Chapter Twenty-Three
Only one other time in her life had Hermione been face to face with a transformed werewolf. After that horrible night in her third year with Professor Lupin, Sirius, and the army of dementors, she very much hoped that would be the only time. There was a reason why fully grown and trained powerful witches and wizards had nightmares about werewolves. Dangerous and unpredictable, it was far from a fair fight.
She didn't understand what was even happening. Fenrir took such pride in his wards because they were strong and effective. He checked them every single day. If he declared her safe inside his house, she had no reason to doubt him. Hadn't he already proven he would do absolutely anything, including murder, to keep her safe? The fear that maybe Chiara or Robert had something to do with the wards failing didn't make any logical sense even if it seemed possible at first because they were directly involved with helping Fenrir set them. Not only did neither of them even know she was staying there until a short time before the moon rose, they didn't have any reason. Robert was her friend even if she frustrated him. Fenrir was also adamant that Chiara was no killer.
Why would Silas want to hurt her? He'd been frustrated being bothered by the Ministry, but she never once felt the anger directed at her. He'd even apologized to her for being subjected to one of his rants on more than one occasion. Never had she been scared or even unnerved in his presence before that night. Was there something wrong with the Wolfsbane potion? It was a notoriously tricky and complicated potion to brew. A mistake could've easily been made. Would the others be by soon to try to attack her too?
She needed to get out of the house as quickly as possible. Fenrir's promise only applied to working wards. If he was there right then to tell her what to do, he'd repeat the same words he'd said the night he saved her from the Muggle in the alley: "Go home. Now."
Silas didn't move until she started trying to gather up the reports she left on the table. It wasn't safe to leave it all there. What if it got destroyed if she left it behind? Hermione cast the strongest shield she could think of with her wand hand while she used the other hand to gather up all of the parchment with the other. She shook so much that more than once she dropped the pages of her report before she could cram them into her beaded bag.
There was no question Silas was there to attack. His eyes held her in his gaze as he growled and stalked closer. Hermione couldn't think beyond getting out of there. When she finally had the bag in her pocket, she knew she would have to move very quickly. In order to Disapparate, she would have to lower her shield. If Silas was fast enough, he could attack her before she was gone. Could she accidentally Side-Along him if he grabbed her? The very thought was horrifying. What if Fenrir's wards wouldn't allow Apparition unless she was outside?
Before she could take the first step to drop her shield and try to leave from inside the house, Silas charged. Snarling and growling when he bumped off the protective shield, he tried again. And again. And again. And again. He was too close. The very second she ended the charm, he would be on top of her. She was trapped. The shield started to weaken. With each of Silas' attempts to break it, she was forced to use even more magic. She wasn't some all-powerful goddess being with an unlimited well of magical energy. She was simply a clever witch with an almost unhealthy desire to prove she was worthy of being a witch. If she didn't get help, and get it soon, she would be bitten, possibly even killed.
"Fenrir!"
Never in her entire life had she been able to scream so loudly. Welling up inside her from deep within, she wouldn't have been surprised to learn her voice carried for kilometers. If Fenrir didn't hear her scream, maybe he would smell her fear again. There seemed to be plenty of it.
Her shield finally broke. It wasn't going to last forever and she knew that, but it was still an unpleasant shock when it happened. Instinct took over. Instead of attempting to cast another shield charm as exhausted as she already was and unable to spin in place quickly enough to Apparate, Hermione made a run for it. Less than a meter from the hole where the front door had been, Silas jumped on Hermione, knocking her to the hard floor on her back.
She couldn't breathe. The fall knocked the very air out of her lungs. As she struggled to catch her breath, Silas growled and leaned his face over hers. In nearly the exact same position she'd been in hours earlier with another werewolf staring down at her with a predatory gaze, she knew this encounter wasn't going to end in pleasure. When she woke up with the Muggle on top of her, she'd thought it was impossible for her to ever be more afraid than she was in that moment. She was wrong.
Able to summon up enough courage in the moment despite still being unable to breathe, Hermione cast a shield non-verbally. Silas' face bounced off it to his anger and frustration. His determination to bite her only grew stronger with each failed attempt. Keeping her shield up was her only hope for survival. The weight of his body still rested on hers, but thanks to the charm, he couldn't bite.
Where was Fenrir? If she had time to stop long enough to logically assess the situation she found herself in, she would've realized that almost no time at all had passed since Silas ripped the door down to where she lay on her floor with him on top. Maybe a minute or two. Everything happened very quickly. Even if Fenrir took off running towards her the very moment he heard her first scream, it would take time for him to get there. She only hoped she was strong enough to last.
Loud howling just outside the house gave her more courage. She wasn't alone. She wouldn't have to hold the shield up forever. Daring to turn her head towards the gaping hole in the house, she gasped even as she felt a stirring of joy and relief. Stories she'd heard hadn't really prepared her for how truly massive Fenrir was in his transformed state. The Full Moon illuminated his front garden enough that she could see his grey fur running towards her at full speed. The other werewolves flanking him should've frightened her, but they didn't. She was saved.
Fenrir's growl of warning was enough to make Silas flinch and stop trying to bite Hermione for at least half a second. Perhaps realizing he would soon be unable to hurt his chosen prey as he desired, Silas only worked harder to break through the shield. She could feel it weakening, her power draining. Fenrir forced himself to run even faster. When he was almost there, he leaped at the hole, ready to pounce on Silas the very second he entered his house.
Except as Fenrir flew through the air, his enormous body slammed against an invisible wall, knocking him back to land hard on the snowy ground. Hermione could hear herself screaming his name. Her shield began to waver. Why didn't it work? Why couldn't he enter the house too? A werewolf with silver fur she assumed was Chiara tried to run into the house with the same result. Two more werewolves tried. They all bounced off the hole. The wards hadn't been broken at all. They were all still very much active. It didn't make any sense.
Silas wasn't known for being a terribly clever wizard. Oh, he might have been once upon a time when he was younger, but that was a long time ago. As soon as he was bitten and left on his own after Hogwarts, he wasted his time committing petty thefts in Knockturn Alley. Not even nearly as successful or likable as Mundungus Fletcher, she often thought that he needed to find a new profession.
Knowing what she did about him, there was simply no way he would've known how to break down Fenrir's complicated wards by himself in such a short period of time. Werewolves were almost all witches and wizards. Muggles who were bitten generally didn't survive their initial attack. It had happened before in the history books, but the suspicion was those that survived were likely themselves squibs or just a couple of generations removed from magical ancestors. Once they were transformed, it didn't matter how powerful they were at magic. They simply couldn't work it the same way. Silas would've had to have torn down the wards in the short time between Fenrir pushing him out of the house and his transformation. That was impossible. He would've been watched. Besides, he hadn't actually brought the wards down. He'd just been able to somehow bypass them.
Hermione looked around Silas' neck. The gold chain and heavy pendant still hung right where Fenrir placed them. Could that be the explanation she needed? In a moment of distraction looking at the necklace, her shield weakened. Silas face came dangerously close. While she pointed her wand at him, she used her other hand to push him physically away as hard as she could. The skin of her palm brushed against the gold chain. She hissed. No longer cold to the touch, it felt as if it had been sitting a fire. Not even the werewolf's elevated body heat could explain the drastic change in temperature.
"It's the necklace! Fenrir, it's the necklace that let him inside!"
She wished she could speak to him. All he was able to do was reply with a loud howl. Did that mean he understood? It didn't seem to matter one way or another if he did. How was he supposed to get the necklace that was currently hanging from Silas' neck? Hermione wasn't strong enough to push him out the door herself. Even if she tried to blast his body through the air with a spell, she was in serious danger of injuring herself in the process. Spells had to be extra powerful to work against a fully grown transformed werewolf. And he was entirely too close for her to avoid the backlash.
There was only one option. If she wanted to have any hope whatsoever that Fenrir would be able to make it back inside his house before morning, she had to get him the necklace. No one else could do it on her behalf. Perhaps if there was another witch or wizard around who didn't also happen to be a werewolf they could summon the necklace. All that line of thinking did, however, was just waste time. She was on her own. She had to be prepared to do whatever was necessary to save herself. Silas seemed to only be getting stronger while she knew she was getting weaker.
The shield would have to come down. If she was swift about it, she could take the shield down, grab the necklace, and put the shield back up in just a few moments. Maybe Silas would be distracted enough by the removal of the gold chain from his neck that he wouldn't use the momentary lapse of protection to bite her in the face. It was a slim hope, but she didn't think she had much of a choice.
A severing charm could rip the necklace from him. There was only one fairly sizable problem with that. Hermione wasn't sure that she would be able to drop the shield, cast the severing charm, and then bring up another shield in the infinitesimal window of time she would have. Even non-verbal spells could take a moment or two to hit their target. She didn't have that.
Instinct and sheer determination took over. In the back of her mind she hoped that Fenrir would be able to forgive her if her plan didn't work. Hermione dropped the shield. A howl of outrage from the front door tore at her heart, but she had to ignore it. Using the hand not tightly clenching her wand, she reached up, grabbed on to Silas' chain, and pulled with all of her strength. His deep growl might've made her lose her confidence if she wasn't determined to keep her calm. Panic would only get her killed.
Though it was met with a great deal of resistance, the chain snapped. Once she knew she held it in her hand, she cast the shield charm again. Silas' snapping face was close enough to kiss. She pushed that terrifying observation away. She could think about how close he was to biting her later when she was safe.
Bits of fur and drops of blood stuck to the broken chain. His deep growl made sense. She was amazed that she had the strength required to break it, but she supposed that the desire and instinct to preserve one's own life was enough motivation. Fisting the entire chain and pendant in her hand, she took her eyes off of Silas long enough to look towards the front door. Fenrir bounced from foot to foot, an unstoppable mass of nervous energy. Knowing she only had one chance to get it right, she looked her lover in his worried lupine eyes and threw the necklace as hard as she could. She nearly cried when she saw it sail through the hole in the house to land right at Fenrir's feet.
The weakening of the shield forced her attention back to Silas. If she managed to survive that night, she would need to rest for a very long time to rebuild her strength. A flash of grey fur flew past her eyes, knocking Silas to the floor. Finally able to breathe without his weight on top of her, she didn't move at first. Just tried to catch her breath.
Soon she knew she couldn't stay where she was. It was too dangerous. Two full grown werewolves, one legendary in his massiveness, rolled around the room biting and scratching at each other. Hermione knew she had to leave. As long as she was there, Fenrir would fight to the death. He wouldn't rest until Silas' body crumpled to the ground beneath him. Not only did she not want another death on his conscience, she needed answers. She needed Silas to be alive.
"Don't kill him, Fenrir! He's under a spell! I'll be back in the morning! I'm sorry!"
Unsure if Fenrir even heard her in his primal desire to keep her safe, she had to trust that they would both be all right. Once back on her feet, she spun in place with the destination in mind of a place she'd almost always felt safe. The sounds of the snarling werewolf fight still echoed in her ears up until the moment her feet landed back on solid ground.
She knew it was a gamble to return to her house in the city. If what Robert told her was true, it was very likely her home was under surveillance as well. But, it was the first place she thought of and until the damned Muggle entered her life, she had been safe there. She arrived in her dark kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place or odd. Before she dared move a single step, she checked her wards as Fenrir always did. Everything was in order. Kingsley had done a fine job restoring the security protections to her home.
"Homenum revelio."
Completely at a loss as to what she would do if the human presence revealing spell informed her she wasn't alone in her house, she sighed in relief to discover she was. There'd been enough terrifying complications in one night that was supposed to be fairly mundane. Casting a disillusionment spell on her kitchen windows to prevent anyone who might be hiding in her back garden from seeing inside was the last bit of magic she performed before she could relax.
Several minutes passed before she could breathe normally again. Slowly her heart-rate returned to a safer level. She had been so close to death or doomed permanently to being a werewolf herself. Would Fenrir have preferred that? She could understand him better if she was just like him. Or would he have spent the rest of his life blaming himself for what happened? She felt that was most likely the outcome.
Despite the horrible fight for her life, she worried about Silas. His bizarre behavior when he realized she was there proved he wasn't himself. Every other time they'd crossed paths, he'd been loud and boisterous almost to the point of being obnoxious. Speaking only two whispered words to her wasn't like him at all. And how he struggled to pull the necklace off before he went outside to transform? He didn't want to be there, didn't want to attack her. Without the necklace, he would've been stuck outside all night unable to do anything that might cause her harm.
She reached into her beaded bag to pull out a copy she'd made herself of all of the evidence. Because she hadn't been able to read it all, Hermione suspected if she started looking, she would find Silas within. Time seemed to be slipping away. The frightening attack in the one place in the world she'd thought she would be safe was proof that she couldn't afford to rest or get complacent until what she knew was out in the world. Secrets were dangerous.
Thanks to her many years of research, she knew many different spells to help her. All she had to do was point her wand at the file, utter a handy spell Madam Pince taught her when she returned to Hogwarts to complete her seventh year, and then say Silas' name to have all of the parchment and scrolls that even mentioned his name fly into the air. She wasn't surprised to see a large number of documents hovering above her table.
Perhaps fate was being kind to her that night and recognized time was of the essence. The very first piece of evidence she pulled off the top of the stack was a log, the likes of which she had already seen for another werewolf. Dates were scribbled down long after the war ended. The last was from the previous year, but she had a terrible feeling that somewhere in the Ministry was hidden a more recent log with more recent dates.
Silas was an unwitting participant in 'Operation Moonlight'. Though the effects of whatever potions were used on him hadn't turned him into a larger, more dangerous werewolf as they had Fenrir, it was evident that some combination was discovered to work that wouldn't kill the poor souls forced into service. She ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks. Due to both righteous anger and the sadness of what the poor man had been put through, she had to make herself stop before she got carried away. There would be a time when this was all over when she could allow herself to fall completely to pieces, hopefully in the safety of Fenrir's strong, muscular arms. She would have to wait. It was harder to keep that promise to herself the more she read of Silas' file.
It was no wonder he was suspicious of the Ministry of Magic and wanted nothing to do with it. Since he was eighteen years old, freshly out of Hogwarts and St. Mungo's bite ward, he'd been harassed by those who still worked for the supposedly defunct 'Operation Moonlight'. With no family and few friends, he was the perfect candidate. If anything happened to him, no one would miss him. The paranoia that she and Robert used to laugh about when they discussed him was legitimate. He was being followed. He was being forced to take potions against his will. They'd always thought he was either drinking too much fire whiskey or in need of a long stay in the Janus Thickey long-term care ward at St. Mungo's. If Fenrir didn't kill him, she would need to offer him an apology.
Suspecting that 'Operation Moonlight' never ended was bad enough. Holding the evidence in her hands and witnessing it with her own eyes was so much worse. Hermione pulled both her report and the summary out of the beaded bag. She wrote on the bottom of each in large letters that she underlined that the program was still active.
There was no more time to waste. Using her kitchen table, she made certain that all one hundred parcels had a copy of the evidence, the long report, and the salacious summary designed to catch the recipients' attention. She was glad that she'd already made a list of the names and addresses of everyone who would receive one. For good measure and her own selfish reason, she made an extra parcel and addressed it to Harry. If something happened to her, he wouldn't let her death be in vain. He would continue the fight.
Not caring that it was the middle of the night, once all one hundred and one parcels were packed back inside her bag and ready to be mailed, she headed for the front door. There was an owl post office in Diagon Alley that was always open. When she reached for the doorknob, her eyes caught an envelope laying on the floor. It must've come in through the mail slot. Curious and feeling inexplicably drawn to it, she gasped when she opened it up.
Dear Hermione,
My time will be up very soon. I'm not sure how I can explain it in a way that will make sense, but since the day you came to visit me and I was finally able to unburden myself, I've known that I wouldn't be alive much longer. My sins were always going to catch up to me eventually. It is something that I've known and suspected for some time now. I wish it could've happened before my innocent son was punished for my own cruelty. It is past time that I tried to do what was right. Enclosed you will find my full confession. I trust that you will be able to get it into the hands of those who need to read it. Maybe that nasty Rita Skeeter would be interested.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to ease my conscience. Though I can do nothing to change the past, I hope sincerely that somehow I can keep the past from repeating itself. Please be very careful.
Sincerely, Lyall Lupin
Just as he promised, Lyall included a lengthy confession with his letter. She was amazed that someone so intimately involved in the worst of the program would be willing to confess. Perhaps that was the very reason why he'd been murdered. They must've known he wished to share his experiences. She sat down in one of her chairs to read the document.
I, Lyall Lupin, former employee in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, do hereby wish to offer my solemn and formal confession for the crimes I committed while in service of the Ministry of Magic between the years 1959 and 1986. This confession is being given of my own free will. No one has coerced me or blackmailed me into confessing. I simply feel that after so many years of silence, it is time that the depraved horrors of 'Operation Moonlight' finally be revealed.
He continued with an explanation of how he was initially recruited into the top-secret program. Impressed with the work he'd done in the Spirit Division as a world-renowned expert on Non-Human Spiritous Apparitions, he was approached to consider working in a newly developed division concerned with the welfare of werewolves. He admitted that he wasn't interested in werewolves, considering them to be subhuman aberrations who should all have been executed the moment it was discovered what they were, but that the increase in pay would come in handy with a new wife and baby on the way.
In the fall of 1960 I was tasked with recruiting more werewolves into the program, willing or otherwise. Because so many of the experiments had not gone well, we were in constant need of new subjects. It was beginning to be a difficult job to find more werewolves. Though the program insisted that only werewolves who were generally loners and would not be missed should be involved, I was impressed by a werewolf I met who was somehow able to keep his family from knowing about his status for five years. I knew that someone who could be that secretive with his own loved ones would be able to keep the secret of the program as well.
Though he didn't immediately give me his legal name, he introduced himself as Fenrir Greyback. In an effort to keep his parents, including his mother who had a paralyzing fear of werewolves, from knowing about his condition, he created a false name. Out of respect for the dead, I will not share his real name. It's not important. When I spoke to him about a secret program within the Ministry trying to find a cure for lycanthropy, he was very interested and asked immediately how he could help. I took advantage of his willingness to help, never thinking twice what I was actually going to be responsible for subjecting him to.
Of all of my crimes committed while working with 'Operation Moonlight' what I did to him was the worst. I didn't believe werewolves were human any longer. Once they were bitten and transformed, I assumed that their last bit of humanity died. They were simply monsters living in the shell that had once been a human. Unfortunately, it took me a long time and an incredibly hard lesson to learn that wasn't the truth.
Greyback was held in a cell hidden on the lowest Level of the Ministry of Magic's London headquarters. Most of the public, including the vast majority of the officials working in the building, are unaware that there is an additional Level underneath Level Ten. Only a select few have knowledge of it; even fewer have access. For two years, we kept Greyback on Level Eleven conducting experiments that would've killed any normal werewolf. I remember how he used to beg to be let out long enough to see his parents and let his mum know that he was all right. In my deluded and dangerous ignorance, I believed it was best that he have no contact with anyone in the outside world. His parents were better off believing he was dead. In my mind, their son was dead.
Hermione wiped away the tears that spilled out of her eyes. Just the few times Fenrir mentioned his parents to her, she knew how much he loved them, how much they loved him. He was their only child and they almost lost him to a devastating childhood illness. What must it have been like for them to not know where he was or if he even was alive? She began to understand more and more what Lyall meant when he told her that he'd been unforgivably cruel to Fenrir. She was almost scared to know more, but knew she had to keep reading. It would help her have a better understanding of the man she was starting to care very deeply for.
We were working on a way to have the werewolves under our complete control. While the official mission statement of 'Operation Moonlight' claimed our purpose was to find ways to improve the lives of those poor souls infected with lycanthropy and perhaps even discover a cure, that couldn't be further from the truth. Werewolves were to be used as tools. We wished to use them to scare our opponents, perhaps even create our own army. Using a combination of potions and compulsion spells, we were able to achieved limited success controlling participants of the program. Rarely successful in the long-term, we became more ambitious, more inhumane.
Fenrir Greyback was an oddity we didn't understand. Something about his genetic makeup made him a perfect candidate. The only known survivor of the serum we tested in the early sixties to actually make our werewolves stronger and larger, he was subjected to ten times more experiments than any of our other victims. We hoped that we could create a prototype in him that would lead to a controllable army of super werewolves. What fools we all were!
Two years into the program, Greyback was able to make his first escape. He was being tested to be certain he would follow orders under the Imperius Curse. Sheer determination and an admirable strength of will allowed him to fight the curse. Outside of the warded confines of the Ministry's Level Eleven holding cells, he was able to break through the curse, steal a wand, and Disapparate. Though we were initially frantic and terrified of where he might end up, it didn't take me long to know exactly where he would go.
He was found at his recently widowed mother's house later that evening. Distraught to discover that in his two year absence his father had succumbed to a sudden illness, it didn't take much effort to recapture him. At the time, I assumed that it was best for his poor mother that we remove him from her presence as quickly as possible. Having a werewolf for a son, in my arrogant ignorance, would be much worse than having a dead son. I served as a representative for the Ministry of Magic as I explained to her that her son was busy working in secret abroad for the Ministry. The way the poor woman covered her face with her handkerchief to sob after only being able to see her son for less than hour will haunt me forever. It was the first time that I felt the tiniest crack in my belief that werewolves were better off dead than alive. If his mother could still love him and wish to be with him even in his condition, perhaps they weren't as inhuman as I suspected.
Because of his escape, we had to be more careful, more diligent in our experiments and conditioning. And I'm afraid that that meant we had to be even more cruel than we already were. None of us, least of all myself, ever looked at him as if he were human. His only value was in what he could teach us. There was no compassion. The dehumanizing only made him even more determined to escape again. Seven times total he was able to escape before we were forced to concede that keeping him locked away in Level Eleven and away from his mother was no longer going to work.
The program was modified to give him the sense of independence. Given a small flat in Diagon Alley, he was given the illusion that he was free to come and go as he pleased. He was even able to hold a job working with a herbologist. More able to visit his mother and move around freely, he was more compliant, less likely to fight against his compulsion spells. We had been forced to resort to using the Imperius Curse almost exclusively. None of the others would work. Once he was calmer and we were able to adjust the potions that he was given without his knowledge at least once a week, we didn't have to use Imperius every time.
In January 1964, Fenrir Greyback's mother died unexpectedly. Distraught and dangerous, he was removed from his Diagon Alley flat and returned to his cell on Level Eleven. The anger he felt for not being allowed to plan or attend his mother's funeral made him once again impossible to work with. We were forced to resort to the Imperius Curse at all times and heavy potions that kept him sedated most of the time. The longer the year went on, the more he appeared to be cooperating. We lowered his potion doses. Little did we know that he was a talented actor, able to tell lies easier than most can tell the truth. Lulling us all into a false sense of security, we allowed ourselves to believe that we were successful. His change in behavior and demeanor was a direct result of our actions. We were ready to proclaim 'Operation Moonlight' a total success.
Though it made her even more sick to her stomach, Hermione forced herself to read the rest of Lyall's confession. He described in frightening detail the night Remus was attacked. She was pleased to see that he was willing to accept full responsibility for that even in writing. He didn't shy away from the rough, horrible details. Hopefully, he was able to die with some peace in his heart and mind for coming clean. After he described Remus' attack, he wrote about how he was forced to step back from the program. Unable to do the dirty work of the program any longer, he was moved into a more administrative position. From there he was able to have access to all of the files. Before he chose to leave the Ministry, he made the dangerous decision to make copies of everything. With the help of some unnamed accomplice or accomplices within the Ministry, he was able to keep the files up to date up until the previous year.
She had to make certain Lyall's confession was read. The man was dead because of his willingness to talk to her about what he'd done decades earlier. It wasn't right that his confession would die with him. Thankful once again for magic and the fact that it would only take seconds to make one hundred and one copies of the confession, she added a copy to each of the parcels. Her report was good and the evidence was compelling, but having a voice from within the program would only help.
It didn't matter that it was nearly two in the morning when she left her house to go to the owl post office in Diagon Alley. Still moving almost entirely on adrenaline following her near-death attack from Silas, she wouldn't have been able to sleep even if she tried. Getting the parcels out was the highest priority. Once she could see that they were headed to their destinations, she might be able to relax.
The young wizard clerk in the owlery had to be woken up from his nap. Clearly he wasn't used to having many customers so late at night. Annoyed at first, he tried to hide his true feelings when he realized just who it was that had woken him up. Hermione was pleased that her celebrity had its benefits from time to time.
"I need to send off one hundred and one parcels immediately. A number of them will be international."
If he was about to argue with her that he didn't have the capabilities to send so many parcels off at the same time, he quickly decided otherwise and closed his mouth. She knew she could be intimidating when she was determined. It took some effort. Some of the owls had to be assigned more than one delivery to make it work, but they managed. When the last tiny shrunken parcel tied to an owl's leg flew out into the night sky towards its destination, Hermione exhaled a deep breath. News of 'Operation Moonlight' would soon spread all over the world. Just as she promised, the first parcel went straight to Rita Skeeter. The second was addressed to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.
With the reports and evidence no longer in her possession, she could feel some of the exhaustion that she was ignoring. Maybe she would be able to fall asleep if she just laid her head down and closed her eyes. At least if she tried, morning might arrive earlier. She was terribly anxious to return to Scotland to see the aftermath. Would Fenrir have heeded her shouts to spare Silas? She hoped so.
Was the danger over? A sinking in her gut told her that it wasn't. Everyone in her life was still a suspect. She couldn't afford to get too comfortable again. That's how she got herself into this mess to begin with. It might have been her paranoia because she knew there were faceless enemies waiting and watching for her, but she couldn't stop thinking about Chiara and Robert. Something was wrong with Robert and she didn't think it was all to do with his finances. Were they still plotting to kill Fenrir? She could see how they might not want the news that Fenrir was a victim himself of 'Operation Moonlight' to become common knowledge.
Reaching into her nearly empty beaded bag, she wanted to find her copy of the evidence she saved. If it was as easy as casting a spell to find documents proving Silas was a part of the damned program, it should be just as easy to find out if they were involved too. No matter how far she dug down into her bag, she couldn't find her copy. She'd been so concerned with making sure the parcels were stuffed inside her bag, she left her copy on her kitchen table. Without having access to the parcels, her only choice was to go back to her house to get it.
Despite feeling an immense amount of relief that the parcels were gone, she knew she had to be careful. She needed to grab her copy and leave. Apparating directly into her kitchen, she was relieved to see the files right where she left them. Nothing about the house felt any different than it had a half hour earlier before she left for Diagon Alley. Even her disillusionment charms on her windows still held.
Once she held the files in her hand, the temptation to search in that second was too great. It would've been safer to take them with her straight to whatever Muggle hotel she was going to spend the night, but her reckless and relentless curiosity wanted to know before she took another breath if she needed to worry about the two werewolves. She hadn't exactly made all of the safest decisions from the very beginning of her work uncovering the Ministry program. Why would she start now?
Unlike when she cast the spell and called forth the documents related to Silas, only a single page floated out of the file when she tried 'Chiara Lobosca'. She had been considered for a candidate, but it was determined that she had too many close family members. Her parents were still very active in her life and she had a younger brother she saw frequently. The mention of a husband was surprising. Recognizing him as one of the werewolves she'd met during her work for the Ministry, it was also noted that he wouldn't be a viable candidate either. Maybe he was even one of the other werewolves waiting for them outside that she didn't get to meet. Hermione was going to insist that Fenrir introduce her to everyone who passed the Full Moon on his property.
Knowing Chiara wasn't part of 'Operation Moonlight' helped calm her nerves somewhat, but she couldn't deny she was most nervous about what she would discover when she cast the same spell to learn about Robert's possible involvement. She held her breath as she waited for a flood of parchment to come flying at her face again as it had earlier with Silas. When only one parchment rose from within the file, she almost cried. He wasn't a part of it either. Initially considered a possibility because he only had his mother and no siblings, it was decided that his close friendships with other werewolves as well as his job working as 'Hermione Granger's assistant' made him ineligible. Never before had she been so very thankful to work so hard at making certain he was able to work with her. Maybe it was only her insistence that he be hired that kept him from becoming just another pawn to be used like Fenrir or Silas.
The adrenaline was definitely wearing off. Her eyes felt heavy. All she wanted to do was lay down somewhere quiet for a few hours. She knew it wasn't safe to spend much longer in her house. Only her initial fear moments after nearly being bitten by a werewolf and her desire to retrieve the files even made her go back to the place that she no longer felt welcome. Of course, it hadn't all been for nothing. She wouldn't have been able to include Lyall's confession if she didn't return. No matter what happened to her, it was imperative that that be read.
Hermione reached for the back door. As she began to turn the knob, an unsettling sensation settled over her shoulders. It wouldn't budge. Pulling harder didn't help. A spell to blast it to pieces didn't help. She tried to Disapparate, but nothing happened. Trapped inside her house, she knew this was it. Her recklessness was going to catch up with her one day. Hadn't she always suspected it? Maybe she tripped some sort of alarm when she opened the front door earlier. Or perhaps she'd just done it when she tried to open the back. It didn't really matter. She just knew that she had to be prepared for another fight.
The creaky step at the top of the stairs sounded unnaturally loud in the dark night. She was not alone. Her faceless enemy was there and they were coming right towards her.