There are only so many pieces in a puzzle. As more pieces are put together, the longer the conundrum is mulled over, it soon becomes apparent that there are pieces missing. For as long as pieces are kept hidden, there is a chance they will be discovered. There is only so much one can hide when there is another actively trying to figure out what is on those hidden pieces. Once a certain point is reached, the thinker no longer needs the missing pieces to see the whole picture. In the long run, it does not matter how well those pieces were hidden, they will be found out. It is up to the riddler to reveal those pieces at the right time, or risk the thinker making their own leaps about those same secrets.

Children love secrets; which makes it harder to hide things from them. So perceptive of other creatures, they search fervently after knowledge. If they are given the tastes they so desire, they may be content without delving further into more sensitive topics. However, if enough information is withheld, a child will not hesitate to discover what is being hidden from them, often with no thought as to why. Children are honest, and most do not yet possess the understanding that some things are hidden from them for protection. These understandings tend to come during adulthood, and while the knowledge that there is intended protection helps ease the urge to know, it does not abolish it.

Caution is the key. Knowing the proper time to give a child the information they so desire, while keeping enough of a barrier to protect some semblance of precious innocence, is something all parents wish to master. Inevitably, there are things the child will discover on their own; and then it is up to the adult to be the one to let go.

Nothing is harder than a child growing up.

Questions

Hermione smiled proudly to herself; she was no longer having any troubling following the other werewolf's scent. She now took off after him without hesitation, her parent's argument gone from her mind as the chase with her new friend grew more rapid. Her strong heart pumped her blood better than ever before and she did not notice the hours flying by.

The girl caught up to the elder werewolf once again; who laughed at her enthusiasm. The two continued to play; Hermione trying to remember everything Fen was teaching her. The one thing that began to bring her back to reality was her growling stomach. As her hunger grew, she noticed the sun was high in the sky, it was nearly noon. She did not think much of it, other than it was definitely lunch time.

Hermione chased Fen across the riverbank, his scent leaving once more on the other side. She could not tell which way he had gone. She frowned; she should have thought about using the water to mask her scent; she knew that it was often an effective tactic, but she had missed the opportunity and the moment.

"Lesson two," Fen appeared at her side, his scent wafting only briefly ahead of him. "Your nose," he brushed his index finger down the bridge of her nose, "is your most dependable ally, but don't forget about your other senses."

Hermione nodded, committing his words to memory. She smiled up at him; their chases through the forest had been exhilarating.

Fen turned toward the campsite sharply, as though something had caught his attention.

Hermione was struggling to pick up anything over the noise of the river running next to her feet. It was much louder here than anywhere else in the forest.

"Let's get back," he said, his brown furrowed seriously. The werewolf shook his head before giving her a quick smirk, "I'll race you."

Hermione laughed and leapt over the rocks in front of her with no warning; the larger werewolf in hot pursuit. The girl skittered around trees as she made a beeline to the campsite. She could not help the giggles that erupted in her throat as they continued to run.

A few quick, thrilling moments later, Hermione skidded into the campsite, but she lost her balance, tripping on a small tree root. She flailed, trying to catch herself from hitting the ground hard. Before she could even cry out, Fen had caught her by the waist and picked her up out of her fall. He quickly righted her and removed his hands carefully, his gaze fixed on something beyond her.

Hermione followed the elder werewolf's gaze and the grin slipped of her face when she was met with the alarmed faces of her parents. The campsite smelled like...worry. Her mother looked angry and her father looked sick. A lump grew in her throat; she had not even thought about her parents when she had run into the woods with Fen. She had been gone for hours…

"Hermione," her mother said, her voice tense, but surprisingly even, "Please do not run off like that."

Hermione nodded, still stunned that she had been so careless, horrified that she had caused her parents even more grief.

"Don't blame her," Fen said quietly, "It was my fault. She could hear your...discussion."

Hermione got the sudden impression that the werewolf was about to step between her and her parents. He never did, but the feeling did not go away. He was protecting her; it was an odd feeling, to be protected from her parents. It was something she didn't need, but it was there nevertheless.

She was surprised when her mother merely nodded curtly, "Jean Granger," she held out her hand in a stiff greeting.

"Fen Ulfson," the werewolf replied.

"Fen, thank you for saving our daughter. We cannot repay for that; and it seems we are to owe you more for your willingness to stick with her through this."

"It was nothing, I promise you. I am happy to help make her transition easier than mine was." He gave Hermione another enigmatic grin before he was rather bombarded with questions by her parents.

Hermione took in everything Fen explained to her about being a werewolf. While the tone between the four was not light, it was no longer hostile or tense. Hermione felt comfortable in the new situation, despite some of the hard challenges she was going to face now that she was also a werewolf.

Being a werewolf was not easy; Fen explained how werewolves had not been treated well by wizarding society, and that hiding it was, unfortunately, best. He explained the lunar cycle in brief; aside from the full moon itself, which she was a bit hesitant to ask about, she had not thought about the rest of the moon. She was a little disappointed to learn that the new moon seemed to be just the opposite of the full moon, and she would feel tired and a bit lethargic for a few days. Fen stayed with them well through the day, patiently answering all questions posed to him. Hermione wondered if he was quite used to talking so much, he seemed slightly uncomfortable. She wasn't sure how she knew that, she supposed it was his scent. She really didn't know enough about her own new senses to be able to separate everything she felt. The witch rubbed her eyes, realizing she had not really slept the night before. She tried to keep awake, to hear everything the other werewolf was saying. It was important…

The rumble of his voice next to her just seemed to lose all meaning. It was soft and comforting. Hermione closed her eyes just to listen to the sound.

Fenrir chuckled when the little witch slumped against him, entirely asleep. She was understandably tired; she'd been through a lot in the last day. He could smell the concern wafting over from the girl's parents and sighed internally.

"She trusts you," Charles mused quietly.

Fenrir absent-mindedly stroked the top of her head as she slept. He glanced down at the cub and then looked back at her father, who wore a concerned frown. Fenrir knew the man didn't trust him, as well he shouldn't, after what he had done. The man didn't need to know everything Fenrir had done, but he could give enough information to partially sate the man's worries.

"We are more like real wolves than wizards like to believe," he started, "Finding a pack is the most important drive a werewolf has. My actions this morning would have started the pack bond by themselves, but after she continued to seek me out, it only tied her more to my pack." Fenrir paused, and, not sensing any increased hostility from the man across the table, he continued, "She accepted the pack bond, without realizing what she had done. She is under my protection now. I will not let any harm come to her while she is in my charge," Fenrir promised, meaning every word.

The man and woman across the table seemed to accept his speech. He was surprised how quickly they seemed to trust him. They smelled incredibly wary, but they trusted their daughter. They had immense respect for her and her decisions, despite her age.

"Your...pack," Jean said thoughtfully, "What are they like? Are they good people?"

Fenrir nodded, trying not to let his tiredness appear on his face. Talking was not something he did not do a great deal of. When something could be said with a growl or a glance, it was so much easier to communicate, but humans never quite seemed to pick up on those signals the same way.

"Yes. They would treat her well, but that won't be an issue."

"You will not take her there, then?"

Fenrir shook his head, and he instantly smelled waves of relief coming off of the humans across the table.

"I may take her for a visit if she asks me when she's older, but for now, she's far too young," Fenrir paused, "Truly being with the pack changes you, and she should make that choice on her own, when she's old enough to make it."

Some time later, Hermione was gently shaken awake. She opened her eyes groggily to see the now familiar ice blue irises of Fen staring back at her.

"I have to go, pup."

Hermione shook the sleep from her eyes, trying to keep the fear and disappointment off her face. "Will I really see you again? I— I don't want to be alone."

"I'll be back before the full moon," the werewolf smiled slightly.

She nodded again, reaching out to hug him without thinking. She wrapped her small arms around him, further memorizing his scent. She acutely felt the loss of his warmth when, after a moment, he stepped away. "Thank you," she mumbled quietly, before nearly falling straight back asleep.

Fenrir hated to leave her. He knew she was scared and had so many more questions than he could ever hope to have the patience to answer. She would be fine; she needed to grow up with just the right amount of his help. He had already taken one choice from her, he was not going to take her family too. He had no reason to worry for her safety; as far as tragedies that were going to befall her in this part of France, he was certain he had already caused the worst of them.

Any werewolves she met wouldn't touch her, she belonged to a pack now. His pack. Those who clung to wolfsbane would not even be able to sense she was a werewolf, anyway. The foul potion dulled the senses so badly that they'd never be able to smell her. He hoped the girl would never have to go through anything like that; if she did, he swore silently that whoever subjected her to such a fate would have their throats ripped out. She was his.

He turned back toward the campsite for one last wistful glance, he really did not want to leave her. He was finally getting used to her confounding scent; he would have to start over next month. The werewolf sighed and reluctantly turned away with a soft growl. He would see her again soon; a month really was not that long.

A/N: What a day for Hermione. She deserves some rest.