December 7th

When Hermione opened her eyes again, she felt less like she wanted to hurl her entire body off of a cliff. Some semblance of normalcy had returned. It was incredible how awful a person could feel physically without actually succumbing to their pain. She didn't want to ever have to go through anything so awful again in her entire life. Rodolphus was cruel to force-feed her the potions that she'd worked so hard to get off of on her own. If she had to go through a similar experience in the future, she wasn't sure that she would make it. There was all the more reason to ensure that she stayed as far away from that horrible wizard as possible. Up until the very moment that she planned to kill him, of course.

Fenrir was pleased to see her awake. There was no sign that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been anywhere near the cottage. For the briefest of moments, she believed that she'd imagined his entire visit. What made more sense after all? That Kingsley would willingly enter the home of the monster that condemned his best friend to a lifetime of misery as a child or that she'd simply hallucinated his presence in the midst of her withdrawal? It wasn't until she said his name and Fenrir seemed reluctant to speak about him that she believed he'd actually been there.

"Kingsley said that he was willing to put aside the past for the hope of a peaceful future. What did he mean by that?"

"Are you hungry? I could cook you some eggs and toast."

"No, Fenrir. Tell me. What did he mean?"

The werewolf would've rather been just about anywhere else in the world at that moment than seated in his armchair. His home was not even a safe refuge when the persistent woman he'd gladly taken in was curious. She could tell that he was trying to figure out how he could tell her as little as possible to sate her curiosity. It was infuriating to know that she couldn't be trusted with secrets.

"Shacklebolt has some ideas about the future that are a little more palatable than what Lestrange has."

"How very diplomatic of you to say, Fenrir. Maybe you should be in politics. You're using a lot of words without actually saying anything. That's a skill that's in high demand in that line of work."

"He warned me that irritability was likely to be a symptom you experienced for the next several days. I'm looking forward to them."

His dramatic roll of his eyes almost made her laugh. For being such a terrifying monster at times, Fenrir had a delightful sense of humor that she'd appreciated many times over the years when the world they lived in grew stressful and frightening. Beyond what he could do to her body when they were both naked, he had other attributes that worked well at distracting her mind and calming her fears. She was resolved that she wouldn't let him get away without telling her something. Realizing that he was fighting a foe that he wouldn't likely beat, Fenrir sighed.

"I've heard the rumors and so have many others of my kind. If Lestrange has his way, he's going to get rid of the so-called 'werewolf problem' by any means necessary."

"He wants to have all of you executed?"

"You're not seriously surprised by that, are you? He's not the only one in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle who didn't think that people like me had the right to keep living. Give him enough power and we'll start being hunted again."

"And Kingsley is offering an alternative?"

"He doesn't want werewolves to be killed. Not when they're just like everyone else for most of the month. He and others like him will certainly put restrictions up about new werewolf bites, but at least we get to continue to live in relative peace."

She wasn't surprised to hear that werewolves were in danger. Rodolphus used to make disparaging remarks about Fenrir whenever possible. It disgusted him that she allowed the monster to touch her, but he could also understand the value of alliances.

"I wasn't supposed to tell you anything because we still don't know if the spell Lestrange put in your pretty little head will…"

"No, I know. I understand. For all anyone knows, I could tell Rodolphus everything or worse."

It was annoying knowing that everyone had to hold their tongue around her, especially considering the fact that she could understand their reluctance to speak. Antonin avoided her for so long because he didn't know how to tell her the truth. How sad was it that it was easier for him to just pretend like he didn't care about her than to be honest? Surely a marriage counselor would have a great deal to say about that fact.

"Are you still angry with him?"

There was no need for Fenrir to say Antonin's name. They both were aware of the wizard he was referring to. Fenrir was perceptive enough to know how frustrated Hermione still was with the man she married.

"He could've just told me his fears that I couldn't keep the truth from Rodolphus instead of lying to me."

"Your husband loves you. He was afraid that telling you about the spell and the fear that you might be under Lestrange's control would scare you."

"I'm not a child. He shouldn't treat me like one."

"He's scared out of his mind, love. I can smell it. Can't blame him either. If my Eliza was still alive and had to go through half of what you've been through, I'd be scared too. Or everyone around me would be dead. Probably both."

His smile coaxed a small one out of Hermione in response. For being the star of so many people's nightmares, he had a calming way about him that made her feel safe. She knew that they weren't operating under normal circumstances. Her marriage with Antonin had never been particularly healthy even in the best of times. Of course, she reminded herself, they'd never actually been in the best of times. Maybe it would be best for everyone involved if she didn't make it out of their current struggles alive. At least then Antonin could move on.

"I think I would like some eggs."

"Excellent. You'll feel better with a full stomach."

Fenrir crossed the room towards the small kitchen. She knew him well enough to know that he was at his best and his most comfortable when he had something to occupy his mind. Sitting around and waiting was agony for him. She could understand even though much of her life in recent years, especially the previous months, had been nothing but sitting around and waiting for whatever was going to come next.

"I might try to take a quick shower."

Her host was in favor of anything that might get her up and moving around. Though she still felt a bit wobbly on her feet, Hermione was encouraged that most of the pain that had been coursing through her body since she arrived on his doorstep was disappearing. Maybe soon she would even feel like herself again. Only a few steps away from the door that led to Fenrir's bedroom and bathroom, a loud explosion knocked her to the floor.

It had been naïve to assume that she was going to always be safe in the cottage. Even with a formidable protector like Fenrir, they weren't isolated from the rest of the world. There were a number of enemies that knew where the werewolf could be found. After she asked him about the members of his pack that he'd had stationed around his cottage when he went out to hunt down Antonin, Fenrir admitted to sending them all home again. Most of them weren't battle-tested. They were good for watching, but not much for fighting in their human forms. It showed a great deal of concern and care that he wanted them to leave in case there was more trouble.

Maybe if a couple of them had stayed Rabastan wouldn't have been able to make it inside the cottage. A single spell blew the front door off of its hinges. Hermione didn't have time to react before the brother of the man she feared the most was only steps away with his wand pointed at them both. Fenrir moved his body to stand in front of hers as she struggled to stand back up. The force of the spell caught her off-guard. It was embarrassing to be seen as so weak and fragile. No doubt Rabastan was inwardly crowing at the sight.

"I don't recall inviting you inside, Lestrange."

"Trust me when I say I have no desire to be anywhere near your hovel, Greyback."

"What do you want, Rabastan?"

Hermione's voice sounded much braver than she actually felt. It wasn't a terrible shock that he was able to find where she'd been hiding. After all, she'd hidden there before and he knew it. She knew that it was past time that she made her excuses to find somewhere else to hide even if she had no desire to leave. For the first time in a long time, she actually felt safe with Fenrir and didn't know where she could go next.

"You killed my wife."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. Who else would do it?"

She didn't have the energy to deal with the wizard's hysterics. Rolling her eyes, she prepared herself for the moment she would blurt out the truth he wouldn't want to hear about his brother. As much as the two brothers struggled to get along at times, Rabastan hero-worshiped Rodolphus. To hear that his brother was the one who murdered his wife in cold blood wouldn't be an easy potion to swallow.

"Your brother killed Gemma."

"Liar! I found her body last night. Just tossed into the hedge maze like she was nothing more than a bit of rubbish. She'd been there for a long time. I could tell because… because she wasn't exactly whole anymore."

Imagining the state of Gemma's corpse after being out in the elements for as long as she had been turned Hermione's stomach. She thought that Rodolphus would've taken better care of the disposal of his murder victim than that. Didn't he promise her that he would take care of Gemma before his brother found her? It was possible that that was just another lie in a long line of them. Rodolphus probably had every intention of blaming Gemma's murder on Hermione from the very beginning. While she would admit to partial responsibility because she did ask the wretched woman questions that Rodolphus didn't want her to know, she wasn't actually the one who muttered the curse.

"Why would you kill my wife, Hermione? What did she ever do to you?"

The very real tears rolling out of Rabastan's eyes were a complete shock to the other two witnesses to the event. Certainly in all of the years that Hermione had known him, in increasingly intimate situations no less, she'd never once seen him be so openly emotional. One might even be under the impression that he loved his late wife. That in itself was a shocking enough revelation that she wasn't sure she would be able to process it for some time to come.

"I didn't kill her. Rodolphus did. She was trying to tell me what he had planned for me and he caught her."

No matter how many times she repeated herself Hermione wasn't going to get though to the man. He was too emotional and intent on revenge. Throughout the entire exchange she could see the muscles in Fenrir's neck and arms tense. The day wouldn't end without bloodshed. Whose would it be?

"I'm going to kill you. I don't give a damn what Roddy says!"

There was simply no way that Fenrir was ever going to allow that to come to pass inside his home. His pride was enough that he would rip anybody who came through the front door intent on doing any of his guests harm into pieces with his bare hands. Rabastan was too far gone in his grief to consider that truth. Or, perhaps more likely, there was a small part of him that wanted it all to end. She'd noticed the unraveling of the man over the previous several months. It had only gotten worse in the days that he couldn't find his wife. Perhaps Gemma was more of a stabilizing factor for the man than anyone realized, Rabastan included.

Curses didn't affect werewolves like they did regular men. Nothing that Rabastan threw at Fenrir in his emotional state met their mark as they were intended. All it took was a couple of steps in Rabastan's direction for the werewolf to overpower the wizard without the use of magic. Fenrir kept his weapons with him at all times. He was the weapon. A scratch across his face slowed the wizard down enough that Fenrir was able to rip his throat out with his bare hands. It was a ghastly way to go, but considering the sorts of deaths Rabastan had been granting for much of his life, it was only fair. As he laid on the floor of Fenrir's cottage bleeding out and gasping for breath, Hermione almost felt sorry for him.

Mostly, though, she was worried about where she would go next. And when she got there, how long would she be safe? She was ready for it all to be over, one way or another.