December 6th

Death would've made a welcome change for Hermione. She decided that she hadn't given the whole dying prospect a fair chance. Surely nothing could be worse than how she felt? Her body cried out for more potions and she was almost to a point where she was willing to give in to its incessant demands. What did her promises to not touch another vial willingly mean anyway?

It had been embarrassing to have to be nursed by Fenrir. Exceedingly patient, he'd been with her through every step of her body violently turning against itself. When she vomited everything he tenderly spooned down her throat, he cleaned up the mess with no complaints and tried again to find something her stomach wouldn't reject. It mortified her that he had to help her in the bathroom, but he was gentle and kind. She would never forget how carefully he laid her body in his bathtub full of hot, soapy water that he hoped would help with her renewed shivering and the aches present in all of her muscles. And when she couldn't seem to get warm again, he'd covered her body with every blanket he owned and built up the fire so high that even without clothing covering the top half of his body, he was so hot that sweat poured off of his skin. Never did he complain or tell her he was sick of caring for her.

Somehow she managed to fall asleep during that ordeal. She wasn't entirely sure how. Even with exhaustion like she'd only felt a couple of other times in her life, she couldn't seem to fall asleep. Either it was the tremors in her body keeping her awake or the horrible nightmares that plagued her each time she closed her eyes. It was a miserable existence, one that she wasn't sure she would be able to endure much more of.

The sound of soft voices woke her up out of a blessedly long nap. Though it couldn't have lasted very long, she felt some relief. Maybe she'd managed a couple of hours without waking. It was a tiny victory. She didn't recognize the two low voices at first. They seemed to bleed into each other.

"Nothing I do seems to help. I think she's getting worse."

"Yes, she'll get worse before she gets better."

Hermione's eyes focused enough to recognize Kingsley Shacklebolt standing on the other side of the room huddled in a quiet conversation with Fenrir. Confused at first, she thought she might've been having another hallucination. Unfortunately, it wouldn't have been the first through her entire ordeal of resetting her body without the addictive potion it craved and demanded. Perhaps she was still asleep and it was all just a dream she could see vividly. There seemed to be no other explanation for why the former auror would be anywhere near Fenrir Greyback's cottage.

"You look exhausted. I'll sit up with her for awhile. Get some sleep."

Fenrir started to argue with the other wizard's offer, but Kingsley would have none of it. He repeated his offer to watch over the patient while he got some rest.

"She will be safe while you close your eyes for a few hours. Do you think you'll be able to protect her if you're not at your best if there's a real threat?"

Swayed by his argument, Fenrir grumbled to himself, but headed to the door that led to his private bedroom. With each step that Kingsley made towards the fireplace Hermione was laying next to, she began to believe more and more that it was all real. But was she actually safe with the wizard who made no secrets of the fact that he only fought for himself? She'd gotten the impression the last time they were alone that she couldn't rely on him for anything, that he wasn't the sort of ally she needed. It bothered her to remember her fear that he was betraying her husband. Or at the very least, he wasn't aiding him faithfully.

It was no small effort to keep her eyes open and focused for so long. Kingsley made his way to Fenrir's favorite armchair. One of the dozens of books that Fenrir had neatly stacked in various locations around his small cottage was plucked from the top of a pile as he lowered himself into the chair. Before he could even open the first page, his eyes met Hermione's. A bright smile lit up his face. For the briefest of moments, Hermione was reminded of the number of evenings the two of them spent engaged in all manner of conversation over a cup of tea in the basement kitchen of Number Twelve. Some of her fears about his true nature and purpose dissipated for just a few heartbeats. Over almost as soon as it began, she hardened herself again to prevent his pretty words from persuading her to get over her earlier distrust.

"You should be sleeping."

"Why are you here? You know this is Fenrir Greyback's house, don't you?"

Remus Lupin was one of Kingsley's best friends. They had many years together working with the Order of the Phoenix. Between the wars, they kept in touch. When Remus had very few allies in the world due to his condition, Kingsley remained close. She knew it couldn't have been easy for him to put aside his personal feelings about the werewolf that was responsible for biting one of his best friends as a child. The wizard offered her a smile that seemed a bit forced.

"I know exactly what monster owns this house, but for your sake and possibly for the sake of a peaceful future, I've chosen to push my personal feelings aside for the present."

"'A peaceful future'?"

He waved off her question, but she didn't forget it. Likely it was something else that they couldn't talk about in front of her just in case she was somehow programmed to repeat everything she knew to Rodolphus. Or he might be able to read it in her mind if he was able to violate her again. While it was frustrating, she finally could understand everyone's reluctance to tell her anything. Later, when everything was calmed down a bit, she would ask him to clarify what he meant about a peaceful future. She could always ask Fenrir if she really wanted to know. He had a hard time denying her anything.

"Now, I thought you promised me that you would never find yourself in this same position?"

Hermione felt ashamed even though it wasn't her fault that she drank another potion. Kingsley had seen her at her absolute worst. Everything that Fenrir had done for her since she showed up on his doorstep had also been done by Kingsley and for much longer. It seemed like such a weakness to blame her current condition on another person. When she'd been using potions on a regular basis, it had always been her decision to start using them. Rabastan might have dangled them in front of her face, but she was the one who chose to pour them down her throat. She was also the one that made the decision to keep seeking them out.

The story of what happened in Rodolphus' house that horrible night came rushing out of her at a dizzying speed. For whatever reason, despite feeling like she had less respect for Kingsley than she had in the past, it was important to her that he understand she didn't swallow the potion willingly. She didn't want to appear weak or incapable of keeping her promises. The wizard simply listened to her tell the whole story of Rodolphus freezing her and pouring the potion in her mouth. When she was finished, she felt both relieved and nervous about what he would say in response.

"I'm glad to know you didn't choose to take the potion, but if you did, it would be all right. Relapse is a normal part of recovery, Hermione. It's a process."

"You sound like a Muggle twelve step program."

His bright smile proved that he wasn't offended by her observation. Though it wasn't rudely meant, she realized only after it was out of her mouth how it could've been received.

"How do you think I met my Mary?"

It was his turn to tell a story about his own past. Hermione was surprised that he was willing to be so open and honest with her about his vulnerabilities. These were facts that could be used against him if in the wrong hands. By Kingsley telling her something so personal, he was offering his own proof in a way that he could be trusted. Most of her concerns and worries about him weren't likely to go away just because of one story time, but she appreciated the gesture.

"After the war ended, I didn't handle the defeat as well as perhaps I should've. I knew that if I stayed in the wizarding world I would have two options and neither one of them sounded good to me. Either I would be killed on sight or I would have the option to renounce my personal beliefs and follow Lord Voldemort."

She hadn't heard anyone dare to say the name of the Dark Lord in a very long time. Part of her expected the walls to crash around them as they were attacked and arrested by the most loyal of his Death Eaters. The taboo had been on his name for as long as he was alive. For all she knew, it was still a forbidden word to say, but Kingsley had no fear. He'd once been forced to go on the run for not being afraid to say his name. There were still infrequent flashes of the wizard he used to be.

"I drank a bit more than I should've in some sort of foolish effort to forget how dismal my life had become. But, even that wasn't satisfying. Didn't take me long to meet the wrong sorts of Muggles who knew exactly what I needed to numb myself and forget."

The unconscious way he rubbed at his arms shed a little bit of light into just what sort of addiction the wizard had. Hermione remembered hearing all the warnings about staying away from drugs from her parents. Because they didn't know how dangerous the world was in which she lived, they lived in fear of teenage pregnancy and recreational drug use being her worst sins. It almost made her laugh to imagine their reactions to learning the truth. Perhaps they would've preferred her to end up dead in a gutter with a needle in her arm than where she was. She'd not become a very good person. They would be ashamed if they knew it all. She got the impression that they already were ashamed and they didn't know the half of it.

"Almost died a dozen times between overdoses or crossing the wrong Muggle's path or even once from a tainted… no matter. It's not a glamorous life, I'm afraid. Finally scared myself enough that I decided to stop. Knew a bloke who told me about these meetings. Tried one. Didn't like it, but there was a pretty girl in there. Quiet, but offered me a friendly smile. I only went back a second time because of her."

He was selective in what he told her next, but Hermione understood. Some parts of their personal lives were private. It took him over two months before he finally spoke to the woman who eventually became his wife. Both of them were hurting in their own ways and able to find comfort with the other. While certainly not always the healthiest of relationships, it was clear that they loved each other fiercely.

"Mary sounds lovely."

"She really was. Too good for the likes of me, but we don't exactly get to choose who we love, do we?"

Kingsley wasn't the first person to offer her the same bit of wisdom. Wanting to move on from such a personal and emotional subject, Hermione asked the former auror why he was there in sitting watch over her in a notorious werewolf's private home. He smiled.

"You have a lot of people who care about you. I'm one of them." He stood up and crossed the small distance between them to hand her a vial of a sickening looking green potion that she knew would be horrendous going down. "Now, that's enough talking. I want you to drink this potion and some water and go back to sleep. I'll sit up and make sure you're all right."

She did as she was bid. Almost immediately she could feel her eyelids growing heavy. Her body still needed its rest. Right before her eyes closed for good that evening, she took a final look at Kingsley seated in the armchair flipping through the pages of one of Fenrir's books. It was comforting to have him nearby even though she was one hundred percent certain that he was keeping something important from her.