Roma Darcy's business card had directions to the Sniffers Detective Agency printed on the back. Take the Floo network to the Fox and Deer Pub. Turn right on leaving their door, and follow the street until you see a Muggle pet shop and stationery shop. It didn't take long for Hermione to make the walk through the crisp November air. A late litter of puppies pressed their noses against the window glass of the pet shop as she came up, while the stationery store next door had a "closed—on holiday" sign on the door. She looked down at the card. Blink three times. She did so, and the gap between the two Muggle businesses grew as another building nestled between them, gently pushing each of its neighbors aside. A wooden sign with "Sniffers Detective Agency" painted in crisp blue-and-gold letters hung above the door. Hermione took a deep breath and went inside, a bell ringing softly at her entrance.

The building was divided into three rooms. The one she had stepped into was half-filled by a desk, and Sammie sat behind it, her mouth twisted with concentration as a manual typewriter typed by itself in front of her. Behind her to Hermione's left was an office with glass panes around the door so that one could see inside, while on the right was a plain wooden door. An owl's roost with a tiny owl snoozing on it sat behind Sammie, while to Hermione's left was a softly flickering fireplace and a battered wardrobe.

Sammie looked up at the bell. "Oh, hello, Miss Granger," she said with a perfect 'customer service' voice and smile. "Did Madam Darcy send you a note? She didn't mention it. She and Greg are working on a piece of equipment right now, but I could—"

"Actually," Hermione interrupted as she stood up, "I was hoping to talk to you."

"Me? What do you want to talk to me about?"

"Did you live with Fenrir Greyback when you were a child?"

The smile disappeared from Sammie's face, and she stared at Hermione with narrowing eyes, pulling herself up straight. "I don't think that's any of your business!"

The door to the room behind Sammie swung open, and Roma stepped out as a boy in his late teens looked up from a piece of equipment. "What's going on out here?" Roma asked.

Sammie pointed to Hermione. "She's asking about Fenrir."

A polite fanged smile passed over Roma's lips. "Miss Granger, why in the world would you be asking us about…" She stopped, and her eyes focused on the binder Hermione was carrying. Hermione belatedly realized it was title out, clearly stating it was a criminal case file for Fenrir Greyback. The forced smile vanished from Roma's face. "What was she asking?"

"She—"

"I asked if Samantha lived with Greyback when she was little," Hermione blurted out. The odds were good that she was about to be tossed out on her butt, but honesty had to be a better way to avoid that. "I just wanted to understand."

"Oh, really? You want to understand?" Roma asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her yellow eyes narrowed at Hermione, and she put an arm around Samantha's shoulders. "Samantha, Sweetness, why don't you tell the rather nosy Miss Granger why you lived with Fenrir?"

Sammie looked at her to be sure, and at her nod, looked at the floor. "My father and I were bitten at the same time." She pulled back her sleeve to show a bite scar on her forearm. "The werewolf bit me first, and when Dad tried to pull it off of me, it turned around and got him, too. He wasn't the same after that. Nothing was."

"Samantha, stop that," Edwina said, slapping her daughter's hand away as she arranged her purse for the day.

"I'm sorry," Samantha said, drawing back.

"Don't be sorry. Be good." Edwina snapped her purse closed. "Come along."

Samantha hopped off the couch and followed her into the kitchen. Cecil was sitting at the kitchen table with the Daily Prophet spread in front of him, but he didn't seem to be reading it. He was just staring blankly at the parchment. Samantha wrapped her arms around his chest, and he patted her on the back.

"All right, dear?" Edwina asked. He looked up, and she wished she hadn't asked. His pale skin she could write off as peakiness because of the coming full moon, but not the hollow, empty look in his eyes. "Anything I can get for you before I go to work?"

Cecil stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment, as though he had to dig himself out of some dark corner to answer her. "Would you set a kettle of water boiling for me? I think I'll make some tea." He looked at Samantha and gave a smile that didn't touch his eyes, stroking her strawberry blonde hair. "Would you like to have some tea with me?"

Samantha wrinkled her nose. "Can I have something else? I don't really like tea."

"You'll like this kind," he said with another stroke of her hair. "Please, have some with me. I'll put anise in it if you like."

Edwina's chest tightened. Something about the way he spoke, the expression on his face. Distracting herself, she filled the kettle with water, set it on the stove, and tapped it with her wand. It immediately whistled, the sound strangely out of place with its cheerfulness.

"Can I play outside until the tea's ready?" Samantha asked.

"Stay in the garden," Edwina said. She kissed her husband as Samantha grabbed her rubber ball from its spot and ran out to the grassy yard. "I'll be home a bit late tonight, dear. Always a busy time of the month for a potions master, you know."

"Of course." Cecil raised his hand in a semblance of a wave as she descended the steps to the cellar.

She walked across the room and up the staircase on the opposite side into her shop on Diagon Alley, and got the shop ready for the day. She had just started an order of Shrinking Potion when she heard the sharp 'twang' of a rubber ball bouncing on concrete.

"Did you hear that?" her assistant asked.

"Yes," she groaned. "Keep an eye on this. As soon as it turns acid green, add the caterpillars. I'll be right back."

She went back into the cellar connecting the two buildings across space. As expected, Samantha's ball was lying in the center of the floor. Luckily, it hadn't broken anything. With an annoyed huff, she picked up the ball and took it up the steps to her house. "Samantha, how many times have I told you—"

She stopped dead, and the ball slipped from her grasp, bouncing back down the stairs. Cecil was sprawled across the floor, his eyes rolled back in his head and his lips turning blue as he gasped for breath. Samantha was beside the outside door, collapsed face-down like a discarded doll. Scattered all around Cecil were shards of broken glass, bits of dark reddish-brown root and leaf, and bright purple petals. She recognized it instantly, but her brain refused to name it until her eyes fell on the label clinging to the broken glass: "Aconite."

Wolfsbane.

Edwina paced the tiled floor, twisting her fingers together and trying to ignore the puppy prints that romped across the walls with misplaced cheerfulness. The door on the other side of the waiting room opened, and her head whipped up. As Healer Razvan eased it closed behind him, she clattered across the tiles in her heels.

"How are they?"

"Your daughter's a little dizzy," Healer Razvan said, "and her eyes are sensitive to light right now because of the antidote, but she'll be all right."

"And my husband?"

Healer Razvan guided her to the chairs. "Physically, I think your husband will recover. He breathed in a lot more of the wolfsbane fumes than Samantha did, but I think you found him in time. We'll see how he responds to the treatment over the next few days. Mentally, however…" He patted her hand. "I'm afraid your husband was trying to commit suicide, and he planned to take Samantha with him."

Edwina's eyebrows knit together, and her head shook without her meaning to. "What do you mean?"

"You said he had mugs for himself and Samantha on the counter and was making tea?" She nodded. "Mrs. Delven, it sounds like he was making tea out of wolfsbane."

"It must have been a mistake. He must have just grabbed the wrong jar."

"Do you keep wolfsbane next to your tea leaves?"

Edwina was forced to shake her head no. The wolfsbane was part of the shop's stock, and she didn't store anything for the house in the cellar. It wasn't a mistake Cecil could make. She lowered her head, staring at Healer Razvan's hands as they patted her own.

"These things aren't unheard of," Razvan said. "Depression is common in people with lycanthropy. Now, I'd like to keep them both for a few days for observation. You should be able to take Samantha home after the full moon. But I think it would be best if your husband went into long-term care here until we're sure he isn't a danger to himself or your daughter."

"You think he might try again?"

"I've no reason to think he won't."

Edwina nodded slowly.

"Your husband is still unconscious, but your daughter is awake, or at least only napping. Would you like to see her?" Edwina nodded again, and Healer Razvan helped her up and across the ward. As he opened the door to the private rooms, she put out her hand and closed it again.

"I'm sorry. I can't."

"Mrs. Delven?"

"I know it means I'm a horrible mother, but I just can't do it! It was hard enough with two of us; I can't handle her alone! I can hardly even bring myself to touch her."

"Mrs. Delven, you've had a horrible shock. It's very common for parents to react strongly the first time their child experiences an injury because of their lycanthropy."

She made an ineffectual swipe at the tears running down her face. "You don't understand. I look at her, and I don't think 'this is my daughter,' I think 'this is a Dark Creature. It would attack me without a second thought.'"

"A werewolf in her transformed state is a very frightening thing," Healer Razvan assured her.

"But I think this about her when she isn't transformed. I see the way she's changing, and it disgusts me! It terrifies me!"

"A lot of parents are alarmed by the lycanthropic traits their children develop, but they're only cosmetic, and they are all treatable. As long as you bring her every fortnight for her medical transfigurations, we will eliminate them by adulthood."

"But you can't eliminate what she is. Every time I look at her, I don't see my little girl. I see the… the thing that's replaced her. It doesn't matter how you make her look; you can't keep her from being a monster!"

"Mrs. Delven, Samantha is not a monster. Lycanthropy doesn't replace the host with some other creature; she isn't a changeling. She's just a little girl with an illness."

"Don't you understand? I don't want her!" As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Edwina clamped her hand over her lips, and dug into her pockets for a handkerchief. Razvan shook his wand so that one fell from the tip and handed it to her. "I know I'm a terrible mother. I know I shouldn't feel this way. But I do. I have ever since it happened. As long as my husband was all right, I didn't say anything. Samantha's been so dear to him. But I… I can't be alone with her! She frightens me!"

Healer Razvan stood silently as she sobbed into the conjured handkerchief. "Mrs. Delven, if you truly feel that way, if you're not just upset over the injury, perhaps you should contact the Ministry's Family Services division and see about placing Samantha in foster care. It may be healthier for you and her both."

"There, I think that's all of it," Edwina said with forced cheerfulness as she laid a set of pajamas in a trunk and closed the lid. Samantha watched her from the bed, hugging a teddy bear to her chest. "Can you think of anything I've forgotten?"

Samantha shook her head silently.

"Why don't we head downstairs to wait?" Edwina pointed her wand at the trunk, and it floated into the air. "Come on, honey."

Samantha climbed off the bed and followed the trunk down the steps. They turned into the living room, and she climbed onto the sofa, staring at the back of her bear's head.

"It'll only be for a little while," Edwina said. "Just until your father gets better." Samantha nodded slightly, still staring, and then the doorbell rang.

Glad for the distraction, Edwina went to answer it. Standing outside was a tall, slim man in a charcoal robe over black trousers. His long grey hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at the base of his neck, and a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard accented rather handsome features.

"Good afternoon. I think you were expecting me," he said hoarsely, holding up an ID badge with the words "Family Services Division" written at the top.

"Oh yes, come right in," she said, opening the door wider. "You're a little earlier than I expected, but that's fine. Sounds like you've caught that cold that's been going around."

He nodded as he stepped inside. "I'm mostly over it, I think, but I'm afraid it is still affecting my voice." He walked over to Samantha and easily knelt down to her level. "Hello. You must be Samantha." She looked up at him and nodded. He pointed to her bear. "And what is this gentleman's name?"

"Mr. Wiggles," she whispered.

He took the bear's paw with his long fingers and shook it. "Good afternoon, Mr. Wiggles. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

As a thin, tight smile crossed Samantha's face, Edwina glanced out the door, then looked up and down the street. "I thought you'd bring a car," she said, closing the door.

The gentleman looked up at her. "We prefer portkeys for this sort of thing. A long car trip can be very hard on a child on top of everything else." He turned back to Samantha. "Have you ever travelled by portkey before?"

Samantha nodded. "We went to a Quidditch League Championship once, and we took a portkey there."

"Who played that year?"

"Puddlemere United and the Appleby Arrows."

"And who did you cheer for?"

"The Arrows. They won, too."

"That's good. I like the Arrows, too," He looked up at Edwina. "Would you two like a chance to say goodbye?"

"Oh, um…" Edwina hesitantly stepped over to her daughter. "You'll be good for the nice people who are going to take care of you, right?" Samantha nodded, and Edwina patted her head twice. She should do something more. She should hug her, or kiss Samantha on the forehead or something, but she just couldn't bring herself to do so. Instead, she turned to the gentleman from the Ministry. "Do you need any help with the trunk?"

"No, I can get it. Come with me, please, Samantha." He went to the trunk and knelt beside it, and Samantha slowly followed him. From his pocket, he pulled a child's ballet slipper and set it on top of the trunk, keeping his hand on it. "This is our portkey. You'll be an old hand at this. I'll hold tight on to your trunk, and you hold tight on to Mr. Wiggles, and whenever you're ready, you just touch this and we'll be on our way. Do you understand?" Samantha nodded, and he got a good grip on the handle of her trunk. "All right. Whenever you're ready."

Samantha looked back at her mother. "Goodbye, Mum," she said, her throat tight.

"Goodbye, honey. You be good." Edwina gave a slight wave with her fingers. Samantha looked back at the ballet slipper, then squeezing her bear tightly, reached out and touched it, and they were gone with a whoosh of air.

Edwina wasn't sure how or what to feel at first. Part of her was relieved; that much she expected. But part of her wondered, had she done the right thing? Should she have tried a little harder? Should she have given it a chance, alone with just her and Samantha? Trying to push those questions aside, she bent over to pick up some papers that had blown off of the coffee table when they left, and set to tidying the living room.

And then the doorbell rang.

Raising an eyebrow, she went to the front door and answered it. A blonde woman in an apple green robe held up an ID badge. "Hi, ma'am. I'm June Stroede with the Family Services Division."

"Yes?" Edwina asked.

"You were expecting me, weren't you?"

"Did that gentleman who was just here forget something?"

"What gentleman?"

"A gentleman from your division was just here to pick up Samantha."

"We didn't…" June stopped short, then grasped Edwina's wrist, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Is he still here?"

"No. They left a few minutes ago."

With a hard swallow, June stepped inside and looked around. "What did he say his name was?"

"He, um… Well, I guess he didn't actually give his name." Edwina tried to picture what was on the badge, but the words wiggled and squirmed in her memory, refusing to sit still for her to read them. "I just assumed, since his badge said 'Family Services Division'… Ms. Stroede, who just took my daughter?"

"That's what I'm trying to work out, ma'am. Could you describe him for me?"

"He was pretty tall, maybe…" She held her hand up above her head. "Grey hair, and a beard. One of those pointed ones."

"What about his voice?"

"His voice?"

June nodded. "What did it sound like?"

"Well, he didn't talk very loudly. He said he was getting over a cold, and it had left him hoarse."

The blood drained from June's face. "Great Merlin's beard. If you'll excuse me for a moment." She pulled a mirror out of her pocket and stepped toward the kitchen for some privacy, but Edwina followed her. "Yes, I'm at the Delven house," she said into it. "Could you send a couple of Aurors down here, and maybe a counselor? I think… I think Greyback beat me here."

"Greyback? Fenrir Greyback?" Edwina echoed. "The murderer?"

"Ma'am, we can't be sure yet," June said, tucking the mirror away. "Some Aurors will be here shortly."

"But he was so polite!" It couldn't be true. She couldn't have been standing next to one of the most infamous criminals in the country, she just couldn't have. But who else would take Samantha? Oh Merlin, what have I done?

"Oops!" Fenrir caught Samantha as the portkey's sudden stop sent her tumbling forward. The teddy bear flew out of her arms and landed in the wet grass, but he kept her on her feet. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you we'd be landing somewhere soft."

"That's OK."

He picked up the bear and ran his wand along a blot of mud, sucking the dirt off. "There you are, good as new," he said, handing it back to her. He shook the bear's paw lightly and added, "I'm sorry about that, Mr. Wiggles."

Another tight, thin smile flitted across her lips. He pointed his wand at the trunk, and it floated into the air.

"Are you up for a walk?" he asked. "It's only about five minutes away." She nodded, and he rested his hand on her back, guiding her across the damp grass and into a nearby wood. They walked for several minutes, Fenrir guiding her through the trees, until they reached a small, empty clearing.

"The house is hidden." Fenrir held out his hand to her. "If you take my hand, you'll be able to see it."

Samantha slipped her fingers into his, and a three-story house faded into view in front of her. Dark windows looked out like eyes, and she shrank against Fenrir.

"I know it looks a little scary from the outside, but the inside is nice and homey. You'll see. Come on."

He walked up the creaky front steps, leading her along but not rushing her as her shorter legs navigated them. They walked through the front door and a small mud room, into an open hallway. A wooden staircase was in front of them, and to their left was a small living room with a well-worn sofa and a couple of beanbag chairs around a thin rug. Fenrir directed her trunk in there. "We'll take care of your things a little later, all right?"

She nodded, and then shook and clutched her bear tightly as the wind set off a series of creaks in the upper parts of the house. Fenrir chuckled with a warm smile. "I suppose it's a little creepy inside, too, when it's quiet like this. But that's only because my other children aren't around. When everyone's home this evening, you won't notice anything else."

"You have other kids, too?" she asked.

He nodded. "Three girls, and five boys. You've never had brothers and sisters before, have you?" She shook her head. "They can get a little rambunctious, but I hope you'll like them. Here, I'll show you around." He pushed open a swinging door to the right of the staircase. "The kitchen is in here. Are you hungry?"

"No, sir. I had lunch at home."

"Please, call me Fenrir," he said, letting the door swing closed again. "If you get hungry, let me know and I'll make something. Or you can help yourself to anything in the icebox anytime you like."

He started up the stairs, but she didn't follow. "Mr. Fenrir?"

"Just 'Fenrir'."

"Fenrir, my mum said I'd only be staying with you for a little while, until my dad got better. That's not true, is it?"

He came back down the last few steps to stand beside her and shook his head. "No, Sweetness, it isn't. You'll be living with me from now on."

Her mouth tightened and turned downward as her eyes scrunched up and tears welled in them, dribbling down her cheeks.

"Oh, come here, Sweetheart," Fenrir said, kneeling in front of her and reaching out his arms. She dropped the bear and clung to his chest desperately as he enveloped her in a warm hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest.

"It's all right, Sweetness. You don't have to apologize. You have every right to be sad." He held her tightly, rocking her back and forth. "You go ahead and cry all you want. Cry all you need to."

"My mother didn't want me, so what does it matter? Fenrir did want me. He was the first person who had wanted me in a long time without trying to kill me."

Roma had both of her arms around Sammie now, and Greg gently stroked her hair from behind.

"I didn't know there were cases like that," Hermione said softly.

"I think you should leave now," said Roma.

And don't come back, Hermione mentally finished. "But this is the sort of thing I want to know! I want to know the truth, all of it, the good parts as well as the bad."

Roma scoffed, handing Sammie over to Greg and coming around the desk. "Do you think we're stupid? Naïve? Gullible? Don't you realize we've dealt with people like you a dozen times? People from the Ministry, people from the Daily Prophet who want 'the real story'? But you people don't want the real story. You want to hear that Fenrir was a monster, because it helps you sleep at night, thinking you did the right thing. And you want to believe he taught us to be monsters, so you can justify the way you act and the things you do to us. Well, we're not giving you that, so you can get out now."

"That's not what I want!" Hermione protested, falling back a step as Roma towered over her. "I just want to understand!"

Roma's hand shot out and grabbed her under the chin, lifting her face. Hermione gasped as two of Roma's fingers touched the scars on her neck, still sensitive after the full moon. "Look me in the eye and tell me you want to 'understand' that the man who gave you these scars was once the sweetest man I ever knew."

Roma's yellow eyes pierced Hermione like daggers, examining her like a lion examines a wounded gazelle. Hermione wanted to pull away; she wanted to dart out the door and run off and never come back. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay still, to look back into their intense gaze. "I want to know the truth about him—about all werewolves. That means both the good parts and the bad. I can find the bad parts anywhere. But only people like you can tell me the good parts. I don't want those lost. I want to make the world understand what it's doing."

Roma's fingers slipped away, returning to her side. "The world won't listen to you."

"Maybe not. I can't make people listen, but I can make sure they hear. I can force them to ignore it instead of sitting around not knowing at all."

Roma continued to stare at her as long seconds drug by. Hermione wanted to shrink back, to pull away, but she forced herself to keep returning her look. Roma turned away first. "I charge 3 Galleons an hour for my time. If you must come, come at noon when we take lunch so you don't interfere with my cases."

"Thank you so much, Madam Darcy."

"You won't be thanking me in a few weeks, Miss Granger," Roma said. "I think you're going to find that our childhoods were really quite ordinary."