The soft pounding of paws on snow can bring forth happy memories or bad ones. For a pack, it is a hunt, a thrilling and necessary adventure. They know that it will shortly be followed by a happy chorus of sated family members. For other wolves, it is possible that they are the ones being hunted. Isolated and ostracized, they are often chased off by their own kind. Still more leave of their own accord, though such individuals are not welcome back into the family. There are few, very few, who leave due to circumstances they cannot control, and yearn, perhaps unknowingly, for the family they never had.

New Friends

Hermione turned to Fenrir with a wide smile; an expression that rapidly turned into a frown when she saw his face. His lips were tight and he was shaking his head slightly, a solemn scent on the air.

"You aren't going with us," she surmised.

"No, pup. You and Ylva will go with Andor. I cannot go with you."

Her shoulders sank, but she nodded. By the way his scent was guarded, she knew he would not tell her why, should she ask, but she wanted him to know she was wondering. She wanted him to know she did not think of him as different, for whatever reason he seemed to hide from society.

"Why?" she said, staring back at him with a saddened heart.

He answered only with a quiet, frustrated growl. She lowered her eyes quickly, trying to show her deference. He responded by pulling her into a calm hug. She took it as it was, a quiet apology for being unable to do something they both wished he would.

"Time to go, little one," he said gently, pulling her away from him.

Hermione nodded with a grin, wondering slightly at his instant reversion to using the monikers he had chosen for her, rather than her name. It did not expressly bother her, but she wanted to know more. It seemed every time she unraveled one mystery, she was met with more.

She waved to him and he gave her a short nod of encouragement.

Fenrir watched her portkey away with the other two werewolves. The mild ache in his heart returned as she snapped out of existence. He clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the feeling. Not only was it distracting, but he did not understand it. As if on cue, Geira appeared at his side, a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

"Watching them grow is hard."

"I have watched many grow up...None of them were like this," he admitted quietly, begrudgingly taking the tea she was offering him. He knew there was something in the tea she was giving him; but he was also very aware that whatever it was, it helped. She knew something; she always knew, but he wasn't going to get anything out of her. He had learned his stubborn streak from her, he was certain.

"Ingrid will be back," he told Geira quietly. "I left things unfinished."

"Have you considered taking her up on her offer?"

Fenrir snarled angrily in response.

"Not permanently, Alpha, but long enough for Hermione to grow into her station."

He shook his head. "It would not protect her. She already knows. It's better now if I keep them apart."

Geira opened her mouth once more, but her scent gave away her retort before she could voice it.

"If she wasn't certain before, my leaving made certain of it," he snapped sharply. "I made the mistake of accepting her offers before, I refuse to give her more power over me."

He did not turn to look at Geira, frustrated with himself, he had not expected Ingrid to be so thoroughly possessive of power she never had. She was trying, he had to give her that. She had sent one of her newer members to watch over the summer migration. It was not enough to reverse the damage they had done, and Fenrir suspected she just wanted to give the man something that would keep him out of her hair. He scratched his head thoughtfully. Ingrid was never shy about her conquests, or shutting down those she did not care for. Sending one away was new. Perhaps she was merely bored, but she had too many problems to be truly bored. Perhaps she truly felt something for the man; a thought that made Fenrir snort a quiet laugh. Perhaps that information would be useful. In any case, he knew he would be restless for several days, as he always was when the children left. When Andor returned in two days, Fenrir would make a trip north.

Diagon Alley was as wondrous as ever. It was the last day of the holidays and the place was packed with Hogwarts students. Mostly those from the further reaches of the country, flocking to London to take the train to school. Ylva had never before been to London, and her eyes were as wide as Hermione remembered them being the first week at Hogwarts. They did everything they possible could, with Ylva leading the charge.

The three ate lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, and were soon joined, to no one's surprise, by Harry and a gaggle of Weasleys. They had apparently just arrived and found Harry, who had already completed his shopping, having been in London for several days. Hermione eyed him reproachfully when he told the story of blowing up Aunt Marge, and walking out on the Dursleys.

"Honestly, Harry, that was really reckless," she said with pursed lips while Ron laughed uproariously.

Before Harry could protest, Fred clapped Hermione on the shoulder, "Lighten up, Granger. It could happen to anyone."

"Anyone except miss perfect, here," George continued, "What are your grades again? Overly Outstanding?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as the twins continued to make ridiculous ways to describe her study habits. She was truly glad Harry was alright after everything that had happened to him. They were soon ushered back into Diagon Alley by the Weasley Matriarch. The four third years were sent to Magical Menagerie to pick up rat tonic for Ron's pet Scabbers, who had apparently not been feeling well lately.

Ron screeched when they walked in when a large orange ball of anger accosted his head. Registering the animal's scent before she truly saw it, Hermione understood immediately that it was some sort of cat. An angry cat. The moment the cat stood still long enough to see, Hermione could not help but smile. The creature was uncomfortable, even angry, but she saw something of herself in the fiery fluffball and, despite Ron's hurriedness, lingered in the store.

Ron purchased his rat tonic, and quickly left the shop, cradling Scabbers like the cat had threatened to eat him. To be fair, it was a cat. She attempted to move toward the creature, but he arched his back and hissed, a frightened bitterness wafting off his bristled hair.

"That poor creature has been here a long time," the shopkeeper said, "He's very smart, but no one seems to want him. They always bring him back. I'm afraid he may be here forever."

Hermione looked at the cat, his squished fat contorted into an angry snarl. There was something odd about his scent; he did not smell quite like the other cats in the shop. He must have been something a little more magical. She pulled out her money and handed it to the shopkeeper without a word.

The woman sighed and moved to catch the animal.

"No. I can do it," Hermione said quietly. "If I can't, I don't deserve to keep him." She watched the animal's body language as she spoke, and watched his tail relax marginally. He was curious.

"Hey, Crookshanks," she called to him softly, holding out her hand, "I want to take you home with me."

The cat sniffed her hand, suspicion strong in his scent.

"We'll be at school most of the year, and there will be lots of space for you to run around in. And in the summer we will go home. You will love mum's garden. There are always birds and squirrels to chase. No one will bother you unless you ask for it. I promise."

Crookshank's fur relaxed; settling into its normal fluffiness.

Hermione sat for a moment, waiting to see if he would approach her. Ever so slowly, he came toward her, muscles taught to run back to his hiding place should she be lying. He sniffed her carefully and made what Hermione took to be a critical moment of eye contact. She held his wild eyes with certainty. She would keep her promises.

Suddenly smelling satisfied, though still wary, the cat walked toward her, rubbing his face hesitantly on her outstretched hand. She smiled and cautiously gathered him into her arms, leaving a slightly stunned shopkeep behind.

As expected, Ron threw a fit about the cat. Hermione quickly deposited Crookshanks in the room she was sharing with Ylva at the Leaky Cauldron, away from the noise and people. He seemed to appreciate it, rubbing up against her legs before hopping up on the windowsill to watch the traffic go past. She smiled and returned to the group of friends.

Andor gave her a wry grin. "I hear our little pack has grown again, he said quietly.

Hermione nodded. "I've always wanted a cat, and Mum and Dad gave me money for my birthday. I think he'll get along well with everyone."

"I have no doubt," the older werewolf smiled.

The next morning was fairly uneventful, until they arrived on the Hogwarts Express. The train was full. The four wandered until they ran into Neville, who was also looking for a compartment. After a thorough search, they found a compartment. They filed in, and Hermione froze. She felt Ylva grab her hand, her fingers tightly clenched, and knew she smelled it too.

The man sleeping next to the window was a werewolf. Unable to speak of it, and equally unable to decline sitting in this particular compartment, Ylva and Hermione made nervous eye contact and tried to remain calm. Surely, if he was a werewolf, he would not tell anyone about them; not without telling someone about himself.

Hermione buried her nose in her book, trying to forget about the man. "R.J. Lupin" according to his suitcase. She assumed he was a new professor and voiced her thoughts when it was brought up by the boys' discussions. Aside from the strange werewolf, the trip itself was as pleasant as the morning. That is, until the train came to a sudden, screeching stop.

She frowned. "We can't possibly have arrived yet."

The air grew bitterly cold. The whole train suddenly reeked of pain and despair. Hermione nearly gagged at the overwhelming stench of fear. The worst of everyone's horrors all played out together in a single, frigid, sweat-drenched night terror. Her eyes darted to Harry, who seemed to be suffering the worst of it. Her own fear was masked slightly by concern, but that was soon gone, as a shadow appeared at the door. It seemed to last forever, but the shadow opened the door, reaching in with long, gaunt fingers.

Hermione shivered, the hair on the back of her neck raised. The small compartment filled with the scent of fear and a sense of dread filled the girl. She had never felt like this before, despite everything that had happened to her. Even worse, she had no idea how to stop it; she could not even scream.

That was the moment the strange werewolf woke up and cast a spell she did not recognize at the hooded creature. It fled, and the air immediately warmed around them and the feeling of despair fled with the creature. Unfortunately, the scent lingered.

Hermione watched as Lupin tended to Harry, who woke up with a cry. The werewolf smelled not only concerned, but angry. He looked around, his lips tight.

Immediately wary, Hermione tried not to act any differently, but her nervousness was to be expected with what had just occurred. She did not need to worry, at least for the moment.

Lupin reached into his bag and handed everyone some chocolate. "Eat it. It will help. I am going to speak with the conductor."

While the man was gone, the teenagers stared at the chocolate, all extremely unnerved. They were silent until Lupin returned, looking and smelling even more irate. He sighed, the scent of anger washing away in lieu of resignation.

"That was a dementor," he said simply, "they guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. Eat the chocolate, I promise it's not poisoned. Apparently," he continued, "they had to search the train for Sirius Black." The scent of anger appeared and disappeared once again, "As if he would have any interest in children. By the way," he gave them all a small smile, "my name is Remus Lupin. I will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."