Chapter Nineteen

The loud clang of an alarm clock piercing through the silence of a dark room was possibly the worst sound Hermione had ever heard. A hateful reminder that the weekend was over and she needed to get out of the toasty warm bed, she was tempted to blast the damn thing to pieces, pull the blankets over her head, and never get out. Her Sunday had been so pleasant and her Monday promised to be stressful, possibly even dangerous. She wasn't looking forward to it. Fenrir's lips kissing her bare shoulder also wasn't helping. At least that made her laugh.

"Again? You can't be serious, Fenrir. I'm too tired. You might have the supernatural stamina of a werewolf but I'm afraid I don't."

"I'm pleased you think so highly of me first thing in the morning after the night we had, but no, I don't think I have the energy either. I just thought this would be a much more pleasant way to wake up."

Unable to argue with his logic, she turned over to kiss him good morning. Only a few seconds passed before Fenrir jumped out of bed, quite literally tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her laughing into the bathroom. Recognizing that they both needed to get ready for the day, he suggested they save time doing it together. A surprise to no one, conserving water in the shower led to them realizing that their claims they were too tired weren't entirely true.

Hermione's cheeks burned as she recalled one of the more enjoyable bathing experiences of her life when she walked down the corridor on Level Ten towards her office. Not caring that she was running later than usual, she took her time savoring each delicious, naughty detail of the previous thirty-six hours. How could she hope to get through the day when all she wanted to do was run back to Scotland at once? Her lips quirked into a smile when she imagined surprising Fenrir in his greenhouse. Would he care very much about getting more mud on her skin if she snuck up behind him completely naked when he was pruning or repotting?

"No need to ask how your weekend went. You and Fen moved past whatever weird relationship thing you had going on straight to bed, didn't you?"

Robert sounded bored when she entered the office with his observation. Horrified that he could tell, she was almost afraid to ask. Her curiosity wasn't however.

"Can you… smell him on me? Is that how you know?"

The moment the words came out of her mouth, Robert was disgusted. He flinched.

"No, I can tell by your dopey grin."

That helped her feel better somewhat. At least she was thankful that she wouldn't have to give him much of an explanation. He already knew the relationship she had with the other werewolf was complicated to say the least. Hoping that they could move past discussion of her weekend activities, she sat down in her chair to sort through the never-ending pile of parchment that always seemed to magically appear on her desk.

"But a word to the wise, if you're ever concerned that someone like me with a stronger sense of smell than the average human possesses can tell you've been… doing that… take a shower when you're done."

"Well, it happened in the shower, so…"

"Please stop."

Robert held up his hand. The annoyed expression on his face was enough to make Hermione laugh, but at the last second she thought better of it. He didn't seem to be in the mood. What was his problem? He'd never been exactly comfortable with the idea that she and Fenrir even spoke to each other let alone…

"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."

Fenrir's words echoed through her head. He'd been talking about Chiara Lobosca at the time, but maybe she wasn't the only werewolf he'd bitten who felt the same way. Was that it? Was that why Robert was so resistant to the idea of her relationship with Fenrir? When the subject of them came up in the past, he'd been annoyed, but that morning he seemed almost hostile. Was he jealous?

Sexuality wasn't always black and white. She'd learned that lesson before when it came to her own relationships. Robert might have preferred women, but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of being in love with a man. Of course, none of his relationships with women ever seemed to work out. Many appeared to fail in a spectacular fashion. Maybe there was a very big reason why that he didn't want to admit to anyone, including himself.

She felt horrible. It was no wonder her assistant had been acting strangely around her ever since he discovered she was all but living with Fenrir. Jealousy wasn't the most logical of emotions. Had she been flaunting her odd relationship in front of Robert? She hoped not, but worried she may have inadvertently.

"There's only one werewolf I've ever been interested in and unfortunately, the feelings haven't been reciprocated."

Perhaps the reason why Robert wasn't able to continue through helping Chiara with her plan to murder Fenrir when he was back to his senses was because during his time of nursing him back to health he'd fallen in love with him. It made sense. She didn't understand all that happened between werewolves, a fact that bothered her greatly, but she could understand that emotions were high in a situation like the one they were in when Fenrir was near death. Nursing a person back from the brink was an intimate act. If feelings got complicated, it was to be expected. She would have to learn to be more careful around Robert. It wasn't kind of her to throw what he wanted in his face now that she was fortunate enough to possess it.

Anxious, and yet still quite nervous, to request the hidden file that Lyall Lupin told her about days earlier, Hermione announced she was returning to the Archives. It gave her the perfect opportunity to leave the awkward office for a short time. Hopefully, by the time she was able to return with the documents in hand, it wouldn't be so uncomfortable between the two of them. In the future, she knew she would just need to be more sensitive. As someone who knew all too well the sting of unrequited love, she never wanted to be responsible for hurting Robert.

Only the clerks were in the Ministry Archives when she arrived. Still quite early in the day, especially for a Monday, Hermione hoped that she would be able get in there and out quickly. The less attention she could draw to herself, the better. While she was still a little reluctant to believe that she could be in danger, she couldn't deny that what Lyall told her was horrifying. If there really existed proof that such a program as 'Operation Moonlight' was real, those involved would want it suppressed or destroyed.

Unsurprisingly, the first person she saw when she entered the Archives was Pius. How he always managed to be right there in front when she dropped by was a frustrating mystery. Not prepared to deal with his sour mood, dire warnings, and just general bad attitude that had only begun since she first started her quest for information about 'Operation Moonlight', she chose to walk up to the clerk Gertrude instead. He didn't even bother to hide the annoyed expression on his face.

Retrieving the file for the goblin rebellion of 1612 took the friendly witch only a couple of minutes. Long enough, however, for Hermione to feel the stare from the former Minister. He, thankfully, didn't approach her for conversation, but his silent looks were all the communication he really needed to convey his repeated wish that he wanted her to leave well enough alone.

Hermione was glad to be back in her office several minutes later. The earlier awkwardness with her assistant no longer mattered as much. If Lyall had been telling the truth, she would be only moments away from uncovering a treasure trove of evidence that the Ministry of Magic would need to explain. Worried that the file was impossibly thin to have what she wanted it to have inside, she laid it on top of her desk and just stared at it.

"What is it, Hermione? You look sick."

There was nothing but concern in Robert's voice. Fearing she was on the verge of losing her nerve, she opened the file and immediately uttered the password she'd been given. At once, a black hole appeared in the file. Recognizing the magic as the same she'd used on her beaded bag, she reached inside. Carton after carton came out of the hole. When their desks were covered and there was no space to put another carton, she could still feel more inside.

"What is all of this?"

"The hidden files from 'Operation Moonlight'. I have a contact who told me where it was really hidden in the Archives. This should be everything we need to uncover the mystery of what really went on."

Neither of them even knew where to begin. It was all very overwhelming. Each carton was labeled carefully with dates and subjects, but even that didn't make the decision easy. She wanted to dive right into whatever was there about Fenrir. Only the reminder in the back of her mind that he wasn't the only one affected kept her from doing so. She needed to start at the very beginning.

No other work was completed in that office that day other than reading through the files. It was sickening, disgusting work that had to be done. Many times they both had to stop, take a deep breath, and will themselves not to get sick. Robert excused himself to step out in the corridor after a particularly upsetting read after lunch. She couldn't blame him. It all made her want to throw up.

'Operation Moonlight' began as an effort to control the werewolf population. Not exactly a cure, the hope was they could figure out how to keep werewolves from being able to infect others. If a werewolf could bite but not pass on their affliction, society at large would be better off than when they started. Eventually through such efforts they could hope to wipe out lycanthropy throughout the world. With no new infections to replenish their ranks, werewolves would die out at some point. The hope was there was a potion or a spell or a combination of the two that could bring that blissful future into being.

It didn't take long before the officials working on the top-secret program realized they could take their research into an entirely different direction. What if they could control the werewolves? They would have no need to eradicate their existence because they wouldn't be a danger to them. The more she read about the early purposes of the program, the more she wished she could go back in time to murder every single last one of them involved. Not even the word 'inhumane' was strong enough to describe them.

Potions and serums and spells and behavioral modifications were all tested and tried with varying results. The notes never seemed to be particularly bothered when a test subject died. Each poor werewolf was treated as little more than a number. No one cared that they were human beings all but a few hours a month. Likely they all had families who missed them when they were gone. Some, it appeared, were 'recruited' into the program immediately upon being bitten. Their loved ones weren't even informed when they went missing what happened. They died alone with no one even knowing they were werewolves.

It was abominable. Every last bit of it and she knew she'd hardly even scratched the surface. The more she read, the more depraved she discovered the program to be. In her possession she had all of the proof she needed to expose the cover-up, but she didn't know what to do with it. Of course anyone who was so callous and flippant about ending another's life wouldn't care to end another's just to keep their secrets. Powerful, dangerous people were involved in 'Operation Moonlight'. She knew she was in danger.

By the time Fenrir was introduced to the program, they were more concerned about strengthening and controlling the werewolves than ensuring they wouldn't be able to pass on their infection. When she first came across his name, she feared her stomach wouldn't be able to take it. He was described as being an unremarkable thirty year old werewolf who managed to hide what he was from his family for five years. Impressed that he could be that discreet, he was brought into 'Operation Moonlight' under the false impression that he would be helping other werewolves. They claimed they were looking for a cure for lycanthropy. He'd actually volunteered. The true Hufflepuff in him only wanted to do what he could to help others.

Hermione wiped the tears off her cheeks before they splashed onto the parchment. It didn't take long after Fenrir was first subjected to the experiments that they realized they had something special with him. No one could figure out why he wasn't dying or getting weaker. The fact that he grew stronger with each test both intrigued and worried the officials taking the notes. The purpose of the program shifted more specifically to Fenrir from that point on. They wanted to replicate the results they found with him.

"This is disgusting."

Robert threw the parchment he was reading down on top of his desk. Standing up to his feet, he turned his back on Hermione. She suspected he was trying to hide the fact that he too was wiping his own tears off his face. He'd been reading more of the technical and scientific logs and notes about the serums and experiments. Not wishing to push him too far before he was ready, she waited patiently for him to calm down enough to speak. When he turned back around, there was no hiding his red eyes and his clenched jaw.

"Children… these fucking… these cunts experimented on children. Innocent children. I just…"

Unable to speak another word, he sank back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. Curious what exactly had him so upset, Hermione reached across her desk to pick up what he'd been reading. Immediately she wished she hadn't.

She remembered how Lyall mentioned they couldn't figure out what it was about Fenrir that made him so successful in their experiments. They weren't sure if it had to do with his mother's blood because she was foreign-born or if it was because he'd survived some horrible childhood illness that strengthened his immune system. In an effort to test their theories, operatives from the Ministry working in secret actually kidnapped at least a dozen children from various countries around the world. Once they were safely confined to their testing facilities, the innocent children were infected with aggressive strains of the Erkling flu. Only three children of the initial twelve survived the sickness despite there being a cure. When they were well enough following their recovery, they were…

"Oh my god. They locked the children in a room with a werewolf during the Full Moon?"

"Keep reading. It gets worse."

Robert wiped at his eyes again, the tears freely streaming again. Terrified to keep reading, she knew she had to. At the end of the entry, her own eyes watery with tears, Hermione leaned over her rubbish bin to throw up. Perhaps still trying to process what he'd read himself, her assistant explained the rest out loud.

"They locked Fen in the room with those poor children and ordered him to bite them."

None of the three children survived the experiments following their transformation into werewolves. Hermione couldn't read anymore. She knew it was going to be bad, but she didn't realize just how depraved and soulless the Ministry really was.

"Hermione, I don't think you should keep searching for answers. It's too dangerous. Maybe Thicknesse was right."

While she certainly understood his concern, she wasn't ready to just give up. Didn't the world have a right to know what happened? The problem with ignoring history or trying to change it in the public perception was all it did was ensure that the society would be doomed to repeat it. If they didn't learn from their lessons, they would be doomed to keep committing the same mistakes over and over again. Light must be shone in the dark places if they had any hope of being better.

"I can't just let them get away with this, Robert. This should've never happened."

Knowing it was useless to argue with her when she was determined, Robert announced he was going to go get some fresh air. She couldn't blame him. As she watched him walk away down the corridor, she knew that it wasn't safe to keep the files in their office. Not when it was already proven that someone was willing to come in and rifle through her desk. Only one place felt safe to her those days.

After she had all of the files crammed back in the hole she'd pulled them out of, Hermione slipped the file into her robe pocket. She left Robert a short note stating she was going home for the day. If he was truly as upset as she believed he was, he would understand her need to get away. Never had the walk down the Level Ten corridor, up the stairs to Level Nine, and then to the lifts past the Department of Mysteries felt so long. Her heart hammered in her chest with each step she took.

She didn't relax until she was pushing open the front door to Fenrir's house. Relieved that she'd been able to Apparate there without assistance, she was sure she'd never been so glad to be anywhere. With no one, not even Robert, knowing that she was essentially living in Scotland, she didn't expect to be followed. Even if there was someone watching her, they wouldn't know to go to his house.

"You're addicted to me, aren't you? Can't even make it through a full day's work without needing me again, can you?"

Surprised, but pleased to see her enter, Fenrir couldn't resist teasing. She crossed the room to wrap her arms around his middle and lay her head on his chest. Sensing she needed a little bit of comforting, he kissed the top of her head, wrapped his arms around her, but didn't ask her what was wrong. Each deep breath that she took helped to calm her nerves.

"You smell like tomatoes."

"Sorry. Hazards of the job, I'm afraid."

"I'm not complaining."

He hugged her tighter as he chuckled.

"I was harvesting some tomatoes for a Muggle that buys them for his grocery store. Squeezed one a little too hard when I was pulling it off the vine and it exploded."

"You don't know your own strength."

"I guess not."

He laughed again. Feeling more comfortable, Hermione stepped back. Before he would release her entirely from his embrace, Fenrir kissed her on the lips. For a few seconds at least, she could almost forget her day.

"I didn't realize you grew produce for Muggles too."

"Yes, some. This Muggle loves my tomatoes. Always jokes that he thinks I must use magic to grow them." He winked, a grin curling up the corner of his mouth. "He's obsessed with ensuring they're 'organic'. Always asks me a lot of questions how they're grown. Naturally, I can't tell him everything. But dragon dung is organic, isn't it?"

The sheer simplicity of their conversation about tomatoes contrasting with what horrors she'd only just learned about his past made her laugh too. Perhaps more out of mild hysteria than anything, she appreciated his humor. Who would've known Fenrir Greyback had that side? Every day she continued to learn more and more about the man.

"I think so."

"There's no better fertilizer as far as I'm concerned. Not always easy to import it, but damn sure worth it when you can get some. But… you didn't come home early to talk to me about the wonders of gardening. What's wrong?"

"There's something I need to talk to you about. Something very serious. I learned more about 'Operation Moonlight' on Saturday and I got confirmation today that it's true."

All hints of mirth melted from his face. If anything, he looked nervous. She hated that she would be the one to tell him, but it was wrong to keep the facts from him. Of all of the people in the world who needed to know about the worst aspects of 'Operation Moonlight', it was him.

"I promised I'd deliver the tomatoes by three. Let me take them there and I'll be right back."

While she waited for him to return, Hermione tried to think of the best way to tell him what she knew. How much of it was he already aware of? He said that his memories about the past were spotty in some places, but did that mean he still remembered some of it? She worried that she was about to give him too much information too quickly.

The file she'd stolen from the Ministry lay in the middle of the kitchen table when he returned just a quarter of an hour later. She hadn't opened it up again yet. It felt important to wait for him. Fenrir tried to keep his facial expressions as impassive as possible as he sat down in the chair across from hers, but she felt like she knew him well enough at that point to recognize he was nearly failing. Before she could speak, she took a deep breath and hoped she wasn't about to make a mistake that she couldn't take back. As much as she knew he deserved to know about his past and it was his right, she was concerned some of the details would be hard to swallow.

"Last week I was allowed to look at the 'Operation Moonlight' file in the Restricted section of the Ministry Archives. I'd hoped that I would be able to learn what it was exactly and why so many werewolves died, but all it was was essentially a list of the Ministry officials involved in the program. There was a description that it was started to improve the lives of those with lycanthropy, but very little else. I wrote down the list of officials. Most of them are dead. Only one of them I recognized."

She wasn't sure if she should come completely clean about the fact that she received Lyall Lupin's name and address from a mysterious source. Even though she wasn't injured during her visit and she was able to confirm that all the wizard told her was true, Fenrir wouldn't likely appreciate how reckless she'd been with her own safety. There had always been a concern in the back of her mind that she was walking into a trap, but her curiosity and the fact that she had no other leads kept her from heeding that warning. Deciding that how she got Lyall's address was an unimportant detail for the moment, she opted not to be entirely honest.

"The wizard was Lyall Lupin."

Fenrir's eyes narrowed at the name. Perhaps he'd forgotten a lot about his past, but evidently not that name.

"Saturday I went to Mr. Lupin's home in Glamorgan."

"That arsehole is still alive?"

"Yes. He was surprised to see me, but recognized me from the newspaper. Said he was glad to see what I've been doing to help improve werewolves' lives. He said that he wished he'd done the same when he was younger."

His derisive scoff and the roll of his eyes proved Fenrir didn't believe him. Lyall hadn't gone into details about the ways in which he was cruel to the werewolf, only that he was. She assumed that the more she uncovered in the hidden files, the more likely she would be to learn. A twisting in her stomach accompanied the thought. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Mr. Lupin told me about 'Operation Moonlight', how it was first started as a way to improve the lives of werewolves, but he didn't believe that. He told me that it was really a way to…"

Everything she'd been told by Lyall came tumbling out of her mouth. Unable to stop once she began, she told him every last detail she'd learned on the previous Saturday. Fenrir sat very still, never once interrupting or asking a question. He might've been afraid that he would miss an important detail if he spoke or perhaps he couldn't believe what his ears were hearing.

"I didn't know if any of this was true. Sure, he seemed like a nice enough man…"

Another scoff and a roll of his eyes.

"…but I don't know him. I trusted his son with my life, but he's a complete stranger. I didn't want to say anything to you until I knew for certain he was telling the truth. He claimed that he hid a file in the Ministry Archives somewhere no one would think to look for it. Until I could review the files myself, I didn't even want to bring up what he and I discussed on Saturday."

"Is this the file?"

He gestured to the closed folder. Nodding, she opened it up and spoke the password. Flinching slightly at Remus' name, he quickly resumed his impassive mask. Hermione reached into the black hole to start pulling up some of the cartons. Not wishing to completely overload him at once, she only brought up two.

"This first one explains more about the program in detail."

It sickened her to even speak the words out loud, so she sifted through the parchment to bring out the documents she thought he would find the most informative. How long they sat at the table looking over the files in the first carton was unclear. Though it felt like an eternity, she knew it probably was no longer than an hour.

"What's in the second carton?"

She was even more reluctant to show him his personal file, but knew she couldn't keep it from him. The more he read, the more she thought he was going to be sick. When he got to the part that made Robert so angry about the children, he closed the file and stood up from the table.

"I always feared there was something awful going on. There are entire chunks, big chunks, of time that I can't remember. What I can remember was that I often felt very out of control."

He excused himself to step outside for some fresh air. As much as she wanted to rush out into the snow after him, Hermione knew he needed to be alone. She couldn't even imagine what he might be thinking. What would it be like to know that your life really wasn't your own? Was there a larger violation?

To keep busy while he was gathering himself, she continued searching through the files. There was enough information contained within that she wasn't sure how long it would take her to read every word. Digging further into the box that seemed to focus entirely on Fenrir, she pulled out a rolled up scroll she hadn't seen yet. A log of dates and times when an injection was apparently given to Fenrir, she was startled to see the name 'W. Macnair' written at the top. Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised to discover that horrible man and Death Eater was directly involved in what was done to the innocent werewolves. The wizard took entirely too much pleasure in his job as an executioner for the Ministry.

She didn't know what the injections consisted of exactly. Based on how thorough all of the other documents were in the file that she'd reviewed so far, she was sure that eventually a description would be found. Until then, however, she had to assume that it was related to the potions given to him to keep him under the control of his Ministry handlers. The dates were frequent. Especially as time went on, he required more and more frequent injections.

One of the last dates recorded in Macnair's small script was in the last days of the war. It wasn't surprising to know the program was unofficially continuing or that Fenrir was still getting injections. What was surprising was the fact that the file she'd been able to find was updated. Lyall Lupin wasn't working at the Ministry at the time of the war. He must've had an accomplice who could access the files and who agreed that it was necessary to get the files out. Who could it be? Were they the one responsible for giving her Lyall's address in the first place?

A memo also written in the last year of the war that she found after setting Macnair's log down on the table made her even more sick to her stomach than she already was. Written by Pius Thicknesse in his capacity as Minister for Magic, it was the official approval to resume 'Operation Moonlight' after an unofficial resumption decades earlier. Caution was urged, but also speed. Was that why he didn't want her to keep searching? Because he didn't want to be implicated? She remembered how frightened she felt that night alone in the Ministry Archives, the certainty that she felt she was being watched, and that it was Pius who was the one to leave the department unlocked. Would he hurt her to keep the secret?

Shivering and covered in snow, Fenrir reentered the front door. When he stepped out earlier for fresh air, he'd forgotten his cloak. There were still patches of the fresh snow on his shoulders when he returned to the kitchen and took his seat again. Reaching for the scroll that was laying on the table, he appeared to understand at once what Macnair's log was all about. It was clear he was still upset, but he remained calm.

"I always thought it was strange that Macnair was always popping up in random places where I was, but I never would've suspected he was doing anything to me. Like I said, my memories are spotty. I do remember though that he would always offer me a drink from his flask. The wizard likes to drink. That's apparently how he lost his first wife. She told him he could choose her or the fire whiskey. She moved in with her mum that night. No one ever knew how he managed to get one woman to agree to marry him, let alone two."

"Sounds like he may have been drugging you with his flask each time. Maybe that's how he was able to keep injecting you and you didn't know."

"Probably. One time during the war I was so busy with the Snatchers that weeks went by without seeing Macnair. It was probably the longest I could remember ever going without seeing him in years. I started feeling very sick and I was extremely irritable. Everything set me off. It was only after I saw Macnair again one night that I felt all right. That bastard Scabior made a crack that Macnair must've been my lover because after one night with him, I wasn't unbearable any longer. Do you think maybe I was going through the beginnings of withdrawal?"

His theory made perfect sense. Whatever it was that nearly killed him when the war was over was given to him without his knowledge. After literal decades of being forced to exist with the frequent injections, it wasn't an unreasonable thought to assume his body was addicted to the inhuman efforts to control him.

"Excuse me. I need to…"

Fenrir didn't complete his thought. Only stood up from the table again and rushed out of the room. Hermione heard the door to the greenhouse open and close. It was a true test of her willpower not to run after him. He deserved more time to himself to fully digest what he'd just learned.

She waited over an hour for him to come back inside the house before seeking him out herself. Worried that he was upset or in danger of hurting himself or someone else, she couldn't sit still a minute longer. Besides, the more she was alone, the more she read of the disgusting files. It frightened her to consider the very real possibility that she was only scratching the very surface.

Sitting in a chair staring out one of the greenhouse's many windows, Fenrir had Crookshanks in his lap. He didn't look up when Hermione found him. Just continuing to stare at the darkening winter sky and idly scratching a purring Crookshanks, she might've been on another planet for all he was concerned. Before she could say anything to let him know that she was there, he spoke in a soft, broken voice she'd never heard him use.

"It was easier to believe I was a monster because that was just who I am. To find out that maybe I was only a monster because I was being controlled? I don't… I don't know how to process this. I hurt so many people. I can never change that, never fix it, never forgive myself for it, but is it really my fault?"

When his blue eyes looked up to meet hers they were filled with big tears. Hermione kissed him gently, hoping that she could offer him some comfort.

"You are not a monster."

Crookshanks meowed his agreement. Fenrir tried to smile, but failed at once. If her cat thought the man was good, she knew he was. So far he hadn't been wrong in his judge of character.

For the rest of the night, Fenrir was quiet. It was tempting to push him into speaking, but she knew it would do him no good. Everyone handled upsetting news in their own way and as far as she was concerned, few people had ever received more discouraging news than he did. He didn't speak as he cooked them dinner as he did each night nor did he carry on much of a conversation while they ate.

In bed when the night finally came to its conclusion, he snuggled up behind Hermione and held her tightly, but he did no more than kiss the top of her head. She desperately hoped that she was providing him with whatever support she could. He would need it. Everything was bound to get much worse before it got better. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't push aside the fear that there was still so much more left to learn. Would they be able to handle it?