You guys have been so sweet, thank you so much! For everyone who's been going 'omg, I can't wait for them to see her for the first time'. . . I'd like to caution you to wait. I won't give spoilers, but here's a hint: it's not going to be that easy, but it will play into both imprinting & the whole 'destined mate' idea. Anyone who read my other fic Bewitched by You will probably realize the type of dynamic I'm going for.


THREE

THE CLOSER SHE got to the Olympic Peninsula, the more . . . palpable the change in the air felt. Hermione wasn't entirely certain of the cause. Maybe it was simply that she'd never been on a flight this long before and she was sensitive to the cabin pressure. Maybe it was a psychosomatic effect of knowing she was getting closer to finding answers.

Maybe she had finally gone 'round the bend and there was no reason for it at all.

She dreaded the thought—as she transferred flights to a more compact airplane at SeaTac—that Harry had been right after all. Perhaps she should've just come via Floo Network. Not that she would've enjoyed having to file transfer documents with MACUSA, but the actual process of traveling would've been faster. And she still could've arrived in Port Angeles to meet Mr. Black's son, Jacob. There were no Floo Stations anywhere near La Push or neighboring Forks.

Maybe it was the dampness beginning to thread the air the closer she got to the west coast. Maybe it was nervousness. Whatever it was, she found herself shifting about in her seat, offering muttered apologies to the person seated beside her, intermittently staring out the window, as if she had any idea what she should be looking for prior to making their descent.

One might assume she hated flying or heights by mere observation of her behavior—more than one fellow passenger had commented on it, in fact, helpfully offering suggestions to steady her nerves—but it was just this bizarre restlessness that had crept into her. This strange warmth that teased along her skin, never really seeming to settle nor subside.

After deplaning for the second time, she found herself relieved that she didn't have to worry about grabbing luggage from the carousel. Though she'd changed bags by now—from her little beaded one, which was at this point shredded from overuse, to a sturdy little black leather shoulder bag that 'went with everything'—she still, as Harry put it, used the same old trick. She had everything a traveling witch might need: potions ingredients and containers, research materials—for which she'd reverted to 'Muggle convention', including ballpoint pens and fresh, lined notebooks rather than quills and parchment—plenty of changes of wardrobe including nightwear, and, of course, some sheerly recreational items. Harry insisted.

Finally, buried somewhere in there was also the cell phone her parents had given her for emergencies that 'magic couldn't get her out of.' Naturally she'd not told them precisely what she was researching this trip—having a witch daughter who'd survived a magical war and was now stuck with an inability to age properly due to circumstances said witch daughter was not at liberty to explain was enough for them to manage as it was. She didn't think any good could come from a discussion that included alerting them to the fact that werewolves were just as real as witches, and oh, by the way, she was summering with a literal pack of them.

No, she decided she was nervous. That had to be what this feeling was. Nerves. Werewolves . . . . She hadn't stopped to wonder if she could handle being around them.

She halted just inside the glass paned doors, her breath seeming to still in her lungs and her heartbeat an overpowering sensation as it thrummed through her body, reverberating along her limbs and down to the tips of her fingers and soles of her feet.

Logically, she thought any . . . upsetting reactions she might have were connected only and specifically to Fenrir Greyback. She'd had no negative effects to seeing Remus again before his demise.

Besides, Mr. Black had assured her that their wolves were different from 'hers,' she would find out soon enough what, exactly, he'd meant by that. She knew the source of their power was wholly different, a sacred thing, but whether the difference stretched beyond that remained to be seen. And here she was, fussing and panicking about some unknown factor that might not even be an issue.

"God, Hermione, get yourself together!" she snapped in a whisper, oblivious to passersby giving her odd looks and grumbling rudely over how she'd stopped and blocked a door for no good reason—as if there weren't a line of doors perfectly usable on either side of her?

Forcing a few deep, calming breaths, she squared her shoulders. Jacob Black should be waiting for her in a . . . refurbished vehicle, his father had written? She was looking for a rather tall young man, as Mr. Black had quaintly put it, she would 'know him when she saw him.'

Feeling sufficiently collected, Hermione pulled open the door and stepped out.

There, parked only a few yards away, was a car that certainly looked older but updated, and leaning against it . . . . She nearly stumbled as she halted again.

Yes, the young man with the long jet hair tied back from his face by a leather cord and impossibly broad shoulders was indeed 'rather tall.' He was leaned against the hood, turned a bit toward both her and the car's interior, his arms folded across his chest. His dark eyes were fixed on something behind the windshield, and his wide mouth curved downward in an impressive frown.

If she didn't know better, she'd swear he was making a face at someone.

Just as she started walking again, he lifted his attention from the depths of the car and met her gaze. Her heart skipped a beat and she felt a wash of warmth through her body.

Unexpectedly, images chased through her mind . . . . Skin dark against hers, holding tight. Fingers sinking into her hair and bunching into a fist. That sweet, shivery ache low in her body . . . .

Only a flash and then it was gone. She swallowed hard and forced a smile, willing her legs to keep moving steadily as she approached the vehicle and its owner.


Jasper's head snapped up, his gaze fixed on the open window and the dwindling sunlight beyond. He was aware that he had no idea what drew his attention, just as he was aware of Edward's curiosity piquing as the bronze-haired vampire looked up from the page before him to watch his adoptive brother.

Well, there went their quiet evening of simply reading after he'd left Edward to an argument with their newest family member so very early that morning. It wasn't his fault that her husband's link to other people's minds made Bella feel entitled to that same knowledge.

His thoughts were suddenly, unexpectedly tangled. His emotions were suddenly, unexpectedly tangled, and Jasper Hale was not one whose emotions got away from him.

Setting down the book in his hands, he climbed to his feet. The movement was unnerving, even for one of his own kind to observe, as he stalked toward the window like a jungle cat picking up on a curious scent.

Tipping his head, he glanced about as though in search of something. He didn't actually expect to find anything, and what he was supposed to be looking for, anyway? He hadn't the faintest clue. His golden eyes narrowed as he tried to collect himself.

Edward was beside him in a blink, following his brother's darting gaze. "What's going on?" he asked, vaguely disturbed by the unintelligible minor chaos in Jasper's typically calm mind.

Jasper frowned in puzzlement as he settled his brother's agitation out of habit. He shook his head as his thoughts finally cleared, but with no answers as to what was so troubling him.

"I have no idea," he responded with a serenity that he did not actually feel.


Jacob had been feeling a bit odd the last few moments. A little warmer than usual, and warmth did not bother his kind. Seth would not stop fucking with the radio, and if the kid did not knock it off, he was going to break the damn dial!

Only after he'd properly conveyed his feelings though facial expression, alone, did Seth sit back, holding up his hands to show he wasn't touching anything. Then Jacob'd looked toward the doors and seen her.

Tiny little thing—but then, a lot of people were 'tiny' to him—with a halo of wild golden-brown hair that seemed to have escaped from a long, thick braid pulled over one shoulder. Huge brown eyes tilted up at the corners stared back at him in something like surprise.

For a strained moment, everything faded. The world around her became sort of . . . fuzzy on the edges, sounds dulling in his too-sensitive ears. The sensation of lips brushing his, of fingertips stroking gently from his solar plexus down toward his navel teased him as he watched her exhale. Those imagined touches startled him, though he didn't let it show.

Her fair cheeks spotted pink and then she smiled and walked toward him. The motion pulled him out of his bizarre trance, movement and sound exploding back into reality around her.

"Jacob Black?" she asked, her voice friendly, if uncertain.

"Yeah, hey." He pried himself off the car, appreciating that she paused for half a step to look him over as he stood before her at his full height. "That'd make you Hermione Granger? I'm . . . sorry, am I saying that right? Hermione?"

She winced. He had it correct, but he also had it correct to guess how many people mangled her name upon reading it. Perhaps he was familiar with Greek mythology and simply wanted to be sure it was pronounced the same.

"Yes," she answered, maybe a little too enthusiastically. She noticed him looking her over a few times and then looking around her in something like confusion. "Something the matter?"

Oh, oh, that accent was going to get distracting from what she was actually saying, he could see it already. "No, just . . . . Where's your luggage?"

Laughing, she indicated her shoulder bag. "I'll explain in the car. Was there anything else before we're on our way?"

Jacob shook his head, realizing he was keeping them from getting back to La Push. "I just, okay, there's no way this isn't going to sound rude, but I was expecting someone older, I think."

She smiled graciously. Here she was in her late twenties and looking eighteen, and he was eighteen—according to his father—and looking in his late twenties. Oh, the talk this was going to be.

"Another thing to discuss in the car, I think."

He nodded, grinning . . . perhaps a little too brightly, but it felt natural, so whatever, he was going with it. "Sure, sure. Just one second." In a smooth motion, he pivoted from his place beside the hood to put himself at the driver's side door. Lowering his head to the window, he hissed a warning at Seth to transfer himself to the back of the car, so she could sit in passenger seat.

Seth gaped at him wide-eyed. Much to Jacob's very obvious chagrin, the younger wolf had picked up on something in the way he'd looked at the witch. "Did you just im—"

"No!" Jacob went on in a whisper, "It was . . . well, I don't know what it was, but it wasn't that. Just. Get. In. The. Back."

Seth knew better than to not cooperate any time one of the older wolves spoke through clenched teeth. Throwing open the door, he scrambled out. He wasn't quite as tall as Jake, and had an easier time unfolding himself from the beloved car's cramped interior.

He beamed at the short, crazy-haired white girl standing near Jacob. "Hi!"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the younger man's exuberance. "Hello. I'm . . . ." She glanced at Jacob and back to Seth. "Sorry, you caught me off guard. I was only expecting one person to meet me." She was going to ignore that she really hadn't been paying attention to anything but Jacob Black from the moment she'd set eyes on him.

"I was curious about, well, someone like you. Hope that's okay."

She once more glanced at Jacob, who made an 'after you' gesture. Nodding, she rounded the vehicle where the boy promptly stuck out his hand. "Seth Clearwater."

Slipping her fingers into his, she began to respond, but instead a breath rushed out of her. She dropped her gaze to their clasped hands. "My Lord, you're so warm." Again she looked at Jacob, realizing they'd exchanged no such greeting. "Are all of you like this?"

Jacob and Seth nodded in unison.

"Right." She nodded back, concentrating on ignoring how nice it felt. This information didn't bode well for her imagination after those flashes a few moments ago. "Hermione Granger. Lovely to meet you, Seth."

Jacob could see that accent having an effect on Seth, too. Clearing his throat, he took hold of the door, catching his little brother's gaze and jutting his chin toward the backseat.

Starting in place—he really seemed the only one of the werewolves who hadn't had to struggle with his temper getting the better of him after his first transformation—Seth relinquished her hand. He pulled the passenger seat forward and climbed in behind it.

When the seat snapped back into place, Hermione turned and looked up at Jacob. There was a flicker of warm tingles across her cheeks to realize how close they stood.

It appeared to take him a moment to find his voice. "Sorry about him. Like he said, he's just curious. And energetic."

Honestly, he reminded her a bit of Colin Creevey when she, Harry, and Ron had first met him. She immediately turned her thoughts away from the memory. He should never even have been at the Battle of Hogwarts, that he'd had to fight at all, let alone die, was still a travesty for which she'd never forgiven the Fates.

"It's fine. Sweet, really. Shall we?" She settled on the passenger seat, happy to put a little space between herself and Jacob Black so she could think clearly. Regretful to put space between herself and Jacob Black because something in his closeness felt natural.

And warm. And shivery in all the right places. Oh, dear God, knock it off, Hermione!

He shut the door and came around to the driver's side. Hermione watched in something like fascination as he gracefully scrunched himself into the car. The spectacle made her realize she had far too much leg room.

"Hang on," she said to absolutely no one as she reached beneath the seat for the lever.

Seth remained silent as she pulled the seat forward to give him more space, but the sigh of relief that filled the back was audible. He unexpectedly stuck his face between the seats, tipping his head against the driver's side headrest as he looked at her.

Now that they were in the shelter of the car, he asked in a low, secretive voice, "Do witches fly on brooms?"

Hermione's gaze flashed to Jacob's face—she was a bit startled to acknowledge that this was already a default reaction and she's only known him all of five minutes—to find him smirking. "Well, I don't, because I personally don't like to, but actually yes."

"See! I told you so," he just about shouted in Jacob's ear.

Jacob snickered in spite of himself as he started the car. "Now you've done it. Watch out, he might want to check if you're wearing makeup."

Her brows shot up and her jaw fell. "Huh?"