A wolf depends on secrecy. The moon is bright and known to all, but the wolf must apply an entirely different set of rules in order to remain safe. As in all things, balance is paramount. A wolf must have a family in order to thrive, but there can only be bonds of absolute trust within that pack. Trusting in the wrong sort will kill a wolf. As many wolves have learned throughout the ages; you can only trust another wolf, and even then, caution is necessary.

Moans

Hermione was surprised at how easy it was to sneak into Snape's private storage closet and procure the ingredients she needed in order to brew the polyjuice potion. With Harry and Ron creating a distraction for her, she was in and out before anyone gave her any mind. In fact, sneaking around was something she seemed to be getting increasingly good at. She could hear everything. Anything nearby that might incriminate her as she regularly stole her way down to the first floor bathroom made far more noise than the young werewolf required to hear them coming. She was rarely surprised by classmates any longer, and it was a great comfort to her. There were times, however, often in the library, when she was neck-deep in her studies that she neglected her ears. Those incidents tended to startle her more than they had before.

The witch sat alone in Myrtle's currently silent bathroom. The ghost avoided her, Hermione had no sympathy for her whining and attempted to block out her noise out when she was around. It was not as easy as she wanted it to be. Today, however, she was seething quietly and did not revel in the odd silence that pervaded the bathroom. Malfoy. Harry insisted the boy was the killer, and Hermione was inclined to agree, however illogical the reasoning. She hated the way the arrogant brat smelled, and hated further how easily he got under her skin. If it was him, she had to know. There was little that would bring her more pleasure than to bring him down. He had been making fun of her for too long; and this year was different than the previous. She had taken wounds to her pride before, but this irrational, fearful attack on her heritage and her very existence set off more primal instincts. More than once, Hermione had swallowed a growl or bitten her tongue to avoid snarling at the boy and his friends.

So, she found herself brewing her polyjuice potion and growling under her breath, paying little attention to anything around her.

"You know, that's not a good sound, you should probably get that looked at."

The young werewolf jumped at the wispy voice of Moaning Myrtle in her left ear. She glared at the ghost, briefly considering if she could actually talk to the dead girl about her own problems.

"My voice is fine," the girl said finally, her growl not entirely gone.

Myrtle giggled and set herself next to Hermione, staring at the girl with narrowed eyes.

Hermione frowned as the flame beneath her cauldron flickered and turned blue, instantly raising the precise temperature of her potion to dangerous levels.

"Myrtle! You're going to ruin it! Go away!" Hermione snarled at the ghost.

Myrtle screeched at her, but moved back all the same.

Hermione's ears rang from the shrillness of the girl's wailings. "You're just like all the rest of them! Only you won't leave. Maybe I should ruin your potion. Then you would go away!"

The young werewolf rubbed her ears. She stared up at the ghost, thinking that she may have been beginning to understand the dead girl. "I get teased too, Myrtle."

The ghost stopped her shrill wailing and frowned at Hermione.

Hermione took a breath, "I'm a muggleborn, too."

Myrtle continued to stare, though she remained silent, her transparent figure hovering near, but not near enough to disrupt Hermione's carefully tended flame.

"That's why this potion has to work. I have to figure out who is petrifying everyone before it's too late, and someone else dies," Hermione admitted to the ghost.

"Maybe you, like me," Myrtle said quietly, settling herself on the stone as much as her spirit form allowed.

Hermione nodded solemnly.

"Well," the ghost said, somewhat more cheerful than she had been moments before. "That still doesn't explain that absolutely awful noise you were making a few minutes ago."

"I can't tell you, Myrtle." Hermione said plainly, trying to concentrate on the potion book, though she had finished everything she had needed to do for the day.

"I'll scream every time you come down here. For hours and hours."

Hermione's ears panged just thinking about the ghost's shrill cries echoing through the bathroom for the next three weeks. "I'll tell you, but you can't tell anyone, Myrtle. I mean it."

"Who exactly am I going to tell, Granger? Hmm?"

"You can't tell Peeves. I know you talk to him and the other ghosts. They can't know."

"I've kept your little potion secret, haven't I?" The ghost responded with, clearly losing her patience.

She was right. So far Myrtle had kept silent about the potion, and perhaps that truly was the larger secret. It was not long before Hermione found herself telling Myrtle everything.

"You know, there was a boy who was a werewolf. He came here years ago. He was always so sad. It's been so long, I only remember him because he nearly got sick on my toilet! He looked so wretched. A gangly thing; not at all like you."

Hermione stared at the ghost, she hadn't realized another werewolf had gone to the school before her. She was under the impression it was impossible to get into Hogwarts as a werewolf. "Myrtle? Do you remember who he was?"

The ghost shrugged, "Not really. I never heard his name. He had a bunch of friends. They were all very rude to me."

Hermione frowned, "I'm sorry, Myrtle. He doesn't sound like the kind of werewolf I'd want to know."

The ghost nodded and quieted down.

After that day, Hermione no longer had to put up with the spirit's wailings and instead found a quiet confidant in the mournful ghost.

Hermione could feel the moon rising. Her blood ran hot and she grew increasingly excited as the day went on. The moment she was able to slip out of classes, she darted out of the castle. It was early enough in the afternoon that she had no concerns about being seen by anyone. In fact, she stopped by the Quidditch Pitch to watch the Gryffindor team practice for a short time. When the sun began to set and curfew was nearing, she mentioned to a concerned Harry and Ron that she had forgotten her Herbology notes in the greenhouse that day and was going to retrieve them before heading to bed. They argued with her, but she managed to convince them to let her slip off on her own.

Once she had escaped the boys' vision, she headed quietly toward the Forbidden Forest. Fen met her behind the edge of the treeline, matching her wide grin.

That night was different for the pair of werewolves. Fen had challenged her to silence, and so, they hunted without speaking. It was a strange shift for Hermione at first, but as the night went on, she began to realize that while Fen did not seem to mind listening to her, he really did not prefer to speak himself. The most she had ever heard him speak was the morning she had met him, when he patiently explained Hermione's situation to her and her parents. Now that there was no more need for words, he was teaching her without them.

Learning through observation rather than absorbing knowledge directly was hard for the girl. She had always been best at learning through books. The larger werewolf was extremely patient, however, and only appeared to become irritated when she threatened to break her silence. Slowly, she began to pick up the werewolf's body language. She didn't feel like she was getting any better, but Fen's pleased rumbles encouraged her to continue to try. She was not going to give him any less than her best.

Reading him, it turned out, was exceptionally easier once they had shifted. It hurt marginally less each time, but the pain was as blinding as ever when the change began to wash over her. She knew she was screaming, and had no power to stop the sounds that came pouring from her throat.

Once it was over, spurned on by the Alpha, the young wolf stood shakily. She stumbled over to the adult wolf and nuzzled him as best she could, given her wobbly limbs. The moment she had regained her footing, the two set off on a happy hunt. Unfortunately, the creatures in the forest on that particular November night were incredibly skittish, and the werewolves saw neither hide nor hare of anything worth eating. Hermione eventually fell asleep next to the larger wolf, hungry, but with a satisfied spirit.

The next morning, the girl awoke only to be immediately and silently hushed by the male. She followed his gaze and was glad he'd placed a firm hand over her mouth, for she nearly gasped.

Not far from the pair was a large doe, grazing peacefully and completely oblivious to their presence. Hermione eyed the larger werewolf, who gave her a small grin. He snuck off, completely silent in the calm of the frigid morning air. Hermione waited, hoping she understood his plan. She gave him one minute, and then another. When she was certain she stood, ignoring the morning chill on her skin. In one smooth motion, she darted toward the deer, startling the large animal out of its morning reverie and right into the path of the waiting adult werewolf. Hermione watched as Fen lept from his hiding place, knocking the shocked animal to the ground in one motion.

Still running almost entirely on instincts, the girl darted toward the struggling pair. As she reached the animal herself, pouncing on it with what little force she possessed, she realized it had already stopped moving. She glanced at the other werewolf, who shot her a smirk, blood pouring down his chin.

Conventional wisdom might have told Hermione to be afraid, or disgusted, but she felt none of that in the moment. In reality, she was just hungry. She wanted to sink her small teeth into any part of the animal she could find, but something held her back. She gave her Alpha a curious stare, hoping he might enlighten her.

Fen returned her stare with a knowing grin, and nodded for her to come join him. As eagerly as she did any assignment, she slid from her perch on the warm deer's side and down next to the other werewolf. He had opened up a section of the animal's neck with his teeth and was nodding toward it in invitation. Her eyes brightened and she shrunk under him slightly as she maneuvered toward the neck of the dead animal. She gave Fen one more questioning look; she wasn't certain why she was so hesitant to proceed without his approval, but she was too wrapped up in what she was feeling to care about why she was feeling it.

Fen chuckled and gave her an encouraging nod in response, and the young werewolf dug in without a second thought. The hot blood of the freshly dead deer streamed down the girl's chin and left her skin sticky and stained, but she paid it no mind. She tore into the tender flesh, letting her throat rumble happily as her hunger was sated.

She only glanced up at the sound of soft, padded footsteps, immediately throwing herself into an aggressive posture when a pack of wolves slowly approached them from the other side of the clearing. Fen gave no more indication that he had even noticed than a soft warning growl. Hermione watched them interact. The forest wolves immediately submitted to Fen's growling, and sat quietly, patient. Each of them licking their muzzles in anticipation as the large werewolf ate. Hermione eyed the Alpha, who seemed entirely unconcerned at the wolves' presence. They didn't smell hostile, and if Fen was going to allow them to be there, she probably ought to not worry. Curling her lip slightly at the newcomers, the girl went back to her meal. Her conscious mind wasn't certain what was going on, but she instead let her instincts guide her.

She was the first to find her fill, and backed away from the carcass, but still the other wolves waited, ignoring her. As her mind slowly returned, it made sense that she meant nothing to them, she was a child, and was obviously not in charge.

A few minutes later, Fen was finished as well. It was only when he backed away did the forest wolves dart forward, biting and snapping at one another for the remaining pieces of the carcass. She watched them with fascination, only driven out of her observation by Fen's hearty laugh.

She stared at him with wide eyes, confused at the subject of his laughter. He seemed to be genuinely amused at her.

He continued to chortle, and eventually gathered himself enough to speak, "You're a mess, pup."

She frowned at him, the larger werewolf had blood streaks down his face and across his arms and shoulders. Surely, she was no worse off than he. Taking a single look at herself, she realised she was wrong. If Fen was dirty, she was a disaster. Blood coated her arms, legs and torso, like a child after their first birthday cake. She could barely see her own skin underneath the layers of red. She licked her lips apprehensively.

Fen laughed again, "The lake isn't far from here, little one. I'll go get your clothes."

Hermione nodded and stood, the chilly air beginning to seep into her skin. She ran to the lake, knowing it was going to be freezing. She made quick work of her bloodstained body, scrubbing the red from her form before it could dry completely. Fen was back with her clothes before she was finished, and he sat with his back to her on the shore, patiently waiting. As quickly as she could, she scrambled out of the freezing water and threw on her clothes, shivering violently.

Fen turned when she was decent once more; he chortled again and took out a beautifully carved wand. He ran what she assumed was a drying charm over her, though she wasn't certain. The mutterings she caught were most certainly not based in the same Latin she knew. In any case, she was now dry, though slightly chilled, and seemed to worse for wear.

"Why couldn't you have just used a cleaning charm?" She braved cheekily.

Fen laughed again, "It's good for you, pup."

Hermione pursed her lips at the older werewolf. Her parents used to tell her similar tales when they asked her to do something she did not want to. Perhaps they were right.

Fen walked her to the edge of the forest and said goodbye. "Stay out of trouble, little one."

Hermione nodded earnestly and happily trotted off, her stomach full and the ache in her heart gone.