Secrets, no matter how important, cannot be hidden among wolves. Wolves depend on each other to survive, and they cannot survive alone. If there are secrets to keep, everyone will know. And as such, any secret will be revealed to anyone not aware of the fact that there was a secret in the first place. Whether by accident or not, things long hidden will slowly be revealed.

Reindeer

The next morning, Ylva woke Hermione up early. Had she not just traveled from England the night before, it would have felt the middle of the night. The bushy-haired girl rubbed her eyes as she trod along sleepily behind her friend, bundled against the chill of the morning. Just as the night before, it was light outside, but it was earlier than the false dawn seemed to indicate. Hermione had not counted on how far north the wolfpack lived. From what she understood, they lived further to the north than the better half of Iceland. It was not unbearably cold in the grand scheme of things, but it was still July and it felt like any chilly fall morning at Hogwarts.

Hermione wondered slightly at Ylva's clothing. She had rarely seen her normal clothing while at school. It was much more reminiscent of clothes that Hermione would wear at home than anything she had seen in the wizarding world. Though Ylva's clothes were more suited for warm weather than most of Hermione's. Colorfully dyed, closely knitted wool was the most common material she saw that morning. It was a refreshing change from the rest of the impracticality that English wizards seemed to follow.

Hermione's nose twinged slightly, there was an unfamiliar scent on the air as they walked through the village. It was faint until they reached the far edge of the town, where it became steadily stronger. It was not an unpleasant smell, but it took her several minutes to place it. Livestock of some sort, she assumed.

The two girls approached the large barn at the edge of the village, where the scent was strongest.

"Reindeer," Hermione remarked with no small amount of delight when Ylva opened the barn door softly. The animals were quiet, aside from a few snorts and stamped hooves. Reaching out to touch one, Hermione smiled as she brushed her hand against the smooth summer coat of the nearest to her.

"I let them out in the morning. They love to go up into the hills during the day and graze, while it's still warm enough. I also bring them in at night, when I am here," Ylva smiled fondly at the creatures.

Hermione nodded, wrapping her fur-lined coat closer around her as Ylva opened the large doors to let the animals out. The heat of the reindeer together kept the barn warm, but as soon as the doors were opened, the chill of the morning wafted in. The herd perked up almost immediately. The tinkling of the bells fixed around their necks grew loud and hurried as they frolicked out, nearly tripping over one another in their eagerness to be let out. Hermione watched with fascination until the jingling of the bells was unable to be heard.

When the girls were done with the herd, Ylva took Hermione to Geira's house. Hermione had not yet met the old woman, though Ylva had spoken about her regularly. She sounded very much to be like McGonagall, and Ylva had likened the two on more than one occasion.

There was smoke trailing up out the chimney of Geira's hut, which immediately piqued Hermione's interest. She was still rather chilled. As the two approached, Hermione picked up some new scents. She could, of course, smell the fire, and the smoked meats, but there was also a smell of dried herbs that reminded her of the potions sotreroom. Rather unlike Hogwarts, Geira's home carried with it a warm, homey smell. It reminded her more of tea than of the musty dungeons.

Ylva did not knock, but neither did she need to. The door opened for them as the approached and the door shut gently behind them. The warm, welcoming atmosphere enveloped the girls the moment they entered. Ylva smiled and quickly sat by the fire, a happy scent trailing in her wake. A few moments later, when Hermione had settled herself on the bench next to Ylva, a kind-looking old woman puttered in from the opposite end of the hut.

"Hello, Hermione," the woman smiled fondly, a heavy accent on her tongue.

"Hello," Hermione responded with a smile.

Geira's English was broken, but it was decent enough that Hermione did not have trouble understanding her, "I have heard much. You are...important."

Hermione gave Ylva a concerned glance, her eyes widening slightly. She had heard nothing of her importance. She repeated the word, frowning slightly.

Geira merely nodded, giving no reply.

"Elder, when will Alpha be back?" Ylva asked quietly after a time.

"Fenrir is busy, Ylva. He comes when he is done," the woman said absent-mindedly as she continued to tend to the tea.

Hermione stared once more. Fenrir. "It's very fitting," she said quietly. She wondered why he had never told her his full name. Perhaps he did not like it? It would make sense that Geira did not follow his wishes, as the pack elder. Her eyes found Geira as she processed her thoughts, the old woman carried a slight frown. It was all manner of disapproving.

"He did not tell you…" The woman's lips grew tight and she muttered something in Norwegian that made Ylva giggle into her tea.

"What did she say?"

Ylva blushed slightly but answered with a simple, "She says Alpha is very stubborn."

Hermione was not certain that the woman had said exactly that, but she took it. It was no doubt close to what the woman had meant.

That day, Hermione spent with Ylva and Geira, learning about many of the herbs that were beneficial for them, and for the pack. Geira was all too happy to answer Hermione's questions. She asked her about pack life and the elder answered most of her questions. There were a few she would not answer, and instead instructed her to ask Fenrir for the answers. She did not think much of it, as none of her questions seemed to have anything to do with another.

Geira had smelled annoyed when she found out the larger werewolf had not been using his full name. Hermione thought it was a bit odd, though she was not overly concerned by it.

"Geira?"

"Yes, pup?" Geira said softly, cheer in her voice.

"Are names very important to werewolves?"

The cheer in Geira's scent fell slightly, "Why are you asking?"

"Alpha doesn't use my name," Hermione said with a quiet, unspoken question.

"I think that is for him to say," Geira remarked softly, but with such a tone that left no room for argument. Her scent serious.

Hermione nodded slowly. The old woman's protective scent had flared up again. Fenrir must've meant a lot to her.

"Yes. Names are important," Geira said, surprising her with an answer. "When a wolf does something, good or bad, they are given a new name because of it."

Hermione nodded again, eager to learn more, but she also understood it was a touchy subject. Geira was to the point most of the time, and Hermione appreciated that.

"Now, let's get the herbs strung up."

At the end of the day, or what Hermione assumed was the end, as the sun was near the horizon, but refused to dip beneath it, the three walked out of the village, past the barn, and out onto the grassy field.

"We're going to bring the herd in, now," Ylva smiled at her.

Hermione nodded, watching intently as Ylva turned from her and let out a call. It was not at all what Hermione expected. It was a beautiful, shrill sound, but musical rather than harsh. Geira joined in not a moment later. The sound echoed off the hills in a way that seemed magical, even though it was not.

The silence between each call was long and deep. Hermione kept watch for the reindeer, but she could not see them. After a moment, Ylva turned to her once more.

"Listen."

Hermione did. Far off, she could hear the same bells that accompanied the herd earlier that morning. They came closer as Ylva returned to calling them.

Only minutes later, they were surrounded by the small, hardy beasts, the jingling of their bells now loud and cheerful. Ylva shook her grain bucket and the reindeer followed her peacefully into the barn.

"I don't need help bringing them in, any more. I think Geira likes to sing," she whispered as they fed and grained the herd.

Hermione smiled at her friend. It was so very different here than she was used to, but she was growing to love it. Even without Fenrir, though she missed him, but that sensation was not new. It was something that she lived with consistently, and it was no different now.

For the first week, Hermione spent her time learning and meeting the pack, and she found she loved them. They were knowledgeable and practical, and full of their own magic. She felt an outsider still, but she knew that none of them felt that way about her. She could smell it. Over the course of the week, she did not have much time for herself.

On the rare occasion that she found some time to herself, she made her way to the barn. The scent of the animals masked hers enough that no one came looking for her immediately. It was quiet, aside from the light tinkling of bells and soft stamping of hooves. It was peaceful near the barn, and warm. Away from the hustle of the village, Hermione found time to read.

It was one such time, when the sun was warm and Hermione was reading just outside the barn, where several of the older reindeer had taken to napping. She sat, not far from the sleeping beasts, reading a book that Geira had leant her on Norwegian folktales. Many of which painted werewolves in a different light than those she had grown up with. There was a reverence about the way the Norwegians believed in the existence of trolls, and fairies, and werewolves. So unlike the way that her people spoke of the magical and unknown in fear.

A strange sensation tugged at her, warmth flooding down her spine in an entirely comforting manner. She turned on instinct, her face flooding with a startled smile when her eyes met the source of the sensation.

"Fenrir!"

He froze, his blue eyes growing dark for a moment, the grin that was on his face frozen in some emotion Hermione could not place.

Hermione swore she could smell a hint of fear for only a moment. It was so small and swift that she must have imagined it. Fenrir could not be afraid of something as small as his name.

"I'm sorry!" she said immediately, "I just— I heard it—"

"Geira," Fenrir's eyes darted to the old woman, clear across the village, his face darkened by a harsh glare. He growled quietly. "Don't be sorry, pup," he said as an obvious afterthought, his voice not as soft as she supposed he meant it to be.

"I'll stop," she said hastily. There was something about it that he did not like, and she did not want to upset him.

He shook his head as he turned back to her, "No, little one. I don't mind."

"Then why—" She was more confused than ever; his scent was irritated to say the least, but he was telling her not to stop.

"There are many things I will tell you," he interrupted her firmly, "This is not one of them. I hope you will never understand. If you do, it means I was not able to protect you."

She nodded thoughtfully. There was that scent again; it was gone before she could truly analyze it. Sad, but...not.

"They like you," the large werewolf nodded toward the reindeer, his irritation gone.

Hermione laughed quietly. "I'm not so sure. Ylva tried to teach me to call them. I think I scared half the herd before Geira called them back. I was surprised she could call, she was laughing so hard," the girl pouted slightly.

Fenrir laughed, his scent as though he had not laughed in a long time. It was concerningly refreshing. "I was never good at it either. You have other talents, little one."

"I don't like not being good at something."

The larger werewolf laughed heartily and scooped the girl up into his arms.

"Yet more we have in common," Fenrir's speech was nearly dwarfed by the girl's delighted squeal. He threw her up on his shoulders and the two chatted as he walked, catching up on some lost time.

A/N: Hi Friends! Thanks for your continued support through the crazy school year =)
Also, Fixed a typo