The Three Broomsticks had just opened when Hermione arrived, but already last-minute Hogsmeade shoppers were crowding in. A scan of the room found Mrs. Trimble and Vinnie sitting at a table, chatting. Hermione walked over. "Excuse me."

"Yes?" Mrs. Trimble turned and her face lit up. "Oh, hello! You're the young lady who was looking for Anissa at the train station. Did everything work out all right after we left?"

"Oh, yeah, it was fine," Hermione said. No need to get into the mess that had followed. Hermione extended her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Oh, Miss Granger! You should have introduced yourself at the station."

"I'm awfully sorry. I was so worried about Anissa that it slipped my mind." She turned to Vinnie and held out her hand to him.

He chuckled. "Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked in a harsh, raspy half-whisper that sounded like a wheel running over gravel. He held out his own scarred hand. "It bothers most people."

She took his hand and shook once; there was no strength behind his return grip. "I don't mind."

"Please, sit down. I just wanted to make sure Vinnie got settled," Mrs. Trimble said, standing. Vinnie rolled his eyes behind her back as she put on her cloak, leaving his over the back of a chair. "I'm going to do a little shopping. I'll be back to get you in an hour or so."

"All right, Mum." He gave her a peck on the cheek as she bent over to hug him. Madam Rosmerta came over and took his and Hermione's orders for lunch, and Vinnie said, "Anissa says you've been asking about Fenrir."

"Not just Fenrir. I want to know whatever you'll tell me about lycanthropy and your experiences as a werewolf. We don't have to talk about Greyback if you don't want to."

"I don't mind. He was really nice to me before he got sick."

Something about Vinnie's voice grated on her, raising goosebumps on her arms with every word. That rasping half-whisper, almost like… Suddenly it clicked. Almost like an animal growling. The scars on her neck, still sore from the full moon, throbbed as though to remind her of the last time she had heard a voice like that.

Vinnie noticed at the same time. "My voice bothers you, isn't it? You jump every time I say something."

"I'm so sorry. I really don't mean to. It's just that the sound is so unusual. Is it because of the scars?"

Vinnie nodded. "The silver damaged my vocal chords." He smiled. "I sound like him, don't I?"

"I suppose so."

"It's for the same reason, you know."

"Really? I don't remember Greyback having scars."

"It was only one, and it was very small on the surface. You'd never notice it unless he showed it to you. It was deep, though. He said it almost killed him, and would have if the woman who gave it to him hadn't followed him." Vinnie gestured to his own scars. "The first time he saw me after this happened, while Chris was asleep and everyone else was out, he told me the whole story. He was a young man and there weren't many werewolves in Britain yet, so the only really safe place to transform was Nona Ashland's basement. Only the Ministry cut Nona's Floo off early that day. Fenrir didn't know the area well enough to apparate there. He tried to find another way, and he didn't quite make it."

Lucy ducked under the mantle and stepped out of the Floo as the green flames flared and vanished. The fire was nearly burnt down. Dropping her books on her desk, she tossed a few logs into the fireplace. There, that'll make sure Floo messages get through. If there's any Moon Calf activity tonight, I want to hear about it right away.

As the fire grew, she went to her desk and picked up the mail waiting for her. After a quick sort through it, she picked up her letter opener and sliced the first scroll open. As she unrolled the parchment, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Someone was watching her. She turned to the picture window behind her and gasped. A huge canine stood at the treeline, moonlight gleaming on its black coat.

Her first thought was that it was a Grim, but she chased that away. No way would a cryptozoologist three years into their career be that lucky. Besides, Grim, Cu-sith, phooka, any of those would have glowing red eyes. This creature's gleamed brown in the moonlight, not glowing, almost chilling in their normality. In fact, almost human.

Almost human. Lucy's hand tightened around the letter opener—sterling silver, a gift from her uncle. Could that be a werewolf? They were rare, but as it stepped closer, she could make out the deformed tail. She stayed as still as she could. It couldn't possibly smell her from there, on the other side of the glass. How much human intelligence did a werewolf maintain when it transformed? Could it identify her as human by sight alone? As a witch?

It vanished, and the sound of breaking glass was the first warning that the beast had leapt at her. She stumbled back, shards of window glass raining down around her as her vision filled with black fur. She lashed out, felt the letter opener sink into flesh, and heard a blood-curdling scream of pain, part human and part animal. Her back struck the ground, and the werewolf landed beyond her. She glimpsed the letter opener sunk into the side of its neck at an angle, and then ithe werewolf scrambled up and escaped back the way it had come.

Several seconds passed as Lucy caught her breath and realized what had happened. As soon as it sunk in, she checked herself over for bites. Only a few cuts from the glass, thank goodness. She picked herself up and went to the window frame. A trail of blood marked where the werewolf had fled, but she didn't see the letter opener. It must still be stuck in the beast's neck.

That poor person. They had no control over their actions. What agony that silver blade must be causing them. And if it didn't fall out on its own, then when their neck shrank back to human size… Following a wounded werewolf was surely madness, but she couldn't let that poor person die that way.

Lucy rushed to the kitchen and searched through her shelves. As she thought, she still had a bit of rye flour left from when she had been called in to calm a rogue brownie. She grabbed the cannister and went to the broom closet. She didn't have a very fast model, but hopefully it would be enough.

She took her broom and the flour to the window and listened carefully. Only a few crickets answered her. Wherever the werewolf had gone, it had moved fast. Careful of the glass shards left in the frame, Lucy climbed out, mounted the broom and settled the cannister of rye flour securely. She rose to a height higher than she hoped a werewolf could jump, then held out her wand with her hand clasped on top of it and ordered, "Reparilam."

The wand jerked out of her fingers and dangled a few inches below them as though suspended on a thread. Slowly it turned until, like a compass needle, it pointed toward the letter opener. If it fell out on its own, if she found the blade alone, that would be enough. She would trust the werewolf to handle the wound himself. But if the blade didn't…

Hoping that her Muggle neighbors wouldn't see her, Lucy followed the direction of the wand. The werewolf didn't have that much of a head start, but for 15 minutes she saw nothing, until the wand brought her to a large wood. This didn't bode well. Although the trees would shield her from Muggle eyes, it would make maneuvering much more difficult. Experimentally, she circled, hoping the wand would keep pointing straight, somewhere beyond the trees. But no, it too turned to remain pointing into the forest, and she had no choice but to follow.

The tree branches slowed her progress, and minutes turned into hours. More than once, as her eyelids drooped sleepily, she considered giving up and going home. But she thought about what would happen to that poor person when the sun rose, and their shrinking neck pulled the letter opener inward, and she knew she couldn't give up.

The longer she searched, the more she feared that sunrise would beat her. At last, she heard a heavy, huffing, panting breath. She eased through the trees until she saw the werewolf below her, plodding forward, almost dragging itself. The handle of the letter opener gleamed white in the patches of moonlight.

Lucy fumbled with the lid of the rye flour. She only had one chance at this. If she did this wrong, the werewolf would flee from the smell and might hurt itself worse. She waved her wand, drawing the flour into a circle large enough to surround the wolf, yet allowing the thickest band of rye possible. When she was satisfied, she flung it downwards like a solid object.

The werewolf jumped and spun around as the ring landed around it, looking for some escape from the circle. As quickly as she dared, Lucy lowered her broom through the trees. At the first sight of her, the werewolf crouched, snarling. Its eyes darted between her and the line of rye, and she was painfully aware of just how thin that barrier was.

Lucy pointed her wand at the werewolf and ordered, "Accio letter opener." The blade flew toward her, flinging an arc of blood in its wake, and the werewolf screamed again, that horrible almost human sound. It thrashed in agony from the wound before managing to gather its legs underneath it. With a fearsome snarl, it coiled back to leap over the rye. Before she could take to the air, however, the snarl stopped and the wolf tensed. Its body began to change, the limbs thickening and paws lengthening into fingers as the snout shortened and returning to a man's face. Blood ran down his neck and soaked his shirt. He struggled for breath, that same heavy, huffing pant, as he tried to push himself away from the circle of rye.

Lucy jumped off her broom and ran to him, blowing the flour away with her wand. "Can you hear me?" she asked, kneeling beside him and taking his shoulders. He managed to roll over onto his back, and she cradled his head in her lap. He opened his eyes, warm and brown, and parted his lips, but no sound escaped his damaged throat. "It's all right. I'll get you to St. Mungo's."

He was too badly injured and had lost too much blood to apparate. She looked around, then summoned the broom. Flying him to London would take far too long, to say nothing of the secrecy violation, but the broom would make as good an emergency portkey as anything. As she brought it around so that they could both touch it, he caught her hand. Before she could reassure him, he mouthed the words his throat could not give voice to: "I'm sorry."

Lucy pushed open the stairwell door and looked down the hallway at St. Mungo's. She had expected the Welcome Witch to send her somewhere on the ground floor, since a malicious silver burn seemed most like an artifact accident. Instead, she'd been sent to the first floor. 'Creature-Induced Injuries', she thought, reading off the floor's sign. That's a bit backwards, isn't it?

"Hi, are you looking for someone?" a young Healer asked as she looked into one of the wards.

"Yes, a werewolf was brought in with a throat injury a few days ago."

"Oh yes, Mr. Greyback. And you are?"

"I'm his fiancée," she lied. They surely wouldn't tell her anything otherwise.

"Oh, I see." He took her elbow and pulled her into back into the hallway, closing the ward door behind him. This couldn't be good.

"How is he?" Lucy asked.

"Well, I have to admit, I don't know as much about werewolves as I would like for this case. I think he's as well as can be expected. The silver left a scar, of course, but he is breathing normally now. It has affected his voice, though."

"He can't speak?"

"No, he can. It just sounds rather strange. It may be a bit disturbing at first."

"May I see him?"

"I don't suppose it would hurt. But you shouldn't stay long. He needs his rest."

"I'll make it brief."

"I should warn you we haven't given him his usual transfiguration. We thought it'd be better to let his body adjust to the injury without adding more changes to the mix."

"Transfiguration?"

"For his Swahlsted complication." As she blinked at him, he gestured to his mouth. "You know, his teeth?"

"Oh yes, of course, his teeth. I'd forgotten."

The Healer gave her a sidelong glance, but lead her to another ward anyway. It was an open ward, but one bed looked unused and the other had the covers rumpled but no patient, so the only person inside was a black-haired man sitting on his bed reading.

"Mr. Greyback, you have a visitor. Your fiancée's come to see you," the Healer said.

Fenrir looked up with an expression of surprise and hope, but when he saw Lucy, it faded to the hint of a smile.

"I'll leave you two alone," the Healer said, stepping out of the room.

Lucy fiddled with the strap of her purse. "I'm sorry. I told them I was your fiancée so they'd let me know how you were doing."

"Quite all right," he said in a hoarse, rasping voice he had to force out with a sharp cadence. "I only wish it were true. I would consider myself very lucky indeed to be courting a woman as brave and lovely as yourself."

As she blushed, he smiled, and Lucy understood what the Healer meant about his teeth. Sharp points touched his lips, as though they had remained a wolf's when the rest of him returned to human form. "I hope I haven't made things too difficult for your real fiancée."

The smile fell from his lips. "There is no such lady, I'm afraid. I was engaged once, but that was broken off some time ago. She's unlikely to hear about this, and even less likely to come if she did."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Fenrir made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Miss…"

"Lucy," she said.

"I don't remember the details of the full moon. I didn't bite you, did I, Lucia?"

"No, I'm fine. You, um, ran off before you could." And he wouldn't be in St. Mungo's if he had.

"Thank goodness." He sighed in relief, closing his eyes momentarily. "I hope you can forgive me for the scare I must have given you."

Lucy laughed before she could stop herself. "I think I'm the one who needs forgiveness for the other night."

"Not at all!" He locked eyes with her, his brown irises shining with sincerity. "I'm very thankful you were able to defend yourself. I don't think I could ever forgive myself if I bit someone."

"When did this happen?" Hermione asked.

Vinnie shrugged. "I don't know exactly, but he must have been pretty young."

"And you said the woman's name was Lucy? Short for Lucia?" He nodded. "What was her last name, do you know?"

"'Greyback', eventually. He married her."

Vinnie grinned as though he expected her to jump at the revelation, but Hermione flipped through her notes to the list of people who had seen Fenrir in prison. Lucia Darkmore, that was the name Hembree had given for Greyback's wife. "Did he ever tell you anything else about her?"

"No. That was the only time I ever heard him talk about her. When I asked what happened, he said that it didn't work out. He sounded kind of sad about it."

Hermione looked over the Mental Notes she had taken during his story. "Who's Nona Ashland?"

Vinnie's mouth widened into a chuckling grin. "You don't know who Nona Ashland is? You've been studying werewolves, and you don't know who Nona is?"

Hermione was forced to shake her head no. "She sounds vaguely familiar, but…"

"Nona is the oldest werewolf in Britain. She's the alpha female. I think every pack in the country owes her a favor. She's how we found out that Fenrir had Memory Charmed me and Selena."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it started when he bit her great-grandson. I don't really know all the details; I was only seven. I know Fenrir hurt Mike really bad when he bit him, though; that's how we found out he was sick. He took Mike and Memory Charmed him so he thought his life had been completely different, then gave him to our pack. Fenrir didn't know that Nona had already told the girls about the bite. When we gave Mike back to Nona, Fenrir, um…" Vinnie bit his lip and paused. "I understand if you don't believe me, but Fenrir really wasn't himself that day. He looked terrible, and his temper was running hot and cold. He wasn't normally like that at all; usually nothing would shake him. He said that he'd bitten everyone in the pack, on purpose, and he seemed really surprised that the older kids were angry about it. He just didn't understand. And when we asked him about the Memory Charms…"

Vinnie shook his head. "Fenrir thought that any human parent would hurt their werewolf kid sooner or later. He wasn't just saying that; he really believed it. He said he'd seen too many kids die because of it, and he couldn't allow it anymore. So to keep his kids from trying to go back home, he'd Memory Charm the ones 'that needed it'."

"And you needed it?"

Vinnie nodded. "I remember my parents taking me into the woods somewhere before a full moon and leaving me there, and being lost for days and days before Fenrir found me. But everyone else says it never happened. My parents even took veritaserum to prove it—and I know it was real because my packmate brewed it. They say I was taken from my bedroom."

"How long were you with Fenrir?"

"Just a few months. He said that with You-Know-Who back, he had to keep his pack small in case there was trouble, and he needed some of us to live with his older kids because they could hide better. We found out later that he gave all his pups to other packs. Some people wonder if he knew he was getting sick, and he gave them away to protect them."

"What do you think?"

"I think that's what he would have done if he realized it."

Hermione and Vinnie continued talking for the rest of the hour, veering away from Fenrir and more toward Vinnie's life since: his time in America, where his parents had taken him during the war; how he managed his lycanthropy at school and at home; and so on. At one hour on the dot, his mother came to pick him up, her arms laden with shopping bags. Once they left, as Hermione read through her notes, something jumped out at her, something that had been needling her since Vinnie had said it.

Fenrir Greyback had seen too many children die by abuse, and couldn't allow it any longer.