[Author's Note]
I want to say thank you once more for all the lovely reviews. It has been a little daunting for me to realize that I am not just writing this in a vacuum but that there quite a few of you out there so kind to show support! I appreciate the encouragement immensely. And I know some of you have had questions about one aspect or another but I hope to answer as much as I can through the chapters to come. Please mind the errors here and there, I might have missed a few.

Some days
I am more wolf
Than woman
And I am still learning
How to stop apologising
For my wild.
-Nikita Gill

Białowieża Forest
Five Years Prior

At their current pace Greyback knew they wouldn't make it to any civilization for quite some time. If, he thought pessimistically, that was they made it there at all. He was less concerned with himself as he was with the witch. Hermione's condition worsened with each day they spent in the wild but to his admiration the young woman concealed her failing health well. Greyback only knew different because of his heightened senses: the increased pallor of her complexion and slight fever of her skin, but most of all he could smell the distinct scent of infected wounds. Despite her best effort to keep them tended the injuries had become vulnerable out in the environment.

The werewolf predicted she would not last for much longer at this rate.

"We will rest here for a bit," Greyback said and feigned fatigue when in fact he simply knew that it was the witch that needed a break. An expression of muted gratitude crossed her face as she lowered herself carefully onto a fallen tree trunk. The makeshift splint they had fashioned only partially sufficed, the branches they had used dug painfully into Hermione's leg. She loosened them and exhaled from the relief.

It was difficult to keep track of time in the wild but he believed they had been gone for nearly three days. Greyback scratched the scruff of his blonde beard absently, his eyes scanning the distance for any sign of civilization. Even the remnants of hunters would have given the pair some hope that they were heading in the right direction. Thus far they had been lucky, in some sense of the word, as the weather had been mild and most of the winter snow had melted. The terrain was even as they descended into the treeline but that was about the end of their fortune. Save but the sounds of birds singing and the predictable hum of crickets there was nothing else but the steady trud of their feet.

There was a vast horizon of dense trees for as far as his keen eye could perceive, confirming they were very much alone in their predicament.

You could leave her, he told himself and the idea held merit

Indeed, Hermione Granger (although he generally just referred to her as the witch) was of little value to him. She was slow and likely dying and her attitude towards him was understandably sour. There was no denying that if their situations were reversed she likely would have killed him in his sleep. In this regard it seemed pragmatic to consider his own survival above all else. Perhaps Voldemort would consider her a prize if the werewolf were to bring her back but this alone did not appeal to Greyback. Despite his allegiance to Voldemort it had been strictly circumstantial. A necessity to ensure his kind's survival, which at this point he wasn't sure what even remained of his people; Greyback didn't particular derive satisfaction at bending the knee to the dark wizard. And neither was he particularly inclined to turn the witch over now that it didn't serve him.

He thought about their initial interaction, the day he stumbled across her, Harry Potter and the red headed wizard. On Voldemort's request he had accompanied the Snatchers, playing the part of the boogeyman to scare foolish children into going back to school. A flash of deadly canine fangs and the gleam of his golden wolfish eyes was often more than enough to make a defiant student reconsider running away from Hogwarts again. But this time how different things had gone, he thought and drove himself back to the topic at hand.

While Greyback entertained the idea of abandoning the young woman, the wolf within him balked fiercely at the idea. He was still puzzled by this instinctual impulse of his canine side and questioned it. She's not my pack, I have no reason to keep her alive, he argued silently. And yet deep down the animalistic part of him rose to the surface and the protective emotions that washed over him indicated his decision had been made for the man by the beast. Greyback did not like the feeling of being at odds with his wolf self and conceded to the impulses he could not quite grasp in human form.

Fine, he hissed to himself and this quelled the beast within.

"Did you say something?" Hermione asked and Greyback broke away from his inner reverie. This had been the first time she had spoken to him all day and the sound of her voice startled him slightly. It would have been difficult to explain to her the complex swirl of thoughts darting through his mind at the time and she likely would not have appreciated the subject therefore Greyback merely shook his head.

"It will be sunset before long, we should consider setting up camp here for the night," Greyback said. Despite the cool breeze Hermione was clammy with sweat, her lips increasingly pale. While he preferred to move at night he knew his weaker companion would be at risk of further injury if she were to continue travelling. It was clear she needed rest.

"Okay," she replied and sunk further against the tree trunk she had been perched against. If she knew the precariousness of her condition the witch did not let on. Greyback wondered how much that bravery was a facade.

"I will scout for water and food. Gather wood to build a fire," he ordered. Pausing briefly, the werewolf considered her current state and added, "if you can."

Hermione perceived this as a jab and huffed, rallying herself to stand just to prove she still had the energy. Greyback offered a helpful hand but she brushed him off. This rejection seemed to annoy him. Just because his wolf side had declared her worth saving did not entirely mean the man himself would tolerate her being insolent.

"You may not want my help but out here you are going to need it, witch," he said calmly but there was an undertone of warning in his voice.

Hermione wanted to retort but could not find the words. Whether she liked it or not she was indebted to him in this situation. She knew that being injured and getting worse, without her wand in an unfamiliar setting was a recipe for a very bleak outcome. But even so, Hermione could not let herself forget even for a moment that the man in front of her was the enemy. A killer. The emotions boiled over and she snapped despite her better judgement.

"You still haven't told me why you are even helping me," she finally said. He raised a questioning eyebrow, amused at how close the question came to the one he had been just moments ago asking himself.

"What does it matter?" He asked, evading.
"It matters very much to me whether you are keeping me alive just so I can be handed over to the Death Eaters."
"Do you mean to say you don't wish to turn me in to your precious Order when we get back?" He replied back and with an empty smirk, amended. "Or simply kill me if the opportunity presented itself?"
"You deserve it for all your wretched crimes," she spat with venom. "You are a monster who has destroyed the lives of many."
"Careful witch," he taunted. There was a sudden coldness in his voice and the mirth from his eyes had all but disappeared. "You know very little of what you speak."

Hermione felt as though she knew enough and yet there was something so troubling about Greyback's expression that it gave her pause. In that moment Greyback stepped away, the lines in his face smoothing as he regained composure. "I know what I am. Maybe a monster to some but also a champion for those your kind has preyed upon. The world is not so black and white, witch. Perhaps if you live long enough you will see this for yourself."

And at that he walked off, effectively ending the conversation. Only after the fire of the conversation died did Hermione realize the werewolf still had not answered her question.

When he returned sometime later the sun had already sank behind the trees, a fading burst of orange against the violet sky. Hermione had done her best to gather kindling but the exercise had left her further exhausted and she felt depleted. Greyback regarded the pile of branches and gave a satisfied nod.

They said nothing. The werewolf had returned with a hollowed piece of log that he had used for a makeshift cup. Wordlessly he handed it to Hermione who drank from it greedily. His absence had given her ample time to consider once more her the lack of options she currently faced. As the ire of their argument diminished she could see that the only thing that mattered at this point was surviving one day to the next. As it was she knew she was in a bad place. If not for the growing weakness in her body or the excruciating pain radiating from her leg then by the looks on her companion's face which confirmed her fears.

How strange to think that this might be where she met her all the great medical advances of the Wizarding community and her kind's lengthy lifespans Hermione Granger was going to perish by infection with only an infamous murderer to witness it. For all she had learned in her schooling, she cursed that she had not spent more time studying medicinal magic.

But Hermione knew she needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and pushed the melancholy away once again. Hermione had made the choice to survive and that was exactly what she was going to do. Whatever it takes, she told herself. Hermione repeated these words like a mantra as though she might will herself into better health.

After drinking the last drop of water, she set aside the cup and returned to her current task at hand. Hermione had been attempting to make a fire the old-fashion way without success. She had read about fire-starting techniques in a weathered SAS handbook years ago but thanks to the practicality of magic she had never needed to use it. The book had belonged to her grandfather, a relic of his time in war and Hermione as a young child had read it in the same way she greeted any book: with voracious interest. But all that interest and understanding of the mechanics of the technique didn't seem important now for all it did her.

"May I?" Greyback asked. The coldness in his eyes was gone and Hermione was actually grateful to be relieved of taxing chore. She handed him the stick, bark and the small braid of twine she had been using to spin the wood. Greyback kneeled down over the bark and set to work, within a few minutes a burning ember appeared to which the werewolf carefully tended until the whole bark combusted.

"Wow, that's remarkable," she observed quietly. It was the first kind word she had uttered towards the werewolf and it seemed they both took notice of it. Hermione turned red in somewhat embarrassment but Greyback smiled faintly.

"You get a lot of practice making fires living in the wild," he said. Hermione would not apologize for what she had said earlier; she had meant it and as far as the witch was concerned Greyback was a killer. But she reasoned that regardless of how long their truce would last Hermione needed to focus on surviving so she could get back to Harry, Ron and all the others fighting to save their world.

Present Day
Artemis Home for Lycanthropy

Hermione's quarters at the Artemis Home was simple but far more pleasant than the four walls of the st Mungo's hospital room. When she awoke to her new environment she gave a startled glance around before relaxing in her surroundings as she recalled her recent arrival to the new abode. At the foot of her bed Hermione noticed four young children sleeping on the floor. Curled up in a heap they stirred but did not wake as Hermione peered down at them.

As they had not been there when she had fallen asleep Hermione discerned they must have crept in during the night. Unlike the doctors and other folks that visited Hermione in the hospital this intrusion did not bother the werewolf in the least. They were all quite young, no more than four-years-old and likely governed by instinct.

These children were like her. More wolf than human. They were attune to the same magical bonds that linked their kind, the sort of invisible power that each werewolf innately possessed as part of their ancient hierarchy. This didn't surprise her but rather gave her comfort: she had been without her own pack for sometime and the void weighed heavily upon her. She was not sure how others managed without their pack. Lupin, for instance, was of her kind but she could not make sense of him. He smelled of being an outsider. A lone wolf.

Hermione grunted at the children and the individuals finally opened their eyes. Blinking back at her were four pairs of amber eyes; caught in their curiosity they didn't initially look away, perhaps wondering if the older werewolf was going to kick them out of the room.

"Go," she said softly and the children nodded dutifully as they scurried to their feet. This wasn't a rejection of their presence but rather just at that moment Madame Wright paced by the open door, pausing in her tracks with a worried expression before spotting the children. The concern was replaced with relief as she counted heads and saw that all her charges had been accounted for.

"You all gave me such a start," she admonished as the children's bare feet pitter-pattered past her back to their room. "You know the rules, no leaving your rooms after curfew!" She said after their retreating figures, the tiny werewolves giggling mischievously as they disappeared back into their rooms.

"Miss Granger," Madame Wright said and turned back to the corridor of Hermione's room. "I hope you slept well dear." Saying nothing of the little intruders, the old witch pointed to a neatly folded pile of clothes. "Over there are some fresh clothes for you."

The young woman peered at the garments but said nothing.

"If you would like I can summon a House Elf for assistance."

Madame Wright waited patiently for Hermione to respond. Still unable to find her voice but rapidly beginning to regain her understanding of language the werewolf shook her head. With a knowing smile and perhaps inward pride at Hermione's comprehension, the older woman accepted this response. "Very well, breakfast will be downstairs whenever you are ready to join us."

And at that she parted from Hermione, walking down the large hallway at a more leisurely pace knowing all of the residents had been properly located.

Hermione shut the door, a practice of modesty the female nurses at St. Mungo's had been very adamant about teaching her when she undressed. She was unashamed of her naked body and would have been fine with not wearing anything at all but the werewolf knew she had to try to appease those around her. She had lived as a wolf for so long but it was time to be a woman again.

And part of that meant wearing clothes. So she shrugged off her pajamas and slipped into the linen dress that had been laid out for her. Bits and pieces of a life she hardly remembered slowly poked at her mind; Hermione looked at her reflection as she washed up for the day and still felt the confusion of staring at a face she didn't quite recognize to be her own. Just as she had each morning since returning to civilization the witch reached out to the mirror and mumbled her name: "Hermione."

It was like an affirmation in how the name escaped her lips, full of hope and anticipation that she was on the right path. She wanted to know about this woman and the life she must have once lived. She knew there was no chance she could ever become that witch but perhaps with time she could forge the two: the identity of her past and the one she now encompassed.

"Come on 'ione!" A little voice shouted from the hallway and silently she left her room, following after the gaggle of children as they bounded off to breakfast. Downstairs, Hermione was inside the large dining room Madame Wright had shown her during the tour. Only now the space was bustling with life as children of all ages were clambering into their seats at long benches and tables. The sight drew a memory from her past but it was more like a fleeting image: an ancient castle's great hall with its ceiling dotted in floating stars. Unlike her initial interaction with many of the children most did not turn away from their food for very long to notice her although some of the more astute young werewolves gave reverent nods to their older counterpart. She nodded back, as if granting them permission to continue their morning meal.

She spotted several individuals closer to her age and made eye contact with one of them. A young man with dark brown hair and tan complexion, he turned to whisper to his two companions and the man and woman beside him followed his gaze. After only a few seconds he waved her over and despite her hesitation Hermione accepted the invitation.

"So you're the new girl," he greeted as Hermione cautiously took her seat. There was a friendliness in his voice that matched the warmth of his broad toothy smile. "Name's Tobey and these two are Aisling and Killian. The pair beside him each possessed thick black hair and blue eyes; their nearly identical features confirmed their relationship even before Tobey added that they were twins.

"I can see why the pups were so fascinated with you," he said between sips of tea. "What do you two make of her?"

"Do you have a name?" The young woman named Aisling asked, ignoring Tobey's question. Her expression wasn't nearly as inviting as the other werewolf's had been but the lack of smile did not bother Hermione. The human gesture of baring one's teeth as an act of friendliness would take some time for Hermione to grow reacquainted with as the wolf within instinctively saw this as a signal of threat. Though her comprehension of language was still adjusting, the repetitive practice with Lupin of such details at least meant she could answer this one.

"Hermione," she replied. The young woman watched as those around her eagerly grabbed food from the communal plates, everyone eating with varying degrees of civility. Madame Wright and several other staff members casually walked up and down the rows of tables, correcting those who had forgotten how to use their utensils or snatched food from their companion's plate.

"It's been awhile since we've had a feral join us," Tobey said and Hermione frowned as she tried to understand the words.

"They say you came in from the wild," Cillian said and noticing her confusion, added "The forest?...Home?"

There was something about the word home that resonated with Hermione and if nothing else she understood what the dark-haired man was trying to convey. Indeed, the trees and sprawling meadows appealed more to her sense of belonging then the walls and artificial lights of humans. Home. It was the rushing waters of a spring thawed from the winter's cold and the feeling of mossy stones under the pads of her feet.

"We came from the wild too... Don't worry, it will get easier." Aisling said and there was empathy in her voice that Hermione found reassuring.

Hermione watched the others eat a little longer before doing the same. Her hand immediately followed her nose as she took several pieces of ham with her bare hands. Unlike the hospital's bland tasteless food, she was happy to find the meat delicious and perhaps the first satisfying meal she had consumed in some time. She could not hide the predatorial way she ate her food, guarded and ready to defend her meal. The three other werewolves looked between themselves but said nothing of their newest company's eating habits.

She was peculiar, in more ways than one, but perhaps there were no other individuals more suited to understanding what it was like to be a wolf in sheep's clothing.