Disclaimer: I disclaim!

A/N: Whoa, plot bunnies multiplied. Here's chapter 2! Enjoy!

~*~

"Circe, Mopsus and Merlin. What a waste of an afternoon," Remus muttered to himself as he passed through the gates of Grimmauld Place. He just came from a meeting with the scholars at the College, hoping to glean some information on werewolves that could help salvage the failed alliance. Unfortunately, they weren't able to give him something he didn't already know and hadn't already used. Frustration gnawed at him. Quite unconsciously, his teeth gnashed, his nails dug into his palms and a sound that might have been a growl resonated from the back of his throat. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, willing himself to unclench his jaw and relax. Full moon was in two days, and it was getting harder and harder to tame the monster, the evil inside of him.

Feeling a little bit more in control, he slowly opened his eyes. He had to smile at the sight that greeted him. There, to his far left, was the familiar explosion of brown hair and Gryffindor colors—Hermione Granger. He wondered why he only saw her now—was he that distracted? But now that he had, she was impossible to miss. She was riding a rusty bicycle that seemed to be a little too big for her, going round and round the old crabapple tree that stood quietly in the middle of the western grounds.

Before he knew it, his feet carried him to her. "Hermione!" He called to the girl, who looked his way and swerved violently at the motion, but fortunately was able to right herself in time. She stuck a foot out and planted it firmly on the ground, then smiled and happily waved to Remus.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said the moment he reached her. He took in her flushed cheeks, her bright eyes, her slightly sunburned nose, her wild hair made wilder by her recent activity, and the grin that lit up her entire face. He felt a pang in chest, which, when he was alone with his thoughts much later, he thought might have been envy for her youth and health and vigor.

"I'm okay, it's not your fault. It's the bike. It's really old," she assured him in a breathless voice. She carefully dismounted and leaned the bike against the tree. "I found it in the shed this morning. I had to grease the chain and gears here, with, err, cooking oil from the kitchen," she added. When Remus didn't say anything, she looked up to see him staring thoughtfully at the bicycle.

He chuckled, then shook his head, as if waking himself up from a memory. "I think that used to belong to Sirius," he said quietly. He went over to the bike and squatted in front of it, examining the underside of the seat. "Yes, here it is," he pointed to a tiny paw print emblazoned on the leather. She knelt down beside him and peered at the mark. "I remember he was learning to ride it in secret in the summer before our 6th year, so he could move on to motorcycles by the time we graduated."

Hermione gasped and stood up quickly. "Merlin, I feel so stupid. I should've known. I mean, who else in their family would own a Muggle contraption?" She looked at the bike as she brushed the dirt from her jeans. "Do—do you think he would've minded terribly that rode I it this afternoon?"

Remus rose to his feet and swallowed hard before answering in a voice hoarse with emotion, "No, I think—I do believe it would have made him happy, that this muggle contraption could finally see the light of day in Grimmauld Place."

Grief washed over him for a moment, so powerful he could only stand helplessly and silently at its onslaught. It seemed very cruel, he thought, that he finally had his friend back after being alone for so long, only to lose him again in a flash of green light. Many nights after the incident, he wondered if his death would've been more tolerable if Sirius hadn't come back to him first, if he merely perished in Azkaban a condemned and soulless man.

But no, this wasn't the time or the place for him to fall apart. Not in front of Hermione, who he already burdened with his gloom a week ago in the library. Choking back his anguish, he asked a patiently silent Hermione where Harry and Ron were.

"Oh, those two. They were playing chess in the study when I left them just after lunch. I have no idea why Harry bothers, Ron always wins," she said with a fond smile that hadn't escaped his notice. "Hey, speaking of lunch, I heard from Mrs. Weasley you went to the College today? Was it—was it about—you know?"

He made a strangled noise, something between a cough and a choke. He was at a loss as to how to answer her. Should he involve her more in his mess than she already was, or should he spare her? He sighed. It wouldn't be very fair of him to unload on her, albeit in a moment of weakness, then to expect her not to be curious and concerned.

Defeated, he lowered himself to the ground and gestured to Hermione to do the same. "I was able to speak with two yellow-robe Adepts and one black-robe Master in Lycanthropy. Long story short, it will be impossible to persuade the four known packs in Europe to join our cause, for not only do they despise wizards and their governments, they're also, well, naturally evil. And evil will always be attracted to evil."

She shook her head violently. "That can't be right. Look at you, you're not evil at all!"

He didn't know whether to be flattered or amused at the girl's unwavering faith in him. "Well, those werewolves were raised in a pack, with their own rules and own ideologies. I was raised by me mum. " He grinned wryly, and she couldn't help but laugh. Remus' mother, she thought, would've been an interesting woman.

Then she stopped laughing abruptly. "Hang on a sec—did you say four known packs in Europe?" At his nod, she frowned. "Four? Are you sure?"

"Yes, each one of them said there were four. The Varcolac, the Wargulf, the Loup-garou, and—"

"And the Werwolf, yeah, I've been reading about them the past week. Surprisingly, there were a lot of books and scrolls on Lycanthropy in the library. Or maybe unsurprisingly." She shook his head, frown still in place. "The books I have from Hogwarts pretty much say the same thing. But …." She was silent for a while, lost in thought and chewing on her lip.

He was about to call her attention when she suddenly straightened up and looked at him. "Here's the thing, Remus. I don't know which I should trust more, the materials from a school library and the words of the scholars of the College, or the things I find in a private family library like the Blacks'. Do you see what I mean?" She bit her lip and pinned him with anxious eyes.

Lost, Remus shook his head apologetically. "No, not exactly…I'm sorry."

"It's just that, publications you usually find in public and school libraries are subject to the censure of the government, and maybe, in our case, even the propaganda of the ruling werewolf pack. That'd be the Werwolf. A private collection, on the other hand, would be virtually untouched by such things…well, when you look at it that way, it could be a more reliable source of information." She groaned and covered her face with a hand. "Ugh, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish I could go to Malfoy's place and check out their library."

"And the scholars? They're experts in their fields. Don't you think we could trust their words?" He reminded her gently.

She nodded, but still looked a little disturbed. "We could…but the College is a state college, isn't it? It's ministry-owned. Who knows what the ministry has done to their libraries, or to the scholars themselves. And I don't have a problem seeing the ministry accommodating the whims of the Werwolf."

Gripping her shoulders, Remus turned Hermione to face him. "Hermione, you really must tell me this before you go any further. What Werwolf propaganda? What have you found?"

"Two really old scrolls and the journal of a person named Anneius, circa 120 A.D. All well preserved. One of the scrolls only named the Werwolf and the Wargulf of the four known packs, and the other one mentioned the Loup-garou. Anneius wrote a little about the Varcolac and the Werwolf. But what all three have in common is another pack—the Wulver.

"But get this. One of the scrolls and the journal mentioned a feud between the Werwolf and the Wulvers. Something about fishing territories, and how the Wulvers were turning their back on their kind because they refused to hunt humans. In fact, they even fed poor Muggle families some of the fish they caught." Hermione was breathless when she finished, suddenly feeling thirsty as though she talked for hours.

Remus simply stared at her for the longest time, trying to absorb all the information. The existence of a fifth pack, the idea of goodness in werewolves... his mind reeled with hope, with possibilities. But he must not get a head of himself. She was right, all they had at they moment were theories, and they could not be certain about anything until they found out more.

He was called back to the present when Hermione stood up and stretched. "Well, that's about all I found out as of yesterday evening. I'll try again tomorrow." She held her hand out to him. He took it and let her drag him to his feet, just as she had that night in the library.

"Hermione, you've helped me enough as it is. If I did not know it to be futile, I would ask you to forget about the entire thing." He dusted his worn slacks, dismayed at the sight of grass stains.

She shook her head and grinned unabashedly. "If it makes you feel better, don't think of it as me helping you. Let's just say I'm trying to learn more about a friend's people. And hey, I truly, honestly am."

He ducked his head to hide an embarrassed smile. Her heartfelt words warmed his heart, something he hadn't felt since the end of Harry's fifth year. "Come on, we should head back to the house."

Hermione walked over to the bike and held it upright. "Let's ride together. Give me a lift?" She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Oh! Umm, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know how to ride a bicycle," he muttered sheepishly.

Dumbfounded, Hermione gaped at him. "You—you don't know how to ride a bike? How do you live? You know, as a friend, I'm now also obligated to teach you. Starting right this minute."

"Hermione, I don't think you should—" He was cut off when she thrust the Muggle contraption in his hands.

"No excuses, Remus, this is dire. Here, swing your leg over to—Ow!"

"Sorry, I'm just not very good at this sort—" He lost his words when small warm hands gripped his waist from behind to steady him.

"That's okay, you got me for a teacher. Okay, now put you feet on the pedals and I'm going to give you a push, alright?"

"Hermione, I'm really not sure this is a good---"

"Ready? On three. One…two…three!"

"Hermione!"

Remus later realized just how naïve he had been when he asked Hermione to stop pursuing the werewolves issue. He knew she was a determined girl, but he only found out now exactly how relentless she was, that once she set her mind to do a task, she never stopped until she saw it done. By sunset, he was already an accomplished bicycle rider.

~*~

When Hermione entered the library, she couldn't believe the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. "Ron, Harry… are you… by any chance… doing your summer homework?"

"As a matter of fact, we are. No need to look like you just saw Snape give points to a Hufflepuff, 'Mione," Ron barely looked up from the essay he was writing on the 14 magical uses of wild ginseng.

She peered over their shoulders to look at what they've written so far. "Harry, you got number four wrong…."

Harry looked up to her, then back at his scroll, then groaned. "Oh, bugger. The gigatic bat said he didn't want erasures." He crumpled the paper and started writing the whole thing over again.

Hermione shook her head and started to head to her usual spot behind the couch the two were sitting on, but midway, she paused. "Hey… you guys know I love you, right?"

Scratching quills screeched to a halt as both young men groaned in unison. Hermione blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Hermione! For the love of God, you don't say things like that… not to men, alright?" Ron was cringing in his seat, hands covering a face as bright as his hair.

Harry looked like he just came out of a fight with Voldemort—and lost. "You drank that lemonade, didn't you? I told you to stay away from it, it was going bad."

She wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or amused. "Well, excuse me. I was just saying, you know. That I lo—"

"We get it, already!"

"Merlin's beard, woman!"

She huffed and barely managed to keep herself from pouting. "Well, fine. Glad you know. There." Then she proceeded to stomp to the back of the sofa to sulk. What's wrong with expressing her feelings for them? They weren't there to see the look on Remus' face when he mentioned Sirius earlier—

A distinctly embarrassed cough stopped her train of thoughts. "Hermione. Uh… me, too. You know," somebody behind her mumbled.

"Yeah… me, too. Sheesh," said another one.

Smiling to herself, she hugged 'A Gentle Warrior' to her chest. "I know…." She said quietly. She knew then and there that she could sacrifice just about anything for the two idiots behind her.

~*~

A/N: Aaaaaaand, owwww. It hurts. The brain cramp, the neck cramp, the finger cramp… this was one hard thing to write. Merry Christmas, everyone! Leave a review please! ^_^

Once again, all those things I wrote about werewolves are basically the less than stellar result of speed-reading wikipedia. It's man's best friend.

Luff,

Smellslikecitrus ^_^