Chapter 2

"What do you want to do with the witch?" Gabriel asked dryly. The alpha's pack lieutenant was lounging against a tree as they rested; Fenrir was drinking from a canteen beside him, his mind occupied with the responsibilities of being the leader of his pack. Their travels had taken them far from home that day but the troubles of his people were never too far from his thoughts. Winter was at their doorstep and their supplies needed to be fortified along with the protective wards that safeguarded them from outsiders. And of course there was a war looming ahead that he had committed them to fight.

But it was the mention of the witch that gave him something else to ponder.

"I don't know yet," Fenrir stated and let the topic die. Even if there was more either of them had wish to say on the subject, Gabriel knew better then to push for further answers from the pack leader. Their friendship spanned over a decade and with that brought a level of mutual understanding between the two. Like knowing when to push forward and when to leave something well alone.

And while Fenrir knew this was a necessary conversation, he quite simply didn't have an answer. Because she wasn't just a witch.

Her name was Millicent and she was much, much more.

But what, was the pressing question that had bounced around the werewolf's head for days and he replayed their encounter for the rest of his trek home that afternoon.

While the human mind had the capacity for deceit, the wolf's heart did not. It was driven by instinct, not doubt nor insecurity; therefore while the man in him could lie Fenrir knew the wolf would not. Which was why he took notice when the animalistic part of himself stirred the night she had arrived. He sensed her presence like a nudge on his mind and the closer she got the stronger it felt until the shadows of the forest gave way and she arrived at his camp alongside the dark witch Bellatrix.

Voldemort's offering had been some nameless body, a sacrifice for the pack's amusement. What Fenrir received instead was someone entirely unexpected.

He was fascinated with her on the most primal level. And while she smelled of fear in that moment they met, she also had the scent of wild ocean winds, of bergamot and something else entirely new and exciting. It hit him like he had been doused with a bottle of amortentia. He didn't know how to process the experience but the wolf in him did.

He had to get closer to this captivating woman.

She's mine, the canine within growled. Over and over again, it's voice a deafening roar in Fenrir's head. She met his gaze, unblinking. Whatever fear he could smell on her skin was nothing compared to the fierceness in her eyes. From that moment forward he knew his plans had changed. That this young woman, whoever she was, was now under his protection.

Fenrir had wanted to keep his distance at first, to let her find her place in their community but he sensed her presence in every waking moment and the pull to seek her out was incredibly powerful.

Luckily his work kept him busy. During the day he often lead scouting missions, sometimes meeting with the Death Eaters or negotiating territorial lines with the centaurs. Sometimes he would roam near a hundred miles before he could no longer smell her. Each night of that first week he returned to their home base and saw with relief that she was still real, that this interesting new person in his world was of flesh and blood. He could see her smile as she sat gathered by the far end of the campfire alongside two young omegas and it stirred something in his heart he didn't think was fathomable.

"Fenrir, it's time," just then a voice broke his reverie.

Gabriel approached him from the shadows. It was evening now at the pack's campsite. Fenrir was perched in his usual seat, staring into the fire. His eyes bounced from Gabriel to the other werewolves accompanying him. Behind Gabriel were two others, each holding the arm of a man struggling to break from their hold. By now the other members of the pack, sensing what was going to happen, had stopped their conversations. Some of them with younger children disappeared into yurts but those that remained were now standing completely still as they looked to their leader.

"Bring him forward," Fenrir commanded quietly. Wordlessly the two werewolves marched their captive forward and released their grip so that he went tumbling to his knees. "Hello, Corbin."

"Please, sir!" The person known as Corbin screamed with desperation. His voice was frantic, his eyes wide with fear. He did not make any attempt to proclaim his innocence or even feign confusion as to why he was being hauled before the Alpha. Fenrir knew his crimes and so did the other werewolf.

Suddenly now Fenrir's voice rose so that the other members of the pack could hear him clearly, his tone was neutral and devoid of any emotion, "We have strict rules against hunting humans without prior sanction. You killed a girl less then 30 kilometers from our camp, endangering us all with your disregard. You have thererfore been brought forward tonight charged with endangerment to our pack and breaking your alpha's law. How do you plead?"

"I am so sorry, Fenrir," he blubbered.

"Guilty, then." The alpha werewolf replied matter-of-factly.

"I couldn't help myself."

"Execution or exile?" Fenrir simply asked.

"PLEASE FENRIR!"

"Be a wolf, not a coward. Accept the consequences of your actions," the werewolf leader said sternly. In that moment his eyes flashed a deep amber, reflecting the nature of the beast that lived with him. The young man unsheathed a dagger from his side and handed it to Fenrir, whispering in the weakest voice: "Exile."

The dagger, symbolic of one's place in the pack, was tossed into the fire by Fenrir.

"Very well. I hereby denounce you as a member of our pack and banish you from our territories. You will not call upon us as friend or packmate ever again."

And suddenly Fenrir's words were punctuated with a chorus of howls from the members of the pack. With their voices carried their support of their Alpha's decision. No longer one of their own, Corbin was considered a lone wolf, a stranger to their people. He casted one last pitiful look to his former Alpha before breaking into a sprint as he ran into the darkness of the forest.

"He should have chosen death," muttered Morag as she settled back down by the fire. Some of the werewolves had taken to chasing their former packmate off their land, others had retired to their homes while a handful remained by the main campfire. Morag, Tobey and Millicent were of the latter group.

Millicent had witnessed the entire scene with a mix of interest and alarm. Justice had been served so quickly she was still trying to register the details of the event that had just transpired. Altogether she was mostly surprised by Fenrir's mercy. Such wasn't the case among Voldemort's crowd as she had seen in her brief encounters with them. Millicent had only attended a handful of meetings alongside her father and brothers but each time she had witnessed how generous the Dark Lord was with his crucio curse. Leadership-wise, Fenrir and Lord Voldemort were light years apart.

"Why do you say that? Between death and freedom, it seems like a pretty easy choice."

"Exile isn't freedom," Morag said with a growl, poking the embers of their campfire in annoyance. Millicent couldn't tell if she was annoyed by her statement or the situation in general.

"It's a fate worse than death for a werewolf," Tobey added. "A werewolf's pack is their lifeline, it's where they get their strength from."

"Their strength?" Millicent asked but before either of her companions could answer their conversation was interrupted by the presence of Fenrir.

"Good evening," he greeted with a warm smile. To Millicent's surprise, he looked to her and asked. "Will you take a walk with me?"

She glanced at Morag and Tobey who said nothing before nodding as she got to her feet. Millicent could not mask her curiosity towards the alpha werewolf but even in her interest, she was also cautious. Despite his disarming grin and playfulness at the river (not to mention lack of inhibitions) Millicent could not forget that she was in the presence of Britain's most infamous werewolf, the savage Fenrir Greyback. It didn't make sense that he was nothing like she had expected him to be in both appearance and demeanor.

But while her mind told her she should be fearful, neither the darkened trails nor the company she kept seemed at all off-putting. In fact it seemed perfectly natural.

"I hope you have been making yourself at home," Fenrir said.

"Yes," she answered. "Morag and Tobey have been very kind to me and no one has tried to eat me yet."

"Good," he said with a laugh, "and tonight's events didn't alarm you did they?"

"Every place has it's rules," Millicent said as she shrugged. Even if she did not understand much about the werewolves she could comprehend the necessity of order. Fenrir wasn't just the one that made decisions but enforced them as well. She thought about the scene and Corbin's crime; Millicent was surprised that it was against their customs to hunt humans but she didn't want to say as much in case it came out as though she was passing judgment on them. Despite what she had been told all her life that werewolves were without morals and generally senseless creatures Millicent had already come to put much of her preconceived notions aside.

Fenrir sensed her hesitancy and guessed the nature of her pause. "Our rules keep us safe. We don't hunt humans without cause. That was Corbin's first offense. His second was by taking the life of a girl so close to our home he has drawn unwanted attention to our area, possibly risking our entire community. There are many who would want to do us harm."

"Tobey said a werewolf get their strength from their pack, that exile was worse than death but I still don't really know what that means," Millicent said as they strolled down the path. Millicent had spent the better part of the past week trying to learn about this new world she lived in but feeling like Alice jumping down the rabbit hole.

"It's true on the surface there is strength in numbers. Out there in your wizarding world we are outcasts and second-class citizens; without one's pack he will be alone," Fenrir explained. "But there is also a little more to it. A werewolf's magic is tied to their pack; when that thread is cut they lose some of that magic. It's painful, like losing a piece of yourself I am told."

"I see," Millicent nodded. She could understand the safety of being with a group versus being alone. In many ways it was similar to her years as a Slytherin. Being in one of the most hated houses of Hogwarts was enough to leave a vulnerable 11-year-old feeling like a social pariah shortly after donning the Sorting Hat. She had found safety and solace in her fellows of the green and silver. It might have come to a surprise to others outside her house but among her fellow Slytherins she was rarely treated any differently even for being a half-blood. She had been Slytherin first and that mattered a great deal to her peers.

She thought of Pansy and Blaise, and even Draco and Theodore. Their days of sitting in the house common room seemed far away now and the memory of them stung slightly. How strange to think she would never sit by the fireplace and listen to one of Draco's inane stories or have Pansy practice beauty spells on her hair.

"But perhaps there is something else you would like to talk about?" Fenrir asked and Millicent couldn't help but find herself enamored with his roguish smile as it stole her away from her trip down memory lane. There was no mistaking the fierceness about him that made others dread his name and yet there was something altogether intriguing about Fenrir too.

Why are you so damn attractive? Millicent wanted to say. What she did say, however was:

"Yes, actually. I need something to do."

"I could think of a few things," he laughed and she blushed reflexively.

"I meant a job, Fenrir!" She scolded him with feigned indignation, which only made the werewolf chuckle more. "Everyone around here has a purpose and if I am going to be living here I want to contribute."

And so after a little more teasing, the werewolf found a job for her. The following day she joined Morag on patrols, weaving through the dense forest trees with less ease then her werewolf friend. Part of assimilating into the werewolf pack's community was making herself useful to them. The witch noted that everyone, young and old, carried out some responsibility or another for the pack. Perhaps, she figured, if I was useful I could make it past the first moon with these people.

Even so, she regarded the shape of the moon each night and counted down the remaining days she had left to find a safe place among the werewolves. For all his flirting, Fenrir didn't seem keen on serving her up like steak tartar but she nonetheless needed to manage her options.

"Keep up, Mil; I ain't going to carry you back!" Morag taunted over her shoulder.

"Don't worry about little ol' me," Millicent huffed, "I can get myself along just fine."

Despite her athleticism, not much could have prepared the witch for keeping up with the fast and deft pace of the female werewolf. Morag moved agilely through the brush without so much as a single stumble, meanwhile Millicent trudged forward with a lot less grace.

Suddenly she came to a halt when Morag threw her hand up to stop her. Silently the redheaded werewolf pointed to a nearby deer. And before Millicent knew what was going on Morag darted towards the animal at a blinding speed.

Dagger unsheathed, she sprang upon the deer and had it's throat slashed with one swift movement of the blade. Almost instantly the animal was dead.

"Lunch is on me!" Morag shouted gleefully after a long moment.

Hunting, as it turned out, was a major part of Millicent's job. In the cold winter season that was upon them, fresh meat was a prized commodity. And while she was nowhere near as skilled as Morag when it came to such attempts she did prove her worth in catching rabbits and squirrels with well-placed snares.

What marveled Millicent was how well they survived as a people with very little outside resources or even use of wand magic.

"Some werewolves think wands are symbols of the wizard's oppression over us," Morag had explained when Millicent asked about the lack of their use among the camp-dwellers. "I'm not that daft about it personally. I still have mine, somewhere. It doesn't get much use though."

"But wouldn't it be easier to use magic for things?" Millicent asked, instinctively patting the satchel at her side where her wand still remained.

"And who's to say we don't have our own way of using magic?" Morag retorted but when Millicent's curiosity was piqued, the redhead had nothing more to say in the matter. Apparently there were some secrets among the werewolves Millicent was just not meant to be privy of.

That night in her dreams Millicent was home. But not the home she knew it to be now but rather the one of her childhood where it was still full of love. For one thing, her mother was still alive in these dreams.

Millicent lived in a seaside manor overlooking the crashing waves of the northern coast. At one point it had been a light tower she was told but over the centuries her family had built a sprawling estate around it. The tower still stood as a testament to the land's history and as a youth she would spend lazy summer days climbing to the top of it's spiral staircase where she could watch the waves kiss the rocks.

On other days she would run through her family's garden pretending she lived in a far off forest. For hours Millicent would spend in this make-believe world, dozing off under a bergamot tree until either her mother or their house elf came for her. Only now in these dreams she is not a child but her adult self and it is not one of them that take her hand but a certain werewolf with shocking gold eyes and a devilish grin. He would lean close to her and just before their lips would meet she would wake up with a start.

Bloody hell, Millicent thought to herself as she was stirred back to the waking world.

It was some point before dawn she guessed although the measure of time seemed nonexistent among werewolves. Unable to sleep she grabbed her cloak and tip-toed quietly from the yurt she shared with Morag. Outside, the sharp winter cold nearly stole the air from her lunges. She exhaled hard and watched her breath condense in a small cloud before her face.

The sun would be up in a few hours but the moon and her court of stars still dotted the sky. Millicent knew the full moon was edging closer. If not by the physical evidence in the sky above then by the behavior of werewolves around her who seemed to be affected by the upcoming event. There was a sense of tension even among Tobey and Morag in the days leading up to the full moon.

Each day she went out on patrols she asked Morag what she thought was going to happen when the full moon came. Despite their budding friendship, Morag offered little reassurance other then to say, "Not sure but Fenrir seems to like you so that's good." At this point Millicent realized she had only a handful of options: A.) Escape, which seemed ridiculous given that she was in the company of the best hunters the world had to offer not to mention it probably wouldn't go over well with the Dark Lord. She was not going to defy one of the most powerful wizards. B.) Convince them to keep her around (which was the current working plan) or C.) Use her knowledge of magic to somehow keep herself safe when the time came. There was another option, one that she had not entertained and refused to give any mind: Ask to become a werewolf. But that idea made her uncomfortable and Millicent wasn't sure she was willing to take that jump.

She had considered Option C and the possibility of making some sort of ward around her yurt.

After all she still had her wand.

Except then Millicent remembered that she had flunked every subject at Hogwarts, including Charms. Which was why Millicent figured Option B was probably her best bet at surviving her first month with the werewolves.

Standing outside her own residence she could see the dim light of a lantern glow in Fenrir's yurt. The light and the promise of his company seemed to call to her even though Millicent wasn't sure why she felt compelled to knock on the door of his home.

"Come in," she heard him say and Millicent felt her heart pounding. In some ways she felt like a schoolgirl trying to work up the courage to say 'hi' to her crush. Except in this case it wasn't some boy but a 6'3'' man. A very handsome man who currently was not wearing a shirt.

"DO YOU EVER WEAR CLOTHES?" Millicent blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow, speaking without the slightest hint of modesty: "I am wearing pants this time."

"Sorry," she said and her cheeks flushed. Millicent cursed the way her face betrayed her emotions but Fenrir didn't make any remark about it as he simply smiled at Millicent. She fidgeted with her cloak, "I don't want to bother you but I saw your light was on and I figured two insomniacs together is better than being alone."

"I am glad you came for a visit," he said and there was a glitter of mischief in his gaze. The same eyes that had woven themselves into her dreams each night, becoming a fixation even in her waking mind. Waving for her to sit wherever, he offered her the flask perched on his desk. "Drink?"

"A bit early for it, don't you think?" She asked as she took it from him.

"It's late enough depending on one's perspective," he retorted which seemed sound enough for Millicent as she took a sip. The liquid spilled across the back of her throat like a sharp flame, a welcome contrast to the bitter cold outside. She took another swig from the flask and savored the taste before giving it back.

"Apparently the witch can drink," he remarked to himself in amusement.

"Well we all have to be good at something," Millicent replied with a shrug.

Fenrir chuckled. "From what others have told me you are not a bad huntress either. I don't suppose that was taught in your wizarding school."

"No way," Millicent said, trying to imagine her pureblood friends sullying their robes in such an activity. "Growing up I was the youngest of three, any time my old man took my brothers hunting I came along too. I don't think he was keen on it but he let me tag along anyways."

"Do you miss them?" He asked and Millicent was surprised by the question. The way Fenrir regarded her in that moment made Millicent feel that if she had said yes, he might have let her go. But under the scrutiny of his hypnotic gold eyes Millicent felt compelled to be truthful. She paused for a moment to consider his words before shaking her head.

The first few days she had arrived at the pack's camp she certainly had missed the familiarity of home. She missed f knowing what to expect most of all but living with the werewolves had so far not been what she could have imagined. In a very good way. It felt like an adventure. And she liked hanging out with Tobey and Morag, mostly because there were no pretenses with them. No forced conversations about betrothals and bloodlines, none of the sort of nonsense Pansy and the other Slytherin students would go on about each and every day. She could breathe in the fresh forest air each and every day and spend her afternoons hunting (something she had always been far better at than her witchcraft).

"Not really, to be honest," Millicent quietly said. She thought about her father, the man who had played a part in sending his only daughter to live with werewolves. She thought of her brothers, whom she loved, but they too had failed her. When the Dark Lord had commanded her to go to the werewolves, none of them had so much looked up from their feet let alone spoke up on her behalf. She did not begrudge them their choice and after all, Millicent had left of her own accord. It did not matter in the end, they were in many ways a family in name only.

"I cannot believe I am saying this but things between me and them haven't been good for a long time."

"You would rather live with werewolves?" He questioned, his head slightly tilted to the side.

"Well, it beats flunking out of Hogwarts," she joked drily. "So long as you don't plan on killing me during the full moon I think this place will be alright."

"No harm will come to you among my people," Fenrir replied with a serious tone. "You have my promise of that."

Millicent was relieved. It was the first time she had heard the words be said and it lifted a weight from her shoulders. Despite her practiced calm and self-depreciating albeit morbid humor she used to cope with a situation out of her control, Millicent had carried the fear that her days were numbered. That all of Fenrir's charm was to keep her placated until the time came. But when he looked at her she didn't get the feeling she was being conned.

If he said she was safe then surely he meant it.

A few hours later the night sky waned into the early signs of day. Millicent had dozed off in Fenrir's yurt and woke with a blanket covering her and no sign of the packleader in sight. When she stepped outside the rest of the community was bustling with their morning routines. Morag and Tobey were seated in their normal spots by their shared campfire and as soon as she made eye contact she could sense the conversation that was about to ensue.

"Looks like someone had a good morning," Tobey said with a cheeky smile. He looked as though he had just crawled out of bed himself, his brown hair in a messy array.

"I had wondered where you ran off to," Morag commented with a wink. "Good for you."

"That is definitely not what happened."

"You don't have to be awkward about it with me; it's not my business who you shag," Morag said bluntly as she took a sip from her mug. "Sex isn't really taboo around here like it is with wizards."

"Fine, but that's not what happened," Millicent repeated defensively although she saw the futility in arguing the point any further. It did not matter, as neither of the two werewolves believed her anyways. Apparently they had not been the only ones watching her as she left Fenrir's yurt. She looked around the campsite to see Lucy's withering gaze locked on her.

Fantastic, Millicent thought to herself sarcastically.

"I'd look away unless you have a death wish," Morag said quietly as she noticed the silent interaction.

"Well now it's a pride issue," Millicent replied back, her eyes never moving from female werewolf. As far as Millicent was concerned, some things could overpower one's sense of self-preservation. Not being intimidated by a female werewolf with jealousy issues was one thing for instance.

"Mills, please," Morag and Tobey both persisted, both growing increasingly uncomfortable.

But when she didn't acknowledge them, suddenly Millicent's concentration was broken when Tobey poured his entire mug in her lap.

"HEY!" She sprang from her seat.

"Sorry love, but Morag wasn't kidding. You don't want to get into it with that one," Tobey said while Millicent fumed. Covered in tea, she stormed off without another word but Morag was quick to follow after her.

"Don't be too cross with him. He's not that bright but he really was trying to save you," Morag began but Millicent cut her off as she spun on her.

"I know what he was trying to do," she said. "But do you really think it would have made any difference? I get that you all have your hierarchy around here but I've met plenty of folks just like her. You cannot give them the satisfaction of intimidating you."

"It isn't that simple," Morag insisted. But Millicent had already disappeared back into the yurt to change, pointedly ending the discussion.

The redheaded werewolf huffed. She is too tough for her own good, that one. And even though Millicent knew Morag was right and she had forgiven Tobey almost instantly, she would not fall into line when it came to the likes of Lucy.

Werewolf hierarchy or not, Millicent was not one to be bullied.

By afternoon she had squared things away with Morag and Tobey during their patrols. With the day's fresh kill slung over their shoulders, they returned to a commotion in the camp's center. Fenrir was standing at the front of the group with Gabriel, Lucy and several other werewolves flanking him.

As they got closer, Millicent heard him address the gathered pack members: "We still do not have all the details but the message said that our satellite pack had been attacked by the Order."

There was a frenzied murmur among the pack members but the voices fell silent when Fenrir raised his hand. His jaw was set in a stern expression, devoid of the playfulness Millicent had come to expect from him. "I am going to investigate matters myself. Some of you will come with me while the rest will stay behind and manage things here. In the meantime I want double patrols along our perimeters and for the children to be kept close to camp."

Everyone nodded obediently and as the crowd dispersed to carry out his wishes Fenrir approached the trio. He gave an acknowledging glance to Tobey and Morag before turning his attention to Millicent. "I must go and check on the survivors but I

I will return before the full moon."

"Stay safe," she said.

"I will," Fenrir said with a warm smile and his gaze shifted to the other two werewolves, "and you two, do keep an eye on our witch here. Make sure she stays safe as well."

"You have our word, sir," Morag replied.

"What she said, sir," Tobey added but Millicent could tell by his sideward glance to her that he wanted to say something further. It wasn't until Fenrir left them that Tobey muttered quietly to himself but Millicent could hear him say, "Just don't make our work any harder for us."

Even so Millicent was not about to make any promises.