[Author's Note]
It's always very exciting as a writer when you get a story that essentially writes itself. That has very much been the case with Untamed; I have pages and pages of notes and outlines all eager to be put to the page. I wanted to say as always I really appreciate the support. I have given myself a deadline of two weeks to write out as much as I can for this story as I am not sure what free time I will have once grad school starts. Your encouragement goes a long way though so thank you again for the wonderful reviews.

Chapter 7

Five Years Prior

Hermione awoke as the first tendrils of daylight crept across the rocky underhanging she found herself in. It was still a hazy darkness but even in the shadows she realized something was not right. At once Hermione was horrified by her utter lack of clothes, curling her legs to her chest as if to provide some measure of modesty. It was only a few seconds later that she recalled the events of the night prior and her transformation. Not only had she survived but her wounds were healed and her fever was gone. She felt exhausted but more importantly Hermione was whole. There was something quite surreal about escaping the grim reaper's grasp.

At least for now, she thought pessimistically before banishing the thought. Her mantra for the past year and the one she had drilled into Ron and Harry in their journey had always been to focus on the present.

Greyback must have heard the rustle of movement behind the rock structure because he appeared just outside the barrier. "She lives," he greeted.

"Don't look!" Hermione yelled in panic, trying to further cover her bare skin. She had wanted to sound assertive but instead her voice came out as a shrill squeak. Her cheeks flushed as her eyes darted for any sign of clothes.

"Clothes are overrated," he retorted but kindly turned away.

"I beg to differ. Now where are my clothes?"
"You mean those rags in the corner? They would make better kindling for fire at this point, pet." Greyback didn't turn back around but instead gestured to the small pile nearby. He was clearly unimpressed by the witch's sense of modesty.

"Don't call me that," she said as she scanned the area. Upon inspection of what remained of her clothes she saw they were in fact rubbish. While covered in dirt and blood, at least before the shirt and pants had been something.

She groaned in frustration. Of course Hermione had not possessed the strength or clarity to undress prior to transforming (and it would have been mortifying if Greyback had taken upon himself to do so) but as a result she was now completely nude. Well almost, she thought drily to herself. The only salvageable item in her wardrobe was a shredded pair of jeans. She ripped off the dangling pieces until they resembled shorts. At least I have my bottom covered.

"Here," Greyback said. He removed his shirt (clearly someone had prepared their clothes for the full moon the night before) and tossed it over his shoulder at Hermione's direction.

"I don't want this," she answered before realizing that wasn't true. A shirt was a shirt but being difficult with Greyback just came as reflex.
"Must you insist on being a pain in the arse? Just take the damn thing," he said in exasperation. The werewolf threw up his arms and walked away from the underhanging. Hermione rolled her eyes but accepted the gift, pulling the stained shirt over her tiny body until it enveloped her nearly like a dress.

She couldn't help but notice how it smelled of him. What is that smell? She wondered. Notes of blood and sweat but also other aromas that her human mind couldn't process because it was altogether foreign. With her heightened senses Hermione was aware of hundreds if not thousands of different scents now. It was overpowering. And if she wasn't too embarrassed to admit to herself, intoxicating.

Hermione shook the troubling thought from her mind and tried to refocus. Now at least feeling somewhat presentably dressed she stepped out from the underhanging to where Greyback perched on a boulder. She tried to follow his gaze but wasn't certain what it was he could be looking at in the heavy forests around them. They had somehow ended up in a completely new area during the night, perhaps even farther from civilization then they had been. There was no way of knowing and the uncertainty was more than a little frustrating for Hermione.
"Are you sure you won't be cold?" Hermione asked as she sat down next to him. Up close Hermione could see that his tan skin was marred with scars so intricate they looked like the patterns lightning makes in a stormy sky.

He scoffed, "I don't get cold."

She wasn't sure if that was a werewolf thing or the words of a bullheaded man but she didn't request elaboration. Instead she sat in silence, her knees drawn to her chest.

"Thank you for the shirt," she said eventually, feeling the slightest twinge of remorse that she had rejected it initially. His golden eyes flickered to her and he gave a nod before returning to the view.

She hesitated before continuing, not sure of the right words to say exactly:
"And for everything else really...thank you for saving my life. You still haven't told me why you did it but...nonetheless I am grateful."

"Perhaps when you return to your people you can tell them what I did for you. Put a good word in on this wolf's behalf," he said with a faint smile and Hermione was surprised by his request. What did it matter to him? His lengthy list of crimes would continue to proceed him no matter what. And besides what did Greyback truly want? Absolution?

Hermione recalled his words from one of their earlier arguments. He had talked about the world not being black and white and for the first time Hermione was beginning to perceive that there was gaps of gray too. She knew very little of his motives for saving her or for fighting alongside Voldemort, or furthermore for anything he had done in his lengthy life. But ever the inquisitive and persistent person that she was Hermione was determined to find out the answers. Only then would she decide what kind of person Greyback really was.

"I will," she agreed softly. While Hermione had reacted with surprise to Greyback's suggestion, he had responded to her words with equal amazement. For a long time after that they simply sat in mutual silence, watching the morning sun rise over the canopy of trees together as neither friends nor enemies.

They began their hike shortly after grabbing what meager supplies they had collected. The long walk gave Hermione a lot of time to reflect on her previous night's ordeal. She remembered pieces of her transformed self like the sensation of running at blinding speeds and the way the earth felt under her paws or the taste of a rabbit's blood in her mouth. It hadn't felt strange then and even now Hermione found herself detached from the idea of such up close and personal hunting. Whereas only just days before she would have found it crude and by it, having left such things to Harry and Ron on their time on the run, now Hermione was completely nonplussed by it. In fact the idea of steak tar tar didn't seem quite so unappealing as it might have once been.

Admittedly, Hermione also vaguely recalled bits of her lucid surreal dream of the woman in the field. She was half-way tempted to talk to Greyback about it before abandoning the idea altogether. She didn't believe in mysticism no matter how real it had felt. Besides, there were some things that felt a little too embarrassing to say aloud to someone she didn't really know very well and going on about a weird dream fell into that category.

Hermione felt as though they spent hours constantly descending and ascending terrain that was not entirely forgiving. It did not help that she no longer had shoes to wear and felt every bit of the sharp stones beneath her. She was grateful when they approached patches of mossy grass and cool wet earth, giving her feet a needed reprieve. Greyback had offered his boots as well but it was obvious they were many sizes too big.

"I could take them off in solidarity?" He joked.
Hermione hopped agilely from one mossy patch to the next, slightly pleased with herself. Having been constrained by her injuries Hermione couldn't help but appreciate the freedom of mobility. They had been walking for hours but neither person seemed winded. Hermione couldn't help but notice that since her transformation there felt a distinct change in their dynamic. For the sake of their survival the duo had the unspoken truce not brought up the war or the opposite sides they fought for. It didn't mean Hermione had forgotten the reality that awaited her, only that needed to focus on what it would take to get out of this situation and that meant working with the Death Eater's resident werewolf.

"Really not necessary. Besides this isn't so bad. I would say it's a fair trade for being able to walk again," Hermione replied.

"I would not argue against that," Greyback said. He watched Hermione take another jump on a distant patch of grass, bounding over several sharper boulders without any effort. He himself moved nimbly but not quite as fast as his more eager companion. Despite whatever animosities they harbored, Greyback was discretely pleased that Hermione had not only survived her first transformation but flourished. While he had informed her there had been a chance she would not have lived through the bite Greyback had not disclosed the truth that the mortality rate was actually quite high for first time transformations. He believed grimly it was nature's way of ensuring only the strongest survived.

"The gift suits you," he remarked. Hermione was balancing on a tree log but stopped herself immediately at his comment as if realizing the immaturity of her antics.
"I still don't know what to make of these changes," she answered honestly. Hermione was aware that since becoming a werewolf herself they seemed to have found some mutual ground. Or at the very least they were not arguing as much, mostly because Hermione depended on learning everything she could from Greyback. "Everything smells overwhelming for one thing."

"You will grow accustomed to it. Mostly anyway. I don't particularly care for cities, it can be maddening to the senses.."

Before the mess of the war broke out and her life derailed Hermione had envisioned herself living in a London flat after graduating Hogwarts. High above the hustle and bustle of daily life but still close enough to feel the pulse of the city. She wondered now if such a whim would ever be possible. Hermione tried to imagine existing with these new abilities if what Greyback said was true. Would the bright lights be too jarring now, could she stand the smells and noises that made up city life?

I am getting ahead of myself, Hermione thought. There would be no charming London flat just yet, and perhaps not even a guarantee that Hogwarts would still be standing whenever she returned home. Her mind jumped from one conclusion to the next and it wasn't long before she was thinking of Harry and Ron. What would they think of her knowing she had become a werewolf and furthermore that she had done so by choice? For certain Harry would take no issue but Ron however was a different matter. She was aware of his prejudices. He had grown to like Professor Lupin and see past his lycanthropy but she knew he was still scared of things he didn't quite understand. Hermione could picture him in her mind clearly, his blue eyes full of uncertainty and perhaps even disgust, as she told him of what she had become.

"If they can't accept you they are not worthy of your friendship," Greyback said in response to her thoughts.
"Are you intruding on my mind?" Hermione said with a bristle, her eyes flashing with indignation as she stopped in her tracks. Her postured straightened as she planted her fists on her hips. Greyback quirked an eyebrow at the young woman's stance even as she raised her voice. "Stop that at once!"
"As much as I was really enjoying the saga of your life, it wasn't intentional," he said with a bored drawl, continuing to walk several lengths in front of her. Although despite his calm demeanor, he cast a cautious eye in her direction as if expecting her to throw a rock at his head. "You were projecting yourself very loudly."

"Projecting? What do you mean? What on earth-"
As if to abate the growing onslaught of questions that he knew were bound to flood him, Greyback raised a hand to make her pause just long enough for him to explain. "Our kind has its own sort of legilimens among one another. It is strongest when we are in wolf form or communicating with pack members but sometimes it happens accidentally."

Hermione would take better care to guard her thoughts in the future but for now she was resigned to the fact that Greyback was privy to at least one of her mounting insecurities. However, Greyback did not tease her nor say anything further about her unspoken concerns. So she was eager to move past that as the topic at hand raised more questions for the new werewolf.

"Does the bite...are we somehow connected now?" Her words came out in a jumbled mess as she gestured to her shoulder. Hidden from view but already healing, the large canine teeth marks where she had been bitten still had a faint silvery shimmer. Hermione knew she should have asked these sort of questions prior to becoming a werewolf but somehow it hadn't occurred to her when she had been in the middle of dying. But still, Hermione recalled reading a chapter in her textbook about werewolves preferring to claim their victims for life. Hermione wondered painfully what sort of contract had she signed with her soul.

"Yes, I own you now," he said with feigned menace and laughed at Hermione's horrified expression. "I am pulling your tail. It's not like that. There is a connection in a sense of the word but one that can be strengthened or weakened by either party. Some wolves shut themselves off from the connection altogether. In packs it is essential to survival; we can feel each other's presence even across great distances and know when one of our own is hurt. Bonding is another matter and a far more serious ritual of our kind."

Hermione was absorbing this new information with immense fascination, her mind bubbling with questions. Before she could inquire further, Greyback obliged a more elaborate explanation. "Marriage isn't a common practice in pack life. While a werewolf may choose a mate only the Alpha pair will be Bonded in ritual and have children. The ritual Itself signifies that if either werewolf should die the other will lead the pack without ever taking another mate.

"That sounds tragically romantic," she answered, almost to herself. "But why are they the only ones that may have children?"

Greyback paused briefly, perhaps realizing he had been speaking very transparently to the new werewolf about customs and rituals that were extremely guarded outside the pack. He had no expectation that she would join him and the pack he lead (albeit now scattered across the UK upon the Battle of Hogwarts). And yet why did he find it so easy to tell her these things? What meaning would they hold for her if she simply skipped off to live as a witch. He didn't hold his breath that this young woman would honor her wolfside once she was reunited with her wizarding kin. And yet despite his reservation he replied, perhaps out of obligation to the young woman's beseeching expression.

"Because only the Alpha's are able to bear healthy children."
"Oh," Hermione said with a thoughtful frown. She realized that she actually had never heard of an infant werewolf and now she knew why. They didn't really exist. The young woman was not sure how she felt about that discovery; while motherhood had always been a very distant and abstract idea Hermione felt a pang of sadness that it was all but an impossibility now. Just like her silly dream of a posh London flat, the rite of someday raising children had become a shooting star in the night sky, blazing past her life's trajectory and disappearing into the abyss.

"You are making that face again," Greyback said and mimicked her scowl. She rolled her eyes but continued to ruminate over what she had been told. Unsurprisingly, Hermione knew very little about werewolves. Save but a few brief pages in her school textbook, the realm of lycanthropy was a vast mystery. What information existed on them was mostly conjecture recorded by wizards. Perhaps I can fix that, Hermione thought as the wheels in her mind began to turn. She had been a werewolf for precisely one day and already she was envisioning herself as some sort of would-be ambassador and researcher of lycanthropy. Hermione supposed there was worse ways to spend one's time and energy.

Hermione decided to move past the fleeting sadness and focus on learning all she could about her new condition, spending the next few hours of their trek tirelessly grilling the tall older man about everything there was to living among a werewolf pack.

Present Day
Artemis Home

Harry apologized for not visiting the past few days but as they sat inside the comfort of the home's expansive library Hermione didn't seem fazed. She hardly seemed aware of the wizard's presence. Sinking into the warm leather of an armchair, her fingers fluttered over the same fairytale book Harry first brought to her back in St. Mungos. Harry couldn't help but notice that she always seemed to linger over the same story of Beauty and the Beast, rereading the tale over and over. What did she like so much about it he wondered but everytime he asked Hermione merely stared back at him with her amber unblinking eyes.

"I know I haven't been able to stop in much but I've been hearing you are settling in nice here," Harry said. He wanted to tell her the full story of his absence, that his missions as an Auror had kept him on a nearly nonstop cycle of work, but decided Hermione likely wouldn't understand. There was so much he wanted to tell her since she had been gone like that she had missed his graduation from Auror academy or his engagement to Ginny and all the other far smaller milestones he had hoped his friend could have witnessed. He shook off his thoughts, regrouping mentally. "I have been getting owls saying you're talking more too. I bet it won't be long before you are feeling like your old self."

As soon as the words left his mouth he felt embarrassed. Did he sound too eager? Harry knew it was selfish to want his best friend back but he couldn't help it. Her recovery was important but it felt like the void of her presence over past five years needed to be filled with new memories, new experiences as the trio again. Harry was hopeful that he, Ron and Hermione would still be a team just like that always been.

"Not same," Hermione said quietly.
Harry looked at her with puzzlement, "wha-what was that?"
"I not the same," Hermione repeated, drawing each word slowly with a struggle. Why were human words so hard to vocalize? Her sharp amber eyes met Harry's azure ones with a pang of sadness that she was unable to communicate fully to him. There were so many thoughts she wanted to express to her old friend but the most important was that he knew the truth. It felt as though they were both trapped with their individual notions of what they wished for the other.

The old Hermione Granger had died five years ago. The werewolf knew this much to be true with absolute certainty.

"You're not the same?" He asked in surprise.

She nodded firmly.

Whoever she was now was someone entirely new and different. Neither entirely human nor entirely wolf. Hermione felt the sooner Harry realized this the sooner he could let go of whatever hopes he harbored for Hermione's future. With one last imploring look at Harry, Hermione closed her book and tucked it under her arm. She gave him a reassuring pat on his arm like she had seen other humans do and left the library without another look behind. If the curly-haired woman had turned she would have seen the look of utter disbelief across Harry's face as he watched the retreating figure.

Apparently, Hermione's stunt in the hallway with Malfoy had earned her the center of attention among the Artemis Home's channels of gossip. By the time dinner had rolled around half the manor's residents believed that Hermione had shifted into her wolf form and was said to have ripped her victim from limb to limb.

"I mean sure we were there and saw what really happened but who wants to spoil the pups' imagination," Tobey said as Hermione, Ainsley and Killian sat together in the dining hall with full plates of food in front of them.

"Who's to say that isn't exactly what we saw anyhow," Killian said with an indulgent smirk, loudly enough so that a handful of adolescents near by started whispering fiercely amongst themselves.

Aisling rolled her eyes before turning to Hermione, "we don't much care for him either."

Hermione touched Aisling's arm, projecting the thoughts she couldn't vocalize. How desperately she wished she could communicate with Harry in the same fashion. Projecting mostly sensations of utter contempt for the blonde-haired man, she knew the hatred harbored from a distant focal point in her past. Hermione could not place her exact reason for despising the one they referred to as Malfoy only that his presence evoked her animalistic fury. She could deduct that she had known him before and that he was Hermione the human's enemy and worthy of the werewolf's contempt.

Aisling nodded to this silent exchange and Hermione was grateful she could communicate without words to her werewolf brethren. Some, she amended. It was impossible to make such connection with the older werewolf Lupin. The others had said it was because perhaps he wasn't as much wolf as them and she surmised the same. Hermione could not understand why the man seemed to run from his true self but that seemed to be a matter of discussion for a different time.

"Ai's right; that bloke Malfoy thinks he's better than the rest of us because he's got all that money from his mum and daddy," Tobey said mockingly after taking a swig from his cup. "One of these full moon's I hope he comes here and I will show him-."

"As if that would ever happen," Killian interjected and Tobey shot him a sharp look. Killian ignored it. "The only reason he stops by now is to get his wolfsbane and check on how things are running," Killian said, adding the latter part for Hermione's benefit. "His family founded this place. To most it just looked like a publicity stunt to help fix their family's tarnished name after the war but I heard from staff it was really because his family wanted to fund a cure."

They all shared mutual annoyance at the preposterous notion of a cure for lycanthropy. One of the reasons Hermione liked the three werewolves was that they didn't care for the idea that they needed to be fixed in the first place. Even though her life felt increasingly confusing as she waded through this foreign existence of humanity, she didn't ever want to deny who and what she had become.

The wolf within her was as much a part of her identity as her curly hair.

It is a gift to be blessed by the moon's light; we mustn't run from the shadows it cast, she thought to herself remembering the strange words she had been told by someone else long ago. It was impossible now to put a name and face to the words and this made her inexplicably sad. Even after dinner when everyone retired to their rooms the sadness continued to haunt her. She laid awake and stared at the ceiling, straining to remember anything beyond the point the Aurors had found her on the fringes of the Forbidden Forest cold and terrified only weeks ago.

Why did her mind continue to keep memories from her, Hermione wondered, feeling as though she was standing before a locked door. She imagined just beyond the threshold lied all the answers to her sleepless nights and restless dreams if only she could find the key to unlock it. It was several hours later that exhaustion finally overtook the werewolf, rescuing her from the frustrations of her unknown past.

The last thought that occurred to her before she fell asleep was the simple question that so many had already asked: What happened to Hermione Granger?