed to admit so. Never her preferred choice of reading material, many of them were passed around the Gryffindor girls' dormitory. They provided the young Hermione quite an education. She was pleased to discover they were wrong. Reality was so much better.
There was no ravishing, no scratching, no biting. More than just reverent, Fenrir worshipped her body. With his lips, his hands, and his tongue he left absolutely nothing untouched or ignored. She smiled at the growing confidence he exuded as time wore slowly on. If she still scared him, he did a fine job of hiding it. Every touch was tender, soft. And if there was a primal animal inside him that only wanted to rut and fight like the ridiculous novels claimed, she couldn't see it. All she saw and felt was a warm, affectionate man who made her feel like she was the most desirable woman in existence.
When he'd managed to inflame every single nerve she possessed and pull the first screaming climax with only his tongue and his fingers, Hermione worried she would go mad soon if the pace wasn't hastened. She'd had enough of the patience and waiting she could handle. Placing her arms around the man's neck, she kissed him with every ounce of passion she possessed. His firm, heavy body covered hers. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she lightly kicked his bare arse with one of her feet. If she had to resort to colorful and unladylike language to get what she wanted, she would.
Thankfully, he wasn't an idiot. Smiling against her mouth, he slid easily into her very receptive and primed body. Their moans intermingled when they clicked into the place both of them had wanted to be for weeks. Some of his nervousness returned. She thought it was adorable. Clearly they would need lots and lots of practice in the days ahead to keep that from happening again. She didn't understand why she had the effect on him she did, but found it endearing.
It all felt so right with him. Would that always be the case? She pushed away the less-than-positive thoughts that threatened to overtake her. There would be plenty of time for that later. All she wanted to do was exist and feel for the immediate future. The real world would be waiting for them when they came up for air. Assuming, of course, that they ever wanted to come back up. She could see the benefits of ignoring the rest of the world forever.
Far from perfect, their first time was more sweet than earth-shattering. Certainly not lacking in passion, it was over before either of them were ready. Embarrassed that he found his release before she was able to come again, he used the tips he'd learned earlier to push her over the edge again with just his hand. As they lay there trying to catch their breath, he pulled her against his chest to use him as her pillow. Neither of them said a word at first, fearful of ruining the moment. Finally feeling the need to say something to lament his second-rate performance, Fenrir cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry it wasn't longer."
She kissed his chest in an effort to hide her smile. It was still the wrong time to make him think she was laughing at him. Truthfully, she had no complaints. Movies and novels always wanted to claim that it was possible for two people to have mind-blowing, incredible sex the first time, but that hadn't been her experience ever. And anyone she ever heard brag about it, she thought a liar.
"There's nothing to be sorry about. If I have a say in it, this isn't going to be the only time we do this. In fact, I think we should repeat this many, many more times."
His soft chuckle made her smile again. Brushing his lips against the top of her head, he seemed to agree.
"Maybe you don't think I need to apologize for tonight, but I do need to apologize for last night."
Some of the magic was gone once he brought up the serious subject. A little disappointed that he would, Hermione sighed. At least they were finally talking about it even if the timing could be better.
"Why did you run away last night? When I woke up and you still weren't there, I felt… I felt… well, to be perfectly honest, I felt undesirable and unwanted."
Fenrir exhaled a deep, embarrassed breath. Tightening his arm around her back, he pulled her closer.
"To be clear, you are the furthest from being undesirable as it is possible to be. And if I ever made you feel unwanted, I'm very sorry. It's not true, you know. I've wanted you from the very first moment I saw you again. The first time I saw you come out of your house after Rob gave me your address I knew I was in trouble."
His confession made her smile and her cheeks burn. How could she possibly feel shy by that after the deliciously naughty things he'd done to her with his tongue? It didn't make any sense.
"That's why I kept watching you long after I knew you weren't really a threat. It was selfish and probably a little creepy."
She chuckled, her earlier shyness forgotten. While she couldn't really disagree with the description of his actions, she wasn't going to say so.
"If we're talking about being selfish now, then selfishly I'm glad you kept following me. If you hadn't stopped that Muggle in the street that night, I'd hate to think what might've happened."
"And I shouldn't admit this because it's wrong, but selfishly I'm glad you weren't paying attention because if he didn't try to rob you, I don't know if I'd ever have the courage to reveal myself to you. I might still be hiding in the shadows without you even knowing I was alive."
The thought of continuing her life as she had before that Friday night when it all changed made Hermione sad. What would she have missed out on without him in her life? She didn't really want to imagine. Wanting to lighten the mood in hopes of keeping them from getting too serious, she tried to make a joke.
"You would've frozen to death out there all alone. My neighbor would've had quite the shock the next morning when he went out in his garden."
"I wouldn't have frozen to death. That's what cloaks and warming charms are for. I'd be more afraid of dying of a heart attack or a stress-induced brain aneurysm from being angry and jealous of all of the other men I had to watch you with."
Hermione snorted. The very idea that she had scores of men coming in and out of her house was insane. That had never been the case her entire life. Her eyes had adjusted enough in the darkness that she could easily see his cheeky grin. She thought she could get used to seeing the more playful side of him.
"That hardly seems likely. You'd have to wait a long time to see that."
"I don't know. I watched you with that auror. Didn't like it at all."
Fenrir ran his fingertips over her lips.
"I wanted to be the one feeling your lips."
"I only kissed him to make you jealous because I knew you were watching."
"Well, it worked. It drove me mad. I thought about starting a fire in your house if you'd taken him inside. Just a little one. Not big enough to do much damage but enough to ruin the mood."
Somehow she doubted he was only joking. Still laughing at the very idea, she turned her head up towards his to kiss him again. Their kiss was slow, unhurried. Unlike the other times before that night when she kissed him, he didn't immediately push her away and run. Knowing it was probably the wrong time to bring it up if they wanted to continue having an enjoyable evening, Hermione couldn't stop herself from asking the question that never stopped bothering her since the night before.
"Why did you leave last night and not come back?"
"I thought it would be obvious. You deserve better than me."
"That's not true, but assuming that it was, if you felt that way, why did you come back here, kiss me, and carry me up the stairs?"
"Because I missed you and realized how dumb I was being pushing you away. And…"
He grabbed her hand to show her how hard he already was again. If he had plans to try to make up for what he thought was an inadequate first time, they were well on their way.
"I can't control myself around you."
It was heady knowing the power she had over such a powerful man. He could break her with his hands if he desired. Kissing him again, she used his distraction as an opportunity to throw her leg over him. He moaned in her mouth at the friction the swift movement created. Liking the feeling of control, she couldn't resist teasing him by gently rubbing herself against him. By the fourth or fifth time she tried, his strong hands grabbed her hips to hold them in place.
They lasted much longer the second time. Neither of them was fully in control or perhaps they both were. It didn't matter. The end result was the same. Panting, sweating, and unable to think coherent thoughts, her screams of his name mingled with his deep guttural groan that could've almost been a growl. The convulsions inside her body brought him over the edge with her. Exhausted and thoroughly satisfied, she collapsed on top of his slick chest, unable to say a word.
"It seems that we just get better with practice."
She laughed.
"I'll say."
His deep chuckles made her smile. After all she'd learned about his past that morning, she was glad to be able to offer him some happiness. It was a shame that she couldn't even allow herself to enjoy the aftermath of a pleasurable experience without her mind wandering to dark places. A shudder went through her entire body. She was relieved when Fenrir assumed it was simply because she was cold. At least for the moment she wouldn't have to answer any uncomfortable questions about her day.
He had every right to know what she uncovered and she had no intention of keeping it from him. Though he claimed that there were parts of his memories in the past that were spotty, she wondered if he knew more than he let on. Until she could review the file that Lyall assured her was still hidden in the Ministry Archives, she would wait. There was no need to tell him something that she didn't have proof of.
It took some careful maneuvering, but Fenrir was able to get them both underneath the bedcovers without either of them needing to get off the bed. Between the sheets and with the heavy blanket on top, Hermione felt her exhaustion. Even without the exertions she was sadly unused to, she had been tired. Sleeping alone in her house the night before had been difficult. As she settled into the crook of his arm and closed her eyes, she didn't think it would take much effort to fall asleep.
"How did you know I didn't want to go into my bedroom? Why did you carry me in here?"
Fenrir kissed the top of her head before answering.
"When you left my house, I followed you here. I stayed out in the back garden. Didn't think you would want to see me again so soon after I… anyway, I saw the light in this bedroom. I didn't think you would want to go back in there after…"
"I don't. It makes me nervous. I'm not sure I'll ever feel comfortable in there again. When I bought this house, I loved everything about it. I used to feel safe here, but it hasn't felt the same since it was broken into that first time."
"You should come back to my house and stay with me for a few weeks. Reevaluate how you feel about it after some time away. Maybe you'll love it again or maybe you'll want to sell it and stay in Scotland permanently."
She laughed, definitely not hating the idea.
"You know, the night I was first attacked, I was walking down the street wishing I was back in Scotland. I've missed winters and especially Christmas in Scotland."
"Then maybe it was all meant to be. Christmas will be here soon. I'd love to spend it with you and your wee beastie in my home."
"All right. We'll go back in the morning. I don't think I could Apparate without splinching myself right now."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Despite it being a terribly uncomfortable bed, neither of them tossed and turned that night.
Getting around the next morning took longer than it usually did. Unable to keep their hands off of each other, it was nearly mid-morning before either of them even thought about leaving the spare bedroom. Only their grumbling stomachs and Crookshanks' impatient and angry mewling for his late breakfast outside the splintered door gave them the adequate motivation to come up for air. Hermione thought she could get used to beginning every day that way.
After breakfast, Fenrir was able to persuade her to finally take the first step back into her bedroom. The bathroom at the bottom of the stairs was serviceable enough for one to shower at a time, but too small for both of them. Promises that he wouldn't leave her alone in the room for a second coupled with the reminder that her bathroom possessed a much larger shower helped him make his case.
She held her breath as she pushed open the door. It was ridiculous to assume that any remnant of the violence that happened that night would still be in there. With Harry, Iain, and Kingsley all working with the squib chief inspector, all traces had been removed. She was glad to see everything had been cleaned and repaired. The smell of the room was even fresh. She thought she had Iain to thank for that. Cursed with an incredibly sensitive nose, he often cast air freshening charms in his office and flat. It was a skill she was thankful for in the past when she'd get distracted trying to cook them dinner and burn the food. Only for her ex-boyfriend had she even bothered to try to learn to cook. Never again, she'd decided.
Fenrir didn't release her hand until they were safely on the other side of the bedroom and inside the bathroom. Grateful for his calming presence, she kissed him. The fact that he didn't push her away or make some ridiculous excuse to run away hadn't yet stopped making her smile.
Nothing other than languid kisses and soft touches happened in the shower. Both of them were too tired to do anything else. There would be plenty of time later, she reminded him when he made an inappropriate suggestion. Even a werewolf with extra supernatural strength thanks to the damned 'Operation Moonlight' top-secret serum had a limit.
Clean and fully dressed once more in the bedroom, Hermione found it easier to stand in the room. She pushed aside the memories of waking up with the Muggle's face hovering over hers. Time would make the memory weaker. Recognizing that she didn't need to linger in the space long and no doubt feeling his own heavy regret and anger, Fenrir quickly found a suitcase in the top of her wardrobe. A simple undetectable extension charm later, he summoned every piece of clothing she owned to zoom across the room, fold itself neatly in the air, and land in a perfect pile within.
"I thought I was just staying for a few weeks? Do I need all of my clothes?"
She teased him as she picked up a light summer dress that she wouldn't even be able to think about wearing for months. The broad grin on his face proved he wasn't ashamed.
"Yes, all of them. Well, almost all of them."
Left in the open top drawer was the black lingerie Iain had given her years ago. She would never forget how mortified she'd been the night her home was vandalized when Fenrir had to step over the garment. Laughing, she asked him why he didn't want her to pack it.
"It's not exactly something that you wear to lounge around the house, is it? No, its sole purpose for existing is just so a bloke with a stiffy can rip it off you. How many reparos have you had to cast on it?"
Her giggles made him scowl.
"That's what I thought."
Still laughing, she levitated the lingerie in the air. An incendio charm erased it from existence.
"Better?"
"Much."
There was little reason to linger once she was packed. Fenrir made certain whatever edible food remained in her house, of which there was very little, was shoved in a bag he shrunk to fit in his pocket. The plan was for her to not need to return to her house for a long time. While it was certainly possible she would remember how much she once loved her house and felt safe there, it seemed unlikely. In the back of her mind she was already making plans to sell it.
Crookshanks was relieved to be back in Scotland. The very moment Fenrir set his paws back down on the snowy ground outside his house, the elderly half-kneazle took off looking for his next adventure. Likely he would remain angry with Hermione for taking him back to London for days, but for that moment at least, he was too busy to keep scowling at her or meowing his displeasure.
Once inside Fenrir kissed her again before making his excuses to go to his greenhouse. Their activities put him behind schedule. A few of his plants required immediate attention. Hermione was selfishly grateful that he didn't ask her to join him so he could show her what he was working on. Harry wasn't wrong when he told Fenrir Herbology was one of her least favorite subjects in school. Besides, if he really needed to work she would only be a distraction.
Alone in his bedroom with her suitcase, Hermione wasn't sure she should put all of her clothes in his wardrobe. It seemed inappropriate or impertinent to encroach on his private space like that. Even taking into consideration what they got up to that morning and the night before, it didn't feel right. She didn't want him to regret inviting her to stay when he couldn't get away from her clothes taking over. Remembering he said he used the other rooms for storage, she left his bedroom to see if there was enough space for her suitcase in the room she knew was just right by the massive fireplace in the main room.
Expecting to find a pile of dusty boxes or mismatched furniture in varying stages of brokenness, Hermione laughed when she pushed the door open. Until that moment there'd been no reason to enter the room. Fenrir hadn't told her the truth the first night she stayed with him. Not only did he have a second bed, he had an empty spare bedroom in pristine shape just waiting to be used by guests. Hearing movement behind her, Hermione turned to catch the master of the house walking back inside from the greenhouse.
"Thought you said you only had the one bed?"
For half a second he seemed embarrassed to be caught, but almost as soon as his cheeks flushed pink, he smiled.
"I wanted you to sleep in my bed that night with me, but I didn't want to scare you, so I lied."
"I see. Were you hoping more than just sleeping would happen?"
He shrugged his shoulders, the grin still spread across his handsome face.
"I've read enough books where the characters have to share a bed. I knew what I was doing."
After setting her suitcase down on the floor next to the wardrobe, Hermione kissed the cheeky liar. She didn't mind that sort of deception. It was harmless and in the end, it worked out beautifully for both of them. She was glad he didn't tell her about his spare bedroom. It was fine enough for her to store her clothes, but his bed was exactly where she wanted to be.
One of the more pleasant Sundays in Hermione's recent memory passed. She tried to enjoy every second she could because she couldn't ignore the worry that they were existing in the calm before the storm. Everything would change when she found the hidden 'Operation Moonlight' file. She would show Fenrir everything at that point. It wasn't fair to keep the truth about his life and his past from him. He deserved to know it all. She only hoped what they learned would help him to recognize he was no longer the monster they made him be.
Over dinner as the end of the nearly perfect day crept closer and closer, she felt more nervous about what the next day would bring. He could tell something was bothering her after they finished eating. They sat snuggled up together on the sofa. Her mind kept wandering to Lyall's confession and the fear that new revelations would bring new dangers. Knowing that the bastards involved in 'Operation Moonlight' used the Imperius Curse to control their subjects made her worry that the Muggle's attack on her in her bedroom was deviously planned. Would there be more attacks? She couldn't imagine she would meet no resistance to discovering more secrets.
"Are you starting to regret last night and today?"
There was such raw vulnerability in his voice it almost broke Hermione's heart. Was her quiet reflection and worry about what was to come giving that impression? She hoped not. Believing strongly that actions spoke louder than words, she kissed him again. Some of his worry was satisfied, but she could tell he wasn't going to drop the subject until she told him what was on her mind. He'd already proven to be persistent and patient. Until she had proof backing up Lyall's confession, she needed to keep the conversation on something else. Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate that she had a lot of other concerns wasn't important. She had choices.
"Robert told me the other day about how he and Chiara Lobosca found you in the Forbidden Forest after the final battle…"
Fenrir's entire body seemed to tense up at the mention of his past. Was there something he didn't want her to know? He told her when she first learned he was the one who bit Robert that it was up to him to tell her what he wanted about their past connections. Was he regretting saying so? Or was it more to do with the mysterious werewolf Chiara as she suspected?
"I see… and I imagine you have some questions."
"Of course I do. It all sounds rather odd. They brought you back home to nurse you back to health just so they could kill you? I don't understand that."
"And I sincerely hope you're never in a position where you do understand it."
"But you do?"
Fenrir was silent for several seconds after she asked her question. Worried she'd said too much, she wished she'd just distracted him again by getting naked. So far it worked to get his mind off of more serious matters for the short-term.
"Yes, I do. There's a certain satisfaction you feel when you kill someone and they know you're responsible. It's intoxicating. No one ever feared Clark Smith a day in his boring, pampered life. Fenrir Greyback? You know better than most how terrifying he can be. It's easy to desire that feeling. Did you kill anyone during the war?"
"I don't think so. Maybe. It was all so chaotic at Hogwarts."
"You'd know if you had. Every kill settles on your soul. Even monsters have to learn to live with regret. If you can somehow convince yourself you like it, it's easier."
Listening to a known killer, whether reformed or not, give such insight into their thought process was chilling. She didn't understand his purpose, but she couldn't deny that she was fascinated and frightened all at once. Not sure where to even begin to respond, she waited for him to keep speaking.
"Chiara believed that by waiting until I was healthy again and knew what she was doing, she could regain some of the power I took from her when she was a child. I'm grateful to Rob for stopping her because though I deserve to be killed by her, it wouldn't actually bring her any peace. If anything, she would spend the rest of her life regretting it. She's not a killer."
"Is that the only reason she hates you? Because you were the werewolf that bit her when she a child?"
"No, but it's reason enough."
She understood when a person was intentionally holding back. Fenrir clenched his jaw. Just when it appeared he wouldn't say anything else, he sighed. Regret shone on his face.
"I was cruel to Chiara years ago when she left Hogwarts."
"How?"
"She's a very beautiful woman. Always has been. I'm sure you will meet her soon. During the week of the full moon, she has to deliver the Wolfsbane potion every day. She left a dose in my greenhouse this morning. That's the real reason I rushed in there when we got home. I didn't want to forget."
Pushing aside the revelation that the woman who Robert believed would still kill Fenrir given the opportunity was able to drop by his house whenever she wished and likely even possessed a key, Hermione would focus on the logistics of the brewing and taking of the Wolfsbane potion later. What she was more interested to know was how Fenrir's cruelty had anything to do with the fact that Ms. Lobosca was beautiful. Some of her insecurities would never go away no matter how old she grew.
"It's not unusual for a werewolf to have a physical attraction to the werewolf that bit them. Sometimes those physical feelings manifest into something more. Even though she hated me, and still does, Chiara sought me out when she was a young woman. Maybe she wanted to kill me then too. Probably did. She's a proper Hufflepuff, but she can hold a grudge."
"But that's not what happened when she met you as an adult, was it?"
"No. The attraction was mutual. I took advantage of it. Exploited her for pleasure. She fancied herself in love with me. Maybe she was. I don't know. There's a lot I still don't remember. Sometimes I think the last ten years of my life is the only time my memory hasn't been fuzzy."
Based on what she learned from Lyall, Hermione suspected that was true. If he'd been kept under the influence of curses and potions even decades after the official 'Operation Moonlight' was supposedly ended, that would explain a great deal about his missing time. Her stomach churned as she considered again what she might find when she opened the hidden file.
"I taught her the lesson that not every person should be trusted with your heart, that many are just out there to get what they want until they have no further use of you. I think my behavior only exacerbated the hatred that was still lingering there under the surface even when we were… you know."
Though it seemed a rather extreme reason to want to kill a man, she suspected that Fenrir was correct about her hatred never quite going away. There was still so much she didn't know about werewolves. Never before had she heard that there was often a physical attraction and even potentially an odd sort of love felt for the one that bit the werewolf in the first place. She'd heard the same happening between vampires, never werewolves. Of course, it was a sad truth that in their world vampires were afforded more dignity and respect. They were seen as dangerous, but never animals.
"'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'. Personally, I'm glad she didn't kill you."
Her attempt at a joke helped lighten the mood. At the very least they were able to pivot away to a less serious topic. Before much longer, one of them made the suggestion they call it an early night. Sleep, of course, was only an afterthought.