Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Millicent's 4th Year.
December.
"It's the Yule Ball, Millie. You have to go!" Pansy whined, sitting on the foot of her friend's bed. The girl's Slytherin Dormitory was quiet in the afternoon, with most students finishing up classes for the day or preparing for the upcoming festivities. Pansy was eager to pursue the latter but felt betrayed by her roommate's lack of enthusiasm.
"Just so I can watch you and Draco snog? I think I will pass," Millicent said as she pretended to read a book. Her bed's gauzy canopy had been drawn down for privacy but it didn't seem to matter much. Pansy wasn't going to leave. The spidery lettering on the cover of Millicent's book was entitled Wicked Witches: Women of the Dark Arts. Literature wasn't the Slytherin's strong suit but the title had caught her eye as she searched for subject material for a paper. And at this point, anything seemed more interesting then the conversation she currently was being dragged into.
Millicent was growing annoyed by Pansy's incessant nagging on the matter; she had made up her mind about attending (or not attending, rather) Hogwart's Yule Ball festivities weeks ago but it seemed every time she told Pansy her intentions the young girl acted as if it was the first time she had heard her.
"It will be fun! Maybe you could go with one of those handsome Durmstrung boys. You know I heard most of them come from fine pureblood families," Pansy said with her dark eyes glittering as she imagined the possibilities of her friend living out some version of a teen witch romance novel. "How perfect would it be if you met your future husband?"
"That's your fantasy, Pansy. Not mine," Millicent responded.
"Ah yes, you have no time for such things like thoughts of marriage," Pansy bit back sharply as she rolled her eyes. "But you really should. Finding the right suitor, the right bloodline, is so important for girls like us. Now, I know your mother was a -"
Pansy's words were abruptly cut short by the other Slytherin's venomous glare. At the mention of her mother Millicent's annoyance had quickly turned to fury. "That's enough Pansy, get out."
Pansy recoiled slightly, knowing she had stepped over the line. She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She should have stopped the conversation there but Pansy was tenacious. "I didn't mean anything bad by it. Everyone knows the Bulstrodes are a noble house; it doesn't make any difference to me that you aren't a true pureblood."
"I swear to Salazar himself, Pansy Parkinson if you do not get away from me I will hex you into oblivion this instant," Millicent said with a steely tone. She snapped shut her book with such a loud abruptness that it made Pansy jump as though she had been struck across the face.
Feeling defeated, Pansy stood up in a huff but just before she marched off she turned back to Millicent. "Like it or not this is the world we live in. Choosing the right company of people to associate with, the right boy to marry so that we can keep our bloodlines intact, these are the things that matter!"
Those were the things that mattered to Pansy.
Not just her but Millicent's other friends too, even Blaise who found most pureblood customs to be, in his exact words, 'utterly archaic and primeval', still acknowledged that he would follow the path his parents had written for him. For Millicent life never felt so set in stone. For one thing, she was a half-blood living among pureblood aristocracy.
Contrary to popular belief, there were plenty of other half-bloods in the House of Slytherin even though many chose not to openly acknowledge their heritage. With an ancient surname like Bulstrode most assumed that Millicent was a pureblood herself and although she did not correct others, the handful of her closest peers knew the truth.
Millicent's mother had been a muggleborn witch.
In addition, Tempest Bulstrode, had been other things as well. Brave and cunning, she was once a force to be reckoned with in her time as an Auror. Grandma Bulstrode had called her daughter-in-law "backwater" and "uncouth" but Millicent thought her mother had been one of the most interesting people in her world.
It had been her mother that had instilled in Millicent a deep sense of self-preservation and had she lived to see the day, Millicent hoped that she could have made the fierce woman proud. But tragedy was both blind and cruel and Millicent was ten-years-old when her mother left for a mission only never to return.
Millicent learned early on that there were a lot of things in life that seemed completely unfair. Her mother's death was just a bullet point on a lengthy laundry list of grievances she kept catalogued away in her mind just in case she ever got an audience with the Universe and might want to air them.
We weren't meant for this this world of pureblood bullshit, mom.
The weeks that passed since Millicent's first moon with the pack had been rendered into a seamless blend of daily hunting excursions with Tobey and Morag, campfire drinking games with some of the older werewolves and helping Nan with a few chores when she could. She saw very little of Fenrir in that time as his responsibilities had doubled after the Order's attack on the satellite pack. Millicent knew the war had already begun and the tremors of violence on the werewolf's idyllic little world were only the beginning.
Tobey had grown up mostly outside the Wizarding world and when they talked he almost always peppered her with questions about Hogwarts and life as a witch. Millicent felt a pang of sadness that he had not gone to school with her and that somehow he had missed out on an experience he might have enjoyed. She certainly hadn't enjoyed much of it, but then again school had never been her most favorite places.
Millicent didn't mind answering him about class schedules and the sort of lessons she would have. It was a fair trade as he answered her barrage of questions about werewolves without complaint.
"You don't strike me as the Death Eater type," Tobey said as they walked through the forest. "I mean don't get me wrong. You're mean as hell and tough as nails but not really like that Bellatrix bird that I see sulking around Fenrir. That one's completely nutters."
Millicent figured one could not be as powerful as Bellatrix Lestrange and not become certifiably insane along the way. A lengthy stint at Azkaban probably didn't do any wonders for her mental state either. Millicent still admired the Dark Witch and the power she wielded. No one would ever dare called Bellatrix weak, for instance.
"I didn't think there was much of a choice for my lot. Figured if I joined up with them I would fair better then if I didn't." Millicent said with a shrug, she had envisioned herself becoming a powerful dark witch under the Death Eaters although by now realized it probably wasn't something they promised on their figurative recruitment posters. "But so much for that. Now I am stuck with your arse."
"I don't see you complaining when you shack up with Fenrir," Tobey said, childishly sticking out his tongue. Millicent blushed and punched him in the arm but that only made the werewolf laugh.
Suddenly there was a soft crack of a tree branch that made Tobey's smile falter. He sniffed the air and a confused look crossed his face. Before Millicent could question her friend's action he pushed her away.
"TOBEY!" Millicent screamed.
He dropped to the ground, gasping in both shock and pain as the arrow's head drove into his chest. Several other arrows flew out at them, nearly missing Millicent. Crouching low she grabbed her wand and shot several hexes in the direction she thought the arrows had come from. After a pause when there was no return fire, she looked down at Tobey in terror.
Blood quickly pooled from the wound and Millicent bowed beside him as she pressed her hands around the site of the injury. The attempt to compress it proved to be no success so she tilted her wand, eyes continuing to scan the tree line for any sign of the attacker. But there was no time to seek them out, not if she wanted to save her friend.
"Hang on, hang on, hang on," she said while the werewolf looked on in alarm unable to speak. Thinking quickly, Millicent snapped the arrow shaft down so that only the tip of the weapon remained. She removed Tobey's belt and took the dagger from its case. Shoving the leather belt between his teeth. Millicent kissed her friend's forehead before using the dagger blade to draw the arrow's sharp point out.
Once the arrowhead was out, Millicent held her wand near the wound and began muttering an incantation with a fervent whisper, "vulnera sanentur"
She prayed to every entity she could think of that the spell would work and was relieved when the trails of blood from the wound slowed to a halt. The crimson tracts began to dissipate as skin knitted itself over the puncture mark. It wasn't the most perfect healing spell but it would be enough to give them enough time to make it back to the camp. By now Tobey was unconscious from the blood loss so Millicent quickly cast a levitation charm to carry him back.
The distance back to the campsite seemed longer then ever before and with each step, Millicent waged an internal battle with her emotions. Tears stained her cheeks despite her attempt to maintain a stoic expression; from the corner of her eye she stole glances at Tobey. His skin was pale and clammy, his breath ragged.
Please don't die on me.
Whoever had ambushed them was still out there and Millicent had half a mind to hope they revealed themselves if only so she could strike them down herself. Further relief flooded her when she saw the signs of camp ahead. Almost just as quickly as she saw the familiar smoke of the campfires did she see the outline of Fenrir rushing towards them with several other members of the pack behind him.
"What happened?" He asked urgently.
"We were attacked, I think the arrow was meant for me but Tobey…" Millicent's voice broke as she fought back the tears. The other werewolves took over, taking Tobey off to a nearby yurt designated for medical treatment.
Fenrir wrapped his arms around her tightly and Millicent was comforted by the heat that radiated from him and the sound of his heartbeat against her ear. "I sensed you were in danger," the werewolf said, pulling away so that he could look into her eyes more clearly.
"Are you hurt?"
"No, I am okay. I swear," Millicent's sea blue eyes met Fenrir's with a questioning look. She was not sure what to make of the werewolf or the feelings he inspired in her. The kiss they had shared still danced in her thoughts constantly because it had felt like just the surface of something much more then perhaps either of them knew how to put into words.
Millicent wanted to ask him how he could sense her and if so, could he also feel what she felt too?
The moment was interrupted by Morag, who ran up to Millicent with a frantic look as she asked,
"Where's Tobey?" She assessed the gravity of the situation by the expressions on Fenrir and Millicent's faces and repeated again. "What's happened to him? Where is he?"
The sick plunge of pain in her heart deepened as Millicent told Morag about the ambush. When she saw the redhead begin to crumble Millicent wordlessly hugged her.
Millicent and Morag took turns sitting by Tobey's motionless body in the days to come. Nan monitored the young werewolf but grew concerned when his health continued to worsen and he did not regain consciousness. "The arrow must have been poisoned," the old woman concluded sadly.
"What can we do to help him?" Millicent asked.
"He needs an antidote but I do not have the ingredients here," Nan said as she stroked Tobey's hair in a maternal gesture. "We will need a few things from a proper apothecary if he is going to have a chance to live."
"Then I'll go get them," Morag said.
"I will too," Millicent answered as well. Both Nan and Morag glanced at each other before looking back at Millicent. She could interpret their shared silence clearly: the decision to go would not necessarily be up to her.
It was Fenrir's call to make.
In her time with them she had been treated as not just a guest but in many ways a member of the pack. And yet there was still that line. That unspoken acknowledgement that she had been sent to live with them and not entirely by choice.
That night Millicent paid a visit to the alpha werewolf. He looked less carefree since the attack on the pack and even more so since Tobey's injury. But still he smiled at her with such warmness when Millicent entered his yurt that it made her stomach do a flip.
"I cannot just sit here and watch him die. He got hurt trying to protect me," Millicent said after explaining what Nan had told her and Morag. Although the verdict was still out who might have attacked them, the witch had one person in mind; she didn't dare voice her accusation though.
Not yet. She didn't have any proof it was Lucy and right now her priority needed to be saving Tobey. The rest of the pack had already decided it had been a rival pack or even a centaur from a nearby herd and for now Millicent wasn't going to question it.
"And you will return?" Fenrir asked slowly and Millicent was both angry and confused by the question.
"What? Of course, Tobey is my friend and this…"
Is my home now, Millicent thought to herself and it seemed Fenrir intuitively understood what she had intended to say aloud.
"Then go," he said as he took her hand and kissed it tenderly. And in turn it felt as though Millicent heard what Fenrir could not say aloud himself.
But please come home to me.
According to the wizarding world, it was common theory that lycanthropy was a tragic disease to be managed. However, Fenrir had learned long ago that it wasn't that at all.
It was a gift.
But lately the duality of man and animal was feeling strained for him. The wolf in Fenrir was clawing at the surface of his mind, demanding his attention both day and night and he was unaccustomed to this imbalance. In truth, he had not felt the struggle of his two selves for many years.
What he did know was that the feelings had only surged after Millicent left. He had even caught himself pacing once or twice. It had become apparent that in her absence the wolf in him was not pleased. The restless burning energy of the werewolf's inner beast made it hard to concentrate on much of anything else for Fenrir.
Hence why he found himself perched alone in the empty field. He was desperate to clear his mind. Sitting in careful mediation, neither the snow nor frigid wind bothered Fenrir. Eyes closed, he shut out the world around him and focused only on the quiet inhale and exhale of his breaths.
The invention of wolfsbane had been heralded as a success in treating werewolves but Fenrir knew better about that as well. He honored both sides of himself, the mortal mind and the savage's heart: Two forces existing in one vessel, neither one being suppressed by the other.
And once they were in balance, he was free. In mind, spirit and also body. Because one of the most guarded secrets of their kind was that a powerful enough werewolf didn't need the moon to shift.
It had taken decade of practice but Fenrir was nearly there, able to shift into something in between wolf and man. But it seemed just as he would find this state he would lose it.
Sometimes in these mediations and attempts to channel the wolf's magic, memories would manifest unbidden...
It was winter there too and he was surrounded by dense forest not unlike the trees that engulfed him in the present. Only here his father's blood stained the snow, his throat slashed and dead eyes staring back at Fenrir in terror. The boy was shaking, hands gripping the axe that was nearly too heavy for him to lift.
"Hati, run!" He shouted at his younger brother but the small child didn't move. He was bawling as the ancient creature slowly prowled closer to them. It was a wolf but unlike anything the young boy had seen before. It was larger than a full-grown bear with fur as black as the dark night sky above.
As it circled closer the beast growled but Fenrir met it's eyes with a steely stare even as he saw his father's blood drip down from the beast's jaw.
There was no time to react when the wolf lurched forward. Fenrir was mid-swing as the great beast bit down on his arm, piercing through his jacket and tearing into flesh. He yelled out in pain and dropped the axe but was surprised when the wolf relented almost instantly. Fenrir panted heavily as he reached for the axe again but this time found he couldn't hold it without the use of his wounded arm.
"Stay away from him!" Fenrir screamed as the wolf moved towards Hati.
Fenrir raced to throw himself at the wolf but it was too late. The three-year-old was wailing and the sound of his brother's voice filled Fenrir's ears as the wolf grabbed the child by the leg violently with its teeth.
Fenrir let out a gasp as he tore himself away from the personal demons still lurking in the shadows of his memories. After all these years the events of his past were still seared to the walls of his mind.
When Millicent and Morag arrived at the outskirts of town the sun was beginning to set on the horizon. They had spent hours walking with only the steady crunch of snow beneath them filling the silence, the severity of their mission laid heavy on their shoulders. Millicent wished she had been able to pass her Apparation tests back at Hogwarts which could have made it so much faster but she was relieved when they finally made it to the town's border.
There was something so jarring about the sight of cobblestone homes and the soft glow of lamp posts dotting the streets; after so many weeks living among the werewolves it felt like she was looking at a mirage. It was as though it were an illusion she imagined that would soon disappear and be replaced by just another endless scene of forest trees instead.
"We better get a move on," Morag said sternly when she noticed Millicent had paused in her tracks.
Strings of red and green lights glistened in the windows of all the nearby buildings, ornate wreaths hung from doors with candy-cane banners twirling in winter wind.
It was then the significance of the decorations dawned on Millicent. It was nearing Christmas.
Millicent struggled to grasp the idea that time had passed since she had gone to live with the werewolf. Indeed, life had not stopped in her absence rather it had only accelerated. She thought about Blaise and Pansy as well as Draco and the others still back at Hogwarts or perhaps home for the holidays by now.
They crossed the street and Millicent silently walked alongside Morag until they came upon their destination. They entered the Apothecary and were immediately accosted by the smell of various ingredients ranging from benign herbs to deadly magical blooms. Tiny jars lined the walls in neat rows, one after another stacked high into the rafters of the ceiling. Each capsule was labeled with beautiful handwritten labels.
An old man stepped out behind the counter as a little bell above the front door announced their presence. Balding, he appeared to be in his late sixties and peered at the pair of women curiously, no doubt taking in the rugged state of their attire.
He was nonetheless polite when he greeted his latest customers. "Good evening ladies what might I do for you?"
"We need the ingredients on this list, please," Morag said and handed the piece of parchment to the storekeeper. He retrieved his reading glasses from the confines of his shirt pocket, scanning the list very carefully. "Alright then, let's see what I can do."
Putting his weight on a wooden cane the old man hobbled off in search of what they needed. In that time someone else appeared from the same room the older man had been in earlier. Millicent had wandered off to another part of the shop and was too busy scanning the various
items to notice the youth staring at her.
"Bulstrode? Is that really you?"
Her heart nearly stopped at the sound of her surname. Millicent glanced over to Morag who was standing off by the counter. While the redhead glanced at her from the corner of her eye she did not make any further acknowledgement.
"Do I know you?" Millicent asked with a slightly furrowed brow. Her voice was barely above a whisper. The boy in front of her was younger then her with messy brown hair that reminded Millicent of Tobey.
"Probably not," he said with a shy smile. "I'm Lucas Harper, Slytherin but a year younger then you. I remember you because you were the one that put that Gryffindor girl in a headlock."
"For the record, she started it," Millicent said plainly.
"Everybody said that you joined-" He began to say but was cut off by Millicent as she pressed her index finger to her lips.
She leaned in and said in a fierce whisper. "Listen I can't really talk but do me a favor will you? Tell Zabini and the others that I am alive. Tell them I am okay...tell them I'm better than okay.."
He gave her a confused look but as Morag approached them he nodded. "Have a Merry Yule, miss!" He said before ducking off into the back of the shop.
"What was that all about?" Morag asked as they stepped back outside.
"What do you mean?" Millicent replied and pulled the cloak hood up to guard her face from both the chill of the winter wind and also Morag's further examination. She felt slightly bad for not telling Morag the truth but something inside Millicent convinced her that it might do more harm then good if the werewolf knew she was sending a message along to her friends back at Hogwarts. She wasn't sure if Lucas would really pass along the message but she was hopeful. Would Blaise and Pansy be relieved to know she was still alive? She wondered how they would react and whether the news might reach her father. But at that point she decided she didn't care what he thought of the matter.
"Let's get back home."
Unfortunately they were still a few hours away from camp when the first flurries of snow began to fall. They trudged on anyways, mostly because Morag was leading the way and refused to slow her pace even for a moment. But as the wind started picking up Millicent feared that they were walking straight into a blizzard. Morag, however, was relentless and insisted in driving forward even as visibility worsened.
It was dangerous, even for a werewolf like Morag.
"We have to stop, it's only getting stronger," Millicent yelled over the high-pitch howl of the wind.
Morag shook her head fiercely. "Absolutely not! Tobey can't wait for the cure."
"We will die trying to get back there tonight," Millicent said and grabbed Morag by the arm when she couldn't get her to stop. The woman spun on Millicent, her eyes glowing a shade of amber as the wolf within snarled. The look was so scathing it caught Millicent off guard and she instantly let go of her friend.
"Then you stay, witch! He's mine and I have to get back to him," Morag said with a furious tone. Millicent saw that beneath her friend's frustration there was pain. Not only that but genuine fear. Millicent briefly matched Morag's look of anger but her expression softened.
"I know," Millicent said and there was a long pause between them where only the howl of the wind could be heard. "I know you do but we need to wait out this storm. We can keep going as soon as it subsides."
There was another long silence as Morag considered Millicent's suggestion. Eventually she nodded and pointed to a nearby gathering of boulders. They marched through the knee-deep snow to find a dry crack between the stones large enough for the two of them to duck out of the storm.
Millicent took out a shallow bowl from her backpack, retrieved her wand and muttered an incantation to summon a blue flame from it's tip. She nudged the ball of fire and it gently floated to the bowl where it flickered but did not burn the surface.
"Sorry for snapping at you, Mills," Morag said, losing some of the gruffness in her voice.
"Don't worry about it," Millicent replied as she absently poked the flame with her index finger. The magical fire warmed her hand but didn't burn it as she spun it in a clockwise circle. The witch looked up at the werewolf and asked, "Does Tobey know?"
"That git? He's as oblivious as they come," Morag said with a short laugh. "But I've known he was going to be my mate since the day I met him. He drives me mad but I would be in pieces without him."
Millicent smiled. She wasn't much for love stories, when the other girls at school would be writing their names with their crush's last name she had been concerned with other things.
And yet she found Morag's devotion lovely. Which wasn't a word in Millicent's typical vernacular.
"How did you know he was your mate?" Millicent asked. In her time with the werewolves there were things she was beginning to learn about them that still seemed so confusing. Like the subject of mates; it was a bond that seemed to transcend what she knew about marriage and yet it was altogether mysterious to her.
"Can't explain it," Morag said, but rummaging over her thoughts she elaborated. "Except it's like this tether that binds us. When he's happy I can feel it in my very bones and when he's hurt…"
The werewolf bit her lip and murmured quietly, "well, I feel that too."
"That's why you came running," Millicent said, understanding.
"I wasn't the only one who came running when you two came back," Morag replied, as she took the flame out of the bowl. She let it dance across her knuckles, transfixed by the cerulean light it emitted.
Millicent's eyes widened in surprise at her friend's implication. "Wait, what do you mean by that?"
"Nothing at all," Morag said with knowing smile.