Hermione Granger had always been good at pretending. Pretending to be confident, pretending to be composed, pretending that the rush of excitement she felt when she opened a new book was something everyone else felt too. It wasn't that she didn't have friends, but there was always something… detached. Even when Ron and Harry were around her, sharing meals in the Great Hall or walking through the halls of Hogwarts, she felt the distance between them.
They had their battles, their scars—emotional and literal ones. Hermione had them, too, but they were different. Ron's insecurities burned like an open flame, crackling and visible to anyone who took the time to look. Harry's pain was more like a smoldering ember, buried deep, only flaring up when poked. But Hermione… Hermione was a different fire altogether. A slow burn, a constant hum of wanting more. More knowledge, more control, more understanding. And it was that wanting that separated her from the boys. She craved knowledge with a hunger she could never quite satisfy.
So, she spent nights alone in the library, hunched over thick volumes with spines cracked from overuse, pouring through texts on Transfiguration, magical creatures, anything that could feed that endless need to learn. At some point over the years after the long stretches of isolation and the pressing weight of things she couldn't change, the boys had found solace in each other's company, in their shared trauma after the Battle of the Ministry. But Hermione… she turned inward. And when she discovered the pages about Animagi, she found something to cling to, something she could control when everything else was spiraling.
That's how it began—innocently enough. A few pages turned late at night, and a spark of curiosity fanned into a flame. The idea of becoming an Animagus seemed like a logical next step. Another skill to master. Another way to contribute to the fight against Voldemort. But more than that, it was something of her own, something that wasn't tangled up in prophecy or destiny or Harry's eternal struggle. She could slip away from the others, from their angst and unspoken grief, and pour herself into something that felt… right.
The process had been slow, painstaking. She followed the instructions to the letter—drawing diagrams, muttering incantations, practicing visualization until the lines between her body and the animal she sought to become blurred in her mind. But something had gone wrong, or at least not as expected. The changes started gradually—small, innocuous shifts at first. A sharpness to her vision that hadn't been there before, a subtle awareness of sounds that should have been muted in the distance.
Then the dreams came. Wild, vivid dreams of running through the Forbidden Forest on four legs, feeling the ground tremble beneath her as she moved. The sensations were intoxicating—wind rushing against fur that wasn't there, muscles coiling and springing in ways her human body couldn't. But when she woke in the dorm, she was drenched in sweat, heart pounding, with an uncomfortable sense that she was no longer entirely in control.
Dumbledore noticed, of course. He always noticed. He watched her from across the table during meals in the Great Hall, his blue eyes twinkling in that maddening way that said he knew far more than he let on. It wasn't long before he pulled her aside, gently but firmly suggesting she visit someone more… experienced in matters of uncontrolled transformation.
That's how she found herself standing in front of the Shrieking Shack, the last rays of sunlight dipping below the horizon. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself against the biting wind. The Shack looked as it always had—haunted, abandoned, with crooked boards and shattered windows that gave it a skeletal appearance against the darkening sky. She had passed this place countless times as a student, always with a mix of curiosity and fear. Now, standing in its shadow, she felt neither. Only a strange, hollow anticipation.
Remus Lupin was already inside. She could see the faint flicker of candlelight through the gaps in the wooden boards. Hermione took a deep breath and stepped forward, pushing the creaking door open.
The air inside was thick with the scent of dust and decay, mingled with the sharp tang of old wood and wax. She could see Remus seated by the fire, his back to her, shoulders hunched as though carrying an invisible weight. His hair, once a soft brown, was streaked with gray, more than she remembered from their time together at Hogwarts. War had aged him—lines of fatigue etched into his face, his frame thinner, more angular than before.
He didn't look up when she entered, but he spoke, his voice low and calm. "Hermione."
There was no surprise in his tone. Of course, Dumbledore had told him she would come. He had probably known before she did.
"I… I didn't know where else to go," she said, her voice small in the cavernous emptiness of the Shack. She took a tentative step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath her weight. "Professor Dumbledore said—"
"Dumbledore is rarely wrong about these things," Remus interrupted, his eyes still fixed on the fire. "If he sent you here, then he believes you need help. And I'm inclined to agree."
Hermione swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. There was no judgment in his voice, only a quiet understanding that made her feel more vulnerable than she expected. She wanted to explain, to tell him everything—the dreams, the strange sensations, the pull she felt toward something she couldn't quite name—but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she stood there, clutching her arms around herself as though the cold had followed her inside.
Remus finally turned to face her, his eyes tired but kind, the corners of his mouth lifting into the faintest hint of a smile. "You're not the first to attempt this," he said softly. "And you won't be the last."
He stood, moving with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who had learned long ago how to carry the weight of his own burdens without letting them crush him. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the old, worn-out chair across from the fire. "We'll talk."
Hermione obeyed, sitting down stiffly, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She could feel the heat of the fire against her skin, but it did little to warm the chill that had settled in her chest.
Remus sat across from her, his gaze steady and calm, as though waiting for her to speak. When she didn't, he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You've started the transformation, haven't you?"
Hermione nodded, her throat tightening. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I could handle it, that I could control it."
Remus's eyes softened, and for the first time, Hermione saw a flicker of something that looked like… understanding. Not pity, not disappointment, but a deep recognition of her struggle, even though their experiences were different. There was a quiet empathy in his gaze, but Hermione knew it wasn't complete understanding—how could it be? He was a werewolf, bound to the violent pull of the moon every month, while Sirius had been an Animagus who transformed by choice, into a dog, an animal built for companionship and loyalty. And she… she was something else. Something more dangerous.
"Sirius thought he could handle it too," Remus said quietly, his eyes flickering with a distant sadness, the recent loss of his friend still fresh in him. "But even he didn't fully understand what it meant to walk that line."
Hermione felt her breath catch. Sirius had been reckless but controlled. His Animagus form had been a way to protect himself and those he loved. But she… she wasn't a dog. She was something wild, something feral. The pull she felt wasn't just the magic of transformation—it was something primal, something raw and untamed, something she didn't know how to handle.
"And you…" she started, unsure how to finish. "You've lived with it your whole life."
Remus looked at her, his expression carefully neutral. "Yes," he said softly. "But what you're going through is different. What I live with is a curse. Yours… yours is a choice, but it comes with its own risks. You're not bound to the moon like I am, but the wolf inside you… it's still there. And it's still dangerous."
Hermione swallowed hard. The way he spoke about the wolf, as though it was some separate entity inside her, sent a chill down her spine. She had thought this was just another skill, something to master, to control like any spell or potion. But now, with the weight of Remus's words, it felt like something much more—something beyond her control.
"What… what do you mean by dangerous?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She hated how small and uncertain she sounded, but this was uncharted territory for her. And the more he spoke, the more she realized how naive she had been.
Remus shifted slightly in his seat, his gaze steady but cautious. He was choosing his words carefully, she could tell. "When you began this journey, you were focused on the mechanics—how to transform, the steps to become an Animagus. But Hermione, an Animagus form isn't just about what you want. It's about who you are. And the wolf… the wolf isn't just an animal. It's instinct. It's power. It's… hierarchy."
Hermione's brow furrowed. "Hierarchy?"
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, as if the conversation was costing him something. "The wolf inside you recognizes things in ways you might not be aware of yet. The way you interact with others, the way you feel in certain situations. You've already noticed the changes, haven't you? The heightened senses, the pull toward the moon even though you're not a werewolf."
She nodded slowly. She had felt it—the way her instincts had sharpened, the way her body seemed to hum with energy during the full moon. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
"And there's more," Remus continued, his voice quieter now. "It's not just about transformation, Hermione. The wolf recognizes its place… its role in the pack. And you… you're an omega."
The word hung in the air between them, and Hermione felt her stomach drop. Omega. The term wasn't unfamiliar, but hearing it now, spoken in this context, made her feel exposed in a way she hadn't expected. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
Remus leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "I can smell it," he said, his tone careful, almost apologetic. "I've known since the first night you walked in here. Your scent… it's unmistakable."
Hermione's cheeks flushed with heat, a mix of embarrassment and confusion. "But—" she stammered, trying to wrap her mind around what he was saying. "What does that mean? For me?"
"It means," Remus said gently, "that your wolf is submissive by nature. An omega is… different. They don't seek power or dominance like alphas do. But they're still strong in their own right. Omegas are highly sensitive to the emotions of others, to the dynamics of those around them. They seek connection, balance. But in times of stress, that need for connection can become… overwhelming."
Hermione's heart raced as she tried to process his words. A part of her wanted to reject it, to deny that this could be true. But another part of her, deep down, felt the undeniable truth in what he was saying. She had always been attuned to the people around her, always sought to help, to heal. And the pull she had been feeling lately, the strange desire for something she couldn't quite name—it all made a horrible kind of sense now.
"So… I'm just supposed to accept this?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. "That I'm… an omega? That this is who I am now?"
Remus's gaze softened, and he shook his head slightly. "It's not about accepting a label, Hermione. It's about understanding who you are, what your instincts are telling you. You can still be yourself—brilliant, brave, determined. But you need to be aware of what this means for you. The wolf is a part of you now, whether you like it or not."
Hermione stared at the fire, her mind reeling. She had thought this would be a new skill to master, another tool in her arsenal against Voldemort and the darkness creeping across the wizarding world. But now, it felt like she was losing control of something that went deeper than magic.
"I don't know how to handle this," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I thought I could just… I don't know… control it, like everything else."
Remus leaned forward again, his voice steady. "You're not alone in this, Hermione. I've been where you are, in my own way. But you have something I didn't—you have people who care about you, who can help you through this. And I'll be here, to guide you, if you'll let me."
For a long moment, Hermione didn't speak. She stared into the fire, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her—her choices, her mistakes, the pull of the wolf inside her. But then, slowly, she nodded. She didn't know what the future held, but for now, she had no choice but to trust Remus, to trust that he could help her navigate this strange new world she had found herself in.
"Alright," she said quietly. "I'll let you help."
Remus gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Good," he said softly. "We'll take it one step at a time. But first… you'll need to spend the next full moon with me. It's too dangerous for you to be alone when the pull is strongest. The wolf… it will test you."
Hermione felt a shiver run through her, but she nodded again, knowing she had no other choice.
"When is the next full moon?" she asked.
"Three days," Remus replied. "We'll meet here, in the Shrieking Shack. I'll help you through it. But be prepared—it won't be easy."
Hermione swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of fear and anticipation coil inside her. Three days. Three days until she would face the full force of the wolf inside her, and whatever else it would bring.
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"Alpha," she whispered again, her voice trembling with desire.
Remus's growl deepened, his hands moving from her shoulders to her waist, gripping her with a possessive strength that sent a wave of heat crashing over her. His body was halfway between man and wolf, his control fraying as the moonlight continued to bathe them both in its silvery glow. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he struggled to maintain his grip on reality, but the wolf in him was stronger now, drawn to her like a magnet.
"Fight it, Hermione," he rasped, though his voice was thick with the strain of holding back. "You have to… fight it…"
But she couldn't. Not anymore. The wolf inside her howled for him, for her alpha, and her body responded without hesitation.