A/N - Thank you for reading, and to keep from confusing the French that was used will have the translation behind each phrase. Enjoy


Chapter 2

Hermione's world slowly started to become alive again. First with sounds, garbled babble, daily noises, the sounds of people walking around, and then slowly her sense of touch. The feel of cotton sheets under her finger tips, the scratchy, but warm shroud of a wool blanket, and just the general sensation of comfort. Finally she dared to crack her eyes, shedding light into the world of darkness she had been in since being plucked from the battlefield.

The first thing she saw when her blurry vision came into focus must have been the sweetest thing her eyes had ever seen. A child stared down at her with unbounded curiosity. The child looked something akin to what she thought a cherub might look like with a mop of wavy blond hair that feel into pastel blue eyes, wide with innocence, and pale skin that was only marred by the delicate flush on the apples of the full cheeks.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak several times and the unnamed child seemed to finally realize what she needed. Rushing out of her line of sight, but soon returned with a cup of water. She tipped her head slightly with the aid of the child and sipped slowly relishing the cooling liquid as it slipped down her throat.

"Aves – vous besoin de toute autre chose?" (Do you need anything else?)

Hermione blinked a couple of times at the sudden string of words out of the child's mouth. She frowned when it was repeated and she closed her eyes trying to trudge up something from her knowledge of foreign languages. She knew of course it was French and she opened her eyes to stare at the child.

"P-parlez vous a-anglais?" (D-do you speak e-english?) She stuttered out quietly.

"Non," (No) was the returned reply. Hermione was about to ask where she was when a stern voice from the across the room interrupted.

"Que faites-vous, chiot?" (What are you doing, pup?)

She didn't know who was speaking, but the boy seemed to shrink back somewhat at the sharp tone, and Hermione didn't catch the rapid question. By the looks of the child it was nothing to nice.

"Benoit," this time the voice seemed forcibly softer. The two were soon talking so fast Hermione couldn't keep up with a lick of it. Finally there was a huff and the disembodied voice came into her peripheral and Hermione swallowed a gasp. It was the same woman that had slung her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes and ran.

"Hullo," she said with a sneer as she crossed her arms over her chest. "The boy wants me to tell you something," if Hermione didn't know any better the woman standing in front of her sounded strikingly close to a petulant child. She didn't say anything and merely waited for what ever needed to be said on their behalf.

With a sigh she patiently waited while the boy, who in Hermione's opinion could be easily mistaken for a very pretty girl, spoke softly at her side, and a small smile on his lips.

"He says, the wounds have been cleaned and stitched. When he changed your bandages he found no signs of infection. The feeling and usage of your arm should come back in a couple of days." She paused and grumbled something then smirked down at Hermione, "don't know why their bothering actually. You'll be dead by the next full moon."

Hermione worked to keep her face neutral. Really she wasn't afraid of death. She had faced it day after day for years, and it was nothing new. Still not saying anything she turned her head slightly to the side and smiled at the young boy, who she could see to be about ten or eleven.

"Merci," she said softly. He nodded and smiled in return standing as the woman held out a package wrapped in brown paper.

"Votre mere vous recherché. Allez rapidement avant qu'elle s'inquiete," (Your mother is looking for you. Go quickly before she worries.)

Hermione frowned again when she caught the word-meaning mother, and stared at the woman still glowering above her. When the boy left she spoke up quickly.

"The boy-."

"Benoit," the woman interrupted. Hermione nodded slowly.

"Benoit, is the child of a werewolf?"

The woman, who she had still to catch her name, stared down at Hermione a look of contemplation plastered on her smooth features.

"Yes. Most of this clan is from France. Fenrir offered them refuge here from the experiments of their government. Benoit's mother was forced to mate with a male werewolf to produce a child with lycanthropy."

Hermione stared at the woman with an incredulous look on her face. The mere idea of forcing people to do that for experimentation was inhuman, cruel, indecent, and down right disgusting.

"You looked shocked. Don't be. They don't need your pity either, and yes before you ask. The boy is a werewolf," the words hung in the air thickly before she turned and left with out saying anything else. Hermione let out a heavy breath and closed her eyes slowly.

'Dear Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?' she thought to herself.

--

Remus watched warily as Harry paced the length of the kitchen in number twelve Grimmauld Place. His head was bowed slightly, his hair hanging limply in his eyes obscuring it from everyone's stares. There was only a handful of order members left now, and they easily fit into the kitchen as everyone guardedly watched the boy – who – lived to kill he – who – not – be named. They had just brought up the news about Hermione's 'abduction' and were brainstorming a plan on how to get her back.

It was going well until Remus suggested they rest for a couple of days before attempting anything which ultimately set Harry off. He had yelled and cursed at everyone, accusing them of this and that. His hot ire quickly turned to desperation on finding his friend. It just wasn't possible to jump right back up after a war like the one they had been through and run all over England looking for someone. Especially one taken by werewolves who were notorious for keeping their location as well hidden as it was.

It wasn't a matter of taking things lightly; it was only the matter of not having the resources. Everyone was worried for Hermione. She was a valued member of the Order, and had led them in taking great strides over the years. But when Harry heard the words of not going right away he instantly turned a deaf ear to everything else and became irrational.

"Harry," Remus said softly after a moment of watching his best friends son pace furiously. "It is not that we don't want to go get her. It's a matter of recuperating so we can be of help to her when we find her, and we will find her."

Harry's feet finally stopped and he stood rigidly still with his fists clenched at his sides.

"If no one is ready to go find her now then I will go alone," he said through gritted teeth and his voice shaking in barely suppressed emotions. Remus sighed and looked to his right where Ron was sitting with his shoulders slouched and his arms crossed. A blank and unreadable expression was plastered on his ashen face as he stared at one fixed spot on the table before him.

Ron hadn't said a word, and to Remus it seemed like the two had reversed roles. While Harry was usually the one to sit quietly and stew it was Ron who took the most to calm down.

"You don't understand, Harry," Remus said forcefully as he stood. "You can't rightly go up against a clan of werewolves, and expect to walk out in one piece."

"I can and I will."

Remus shook his head and slammed his hand flat against the table making a few people near him jump in surprise.

"Listen to yourself! You've just been through a bloody war!" It was Remus's turn to be aggravated. "Your magical reserves are low. I can practically smell the exhaustion on you Harry! Do you want to have lived all this time only to rush foolishly in to something you know nothing about and die at the hands of Fenrir Greyback?"

Remus let out a shaky breath and sank into his chair putting a hand to his face. "You know nothing of this man, and if you want to save Hermione then you are going to have to be patient."

Harry reeled on Remus then sneering in disdain, "patient? You want me to be patient? When our friend's life is on the line?"

"Yes!" Remus looked up sharply, "you must. Greyback will not kill her until the next full moon. He will play her just like that woman said. He will only enjoy the actual kill when he gets to tear them…apart."

Remus's voice was low and steady only breaking with the growl that escaped his throat. His dislike for Fenrir was great, but not enough to rush into it blindly at the risk of Hermione's life.

"I will say this only once more," Remus said straightening himself and coaxing his body to relax. "You will calm down and we will take a few days to research her location while everyone rests."

Before Harry could protest anymore Remus stood and walked briskly from the kitchen.

--

Hermione watched the sun sink slowly into the distant horizon from her position on the bed on her back, and squinted into the bright red/orange hues as the last rays of day slipped away. The boy, Benoit, who had attended to her wounds earlier on in the day had shown back minutes ago and once again cleaned them carefully. She was astounded that such a young child could be so skillful with healing. Closing her eyes, Hermione took a deep breath, before pushing herself up off the mattress with her good arm and swinging her leg off the side of the bed.

She swayed slightly once her full weight on her own two feet, but she pushed passed the slight dizziness and shuffled slowly to the door. She noted that she was had been changed into a new shirt, but wore the same pants she arrived in. Casting a quick look around the small room she didn't see her cloak anywhere so she pulled the thin blanket she had been lying underneath and wrapped it around herself carefully.

The nipping night air wafted stiffly through the open window and a draft came through the crack at the bottom of the door. She grimaced at the feeling and slipped her bare feet into her trainers and walked charily to the door. Her stomach rumbled lightly reminding her of the need to feed and she didn't think twice as she opened to the door to the room she was currently in. When she opened it she found her self standing in an empty hallway.

They must have not thought her much of a threat to leave her door unguarded. Shrugging Hermione shuffled down the hallways towards the hum of voices until she was at the threshold of house. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight before her: a thriving metropolis of people, or werewolves, hustled back and forth. Some carted loads of wood on their backs, others various animal carcasses. She turned her head slightly and spied a group of chattering, laughing women hunched over several large wooden basins as they scrubbed cloths, rung them out, and hung them on lines.

Hermione could see lights being lit in various windows as children of every different size and age ran around, slipping in and out of the steady moving throng of adults. She was watching the scene in front of her so intently that she didn't notice a loan man stop behind her, but when a low growl ripped through his throat and reached her ears she spun around just as she was flung against the side of the house she was still in front of. Hermione closed her eyes against and grimaced against the pain that rippled through her.

The feeling of fingers around her neck made her refocus on the person in front of her. A man roughly a few years older then she, and light brown hair practically sticking up on end stood forebodingly over her. His eyes flashed warningly at her as flashed a row of white teeth at her.

Hermione stared almost impassively at him and waited for him to do his worst. She could see him lean in a bit closer and take a couple of whiffs, to which she raised an eyebrow at.

"So…you're the mudblood…" he growled out in a heavy French brogue. "You seem pretty sure I'm not going to kill you for what you did."

Hermione grunted a bit but didn't say anything as she watched the man in front of her grow angrier as she stayed silent.

"Well…" she said finally speaking up almost taking the werewolf by surprise by her soft controlled voice. "I'm just not afraid to die."

"Oh?" he drawled out slowly as he squeezed her neck.

"I've seen death many times each time with a different face and different motives."

Her voice was hallow and practically devoid of all emotion. This is what the war had done to her. It had taken her parents, countless order members, who were good people, turned several for the worst. It had been too much for some and broke down the weak. But she was still alive, still on the side of light and for all intensive purposes still sane, that she knew of anyways.

"I must admit though," Hermione continued on as she struggled to keep herself upright against the rough wood grains of the house. "If you are in fact the bringer of my death," she paused to smile a bit. "Then you aren't nearly as gruesome as what I've seen before."

The man snarled and opened his mouth only to be stopped when a large hand clamped down on her shoulder. His face jerked back to see how it was and when his eyes met that of Fenrir. His hand instantly released Hermione who slowly slide to the ground as if her legs could no longer support the weight of her body. She looked up through a tangle of curls at the two men as they argued back and forth in French.

She sighed heavily when her stomach growled again and she couldn't help but scowl. Hermione took the chance to look around, as the arguing grew louder catching the attention of the few people that were still wondering around. She briefly wondered where she was and couldn't help but notice that even though the place looked like a small town it was clear that it sat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a dense forest.

A mop of blond hair caught her attention as it bounded towards her in a hurry. Benoit, the boy that she had seen twice already rushed to her side with a smile, although slightly marred by worry.

The child was surprisingly nice and gentle despite the environment he was in. He didn't seem to share the same prejudice views towards her as the others did, and that she was grateful.

"Sont vous bien?" (Are you okay?)

Hermione cast him a confused look before frowning trying to remember something about the language from her fourth year when she learned a bit of French from some of the girls she met from the Beauxbatons academy.

"Je ne comprends pas que jes suis desole," (I don't understand I'm sorry.) Hermione stumbled to get out. It had been quite some time since she had to say that and knew her accent was poor. The boy stifled a small giggle and nodded.

"Uh…" he looked like he was struggling a bit himself. "You, okay?"

Hermione gave him a tired smile and nodded. "Oui."

"Que faites-vous, le garcon?" (What are you doing, boy?) Came the snappish question interrupting both of them. Benoit looked up sharply and quickly replied.

"On m'a dit de m'occuper des ses blessures." (I was told to tend to her wounds)

"Who?" Fenrir barked out loudly forgetting to ask in French. Benoit flinched slightly and mumbled something as he ducked his head. "Parlez en haut!" (Speak up!)

"Personne. Je l'ai fait tout seul…je suis desole." (No one. I did it on my own…I'm sorry) He said as he looked back up at the imposing man with his eyes brimming with tears and a pout tugging at his lips. Hermione bit her own lip at the expression. Despite being in the precarious position she couldn't help but think how heartbreaking the look seemed. She then saw something soften behind the hard layers on Fenrir's cold eyes before he sighed and limped away muttering something beckoning the man who, had moments ago, held Hermione by the throat.

Benoit instantly turned to Hermione with a mischievous little smile and winked. She stared slightly slacked jawed at the boy who seemed so genuine only a split second ago now practically glowing with waywardness.

"Venir!" (Come!) He motioned to her and helped her stand staying at her side as he walked with her back into the house. Hermione shook her head and went along with out resisting, like she could have if she wanted to.

--

A/N - Thank you for reading and I hope to have more out soon .