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Chapter Text

Hermione Granger's plan started as a whisper in the dark recesses of her mind after meeting with desperate Order members. Their numbers had dwindled to a resolute handful during the Battle of Hogwarts when Harry fell. But rather than surrender in defeat, Hermione and the rest of the Order retreated and regrouped, determined to find the best recourse now that Harry had been lost. In safe houses during the height of summer, they planned and strategized. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall led the Order following Remus' death. But most of the younger fighters looked to her and Ron, the last connection they had to Harry for guidance.

Over rationed meals, the Order discussed how Draco Malfoy - who had been infected with Lycanthropy as punishment for his failure to kill Dumbledore two years ago - had gone feral and overthrown Fenrir Greyback in a fight for dominance. They spoke how he was now the Alpha in Greyback's place, and had some two hundred or so werewolves at his command.

Both Light and Dark had noted the werewolves' absence at the Battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort thought it betrayal. Hermione saw it as proof that the Malfoy heir did not support Voldemort's claims on world domination. After the battle, Hermione gambled that Malfoy wanted the madman dead as much as she did, albeit for different reasons: she, for the voiceless that would come behind her and for vengeance for Harry; he, for revenge for soiling his pureblood lineage.

So while the fractured Order argued on the best course of actions, she quietly left one August night, her beaded bag packed with books on werewolf lore and fertility potions. She grabbed her wand and with a determined scowl Apparated away to the Forbidden Forest, the last known location of Greyback's, or now Malfoy's, pack.

It was three days to the full moon as she landed on the ruined grounds of Hogwarts. Trying not to glance at the eerily quiet ruins of the castle behind her, Hermione quickly made her way passed what used to be Hagrid's Hut towards the marked edge of the Forbidden Forest. Her skin shivered as she quickly recapped her plan in her mind. This could go woefully bad for her, or it could be the catalyst that turned the war back toward their side.

With shaking hands, she pulled the bottle of green potion out of bag, unstoppered the cork, and upended it before she could blink. Sugary sweet liquid ran down the back of her throat; it was enough to make her gag. Tossing the empty vial back into her satchel, she moved towards the forest's barrier, her wand ever at the ready.

She barely made it past the forest's edge before she was surprised by two humans, though they held an alert sharpness in their eyes Lupin often sported.

"I-I want to be taken to your Alpha," she bravely sought an audience with the boy she had not seen since the end of her sixth year. She had heard stories of what happened to witches and wizards who went feral. Unabashedly, a flash of Greyback appeared in her mind. She prayed that the wolf had not completely taken over the human side. But this close to the full moon, she could not be sure.

The two who stopped her shared an intimate glance as Hermione realized they must've been a mated pair. The woman approached Hermione, and though Hermione faltered, she ultimately lowered her wand. The woman gestured for her to follow.

They walked until Hermione was sure she couldn't find her way back if she escaped. Trees and other growth grew leagues and leagues above her. It seemed as if the forest possessed a natural barrier that prevented time from altering the precious growth.

Soon she came to a valley deep within the forest. Dozens stopped what they were doing as she walked behind her two escorts. Slowly, she was lead through a throng of people, dressed in a varying state of undress. Those who had fully embraced the wolf within stood stark naked, and Hermione did her best to avert her eyes as the crowd moved closer to the lone human among them.

She prayed they weren't gathered for an evening meal. Then a voice broke through the din.

"Well, well, well. Look what the wolf dragged in," Malfoy chuckled at his poor joke as he lounged upon a crudely erected mound covered in pelts of fur. Pale blond hair now brushed broad shoulders which had filled out with muscle.

Moonlight made him a dangerous animal, and he oozed authority. He was an unassuming, spoilt brat no more. Before her stood a man, marked in scars earned it battle. She was drawn to a particularly long scar that went from the underside of his jaw, over his right eye, up to his hairline.

Her heart stuttered as the potion began to work its magic. She could only imagine the rapid changes that were occurring within.

"Never thought I'd see the day that Potter's Mudblood would come groveling to us," Malfoy spoke from his throne of furs.

Hermione kept her voice even. It would do no good to show fear now. "You know that the Order lost the battle then." She wagered he knew what had occurred that fateful night three months ago, just steps from the boundaries of his home.

Malfoy peered at her. "I know that Potter is dead."

Hermione swallowed back hurt, but reminded herself that she was doing this for him, and for Ron, and Ginny and the rest of her friends, too. Resolved, she replied, "I've come to negotiate on behalf of the Order." Her voice was clear.

He looked at his fingers as his lips snarled in remembrance. "The Dark Lord came begging to Fenrir too. The weak man within him caved. And now he's dead. Why should I cave to you and the Order?" he sneered. "I can just give you to my pack. You smell delectable."

Hermione swallowed her fear and pushed forward courageously, "But you won't. Not after you hear what I have to offer." Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, compartmentalize, she bade to her moral center. This was war. War was nasty business and sometimes, victory demanded steep concessions.

Malfoy cocked his head at her, amused. "What could you offer me? Your wet cunt?" He inhaled deeply through his nose and fashioned her with a nasty leer.

Malfoy was not incorrect in his assumption. The fertility potion was potent and she felt a pressing need to rub her knees together to subdue to budding tension in her lower abdomen. Growls behind her told her the other wolves had caught her arousal as well. She hesitated a step closer to Malfoy.

"What you'd not likely find among your kin," she responded as she gazed directly into his silver-grey eyes.

Slowly, he stood from his self-made throne and stalked towards her. He was intrigued, and though she was afraid, she grew confident in her knowledge of werewolf biology.

Malfoy gave a half-smirk. "And what is that?" He walked around her as if she were a tasty snack. She could feel the heat of him close to her back.

"Progeny. Heirs. Children," she replied as she remained facing forward. Hermione wasn't sure how much Malfoy remembered from their Defense lessons in third year. Werewolves could not reproduce with one another. It was why Greyback attacked children to enlarge his numbers. He could not sire heirs upon another werewolf. Pregnant werewolves would lose the pregnancy with the accompaniment of the first full moon. Pregnancy couldn't be achieved by rape, neither.

Tonks had told her before her untimely death, that a pair had to be fully suited to the other, and willing, to create a sustainable pregnancy. And even then, it wasn't always assured. So, unless Malfoy knew of a willing witch who was suited to having themselves ravaged by a werewolf, he was doomed to die without an heir.

It was something she gambled that he would stake his life and his pack on. The Order was going to try to allure Malfoy and his pack with clemency and werewolf rights. Hermione knew better. "Unless Pansy Parkinson or Daphne Greengrass are willing..." she trailed off, purposely recalling his pureblood female friends. But she knew as well as he that they would never see him as anything but a tainted monster now. They were rapidly becoming embedded in Voldemort's new world order.

But Hermione saw him as a tool, and this, well… this was a means to an end. Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, compartmentalize, she repeated the mantra to herself.

Tracking the part-wolf, part-man's movements, she watched as his eyes, full of silver and heat dilate as he neared. "You're ovulating," he accused, the beginnings of a growl followed the end of his assessment.

Feeling she had him cornered, she sweetened the deal, "I've taken a potion, yes. I've maximized the chances of a successful conception, possibly of multiples." She saw his eyes narrow in greed, lust, and something else she couldn't place. "But the window will only last for a few hours. You have a decision to make."

"You'll willingly hand over the pups once their born?" He sounded as if he didn't believe her.

She nodded and breathed, "If you and your pack swear to fight for the Order, to come to our aid when we need you. Until Voldemort is defeated," she clarified. Without a hint of emotion, she agreed, "Yes."

"You'll remain here the duration of the pregnancy," he ordered quickly.

Hermione looked around at the growing crowd of werewolves that had neared her, most likely enraptured by their conversation. "I'm needed with the Order," she countered back strongly. "I can't stay here for nine months."

Malfoy paused. "They don't know you're here, do they?"

She shook her head. "No one knows I'm here."

"Foolish witch. You were always a reckless thing, weren't you?"

She brushed off the barb as the potion made her blood run hot. Her breathing grew labored as she quickly approached the point of no return. She would literally jump his bones, anyone's bones, to be rid of this deep ache within, but she wanted to cement this now. Struggling, she pressed, "Do we have an accord? Once I Apparate from here, my offer goes with it." She held her wand, though not aimed at him, lest she accidently trigger his pack to attack on behalf of their Alpha.

He openly laughed at her. "The magic of the Forest is too strong for you to leave. My pack'll ravage you first."

"But you won't let them," she guessed as sweat began to bead at her temple. Because he looked too intrigued, and had spent too much time smelling her person as he stalked around her. He was tempted heavily by the alluring offer. He would have ordered her killed by now if he weren't.

Malfoy stepped away, his hands opening and closing in fists as he warred to remain in his human mindset. But the approaching full moon and fertile scent made him weak – she had bet on it. "You'll stay until the pregnancy is ensured viable. It's the best my wolf will allow," his voice was rough and low.

She shivered at the demand, rankled by the potion-induced haze that was rapidly decreasing her rationality.

She nodded, her head heavy with lust. "And you swear to fight for the Order?" Her breath caught as her womb spasmed. Her vision tunneled to the werewolf who held the life of her friends in his hand. The corners of her world grew fuzzy. "To help us defeat Voldemort."

Malfoy was their pack's Alpha and knew of pack dynamics by now. Being Alpha required him to bring new life into the pack and what better way to show his dominance than to rut and impregnate a female. She groaned as a gush of fluid made her knickers dampen with the thought.

Malfoy's eyes darkened as they swept the length of her at the tortured groan. "Deal."

She had one moment to underestimate the magnitude of what she had gotten herself into as he stalked towards her, and she to him, their lips meeting in a fierce clash.

Chapter Text

Hermione drank from Malfoy's lips as if they contained the balm for the fire burning beneath her skin. Malfoy crushed her to him as if he felt the same. Maybe the dose of fertility potion had been too potent for her frame, because there was no way she should have reacted this strongly for a boy last seen running away from the Astronomy Tower with the combined hate of the school. She shivered within the rough arms of the man before her now, as he ensnared her waist and yanked sharply on the tips of her curls. Malfoy pulled her hair to the point of pain as he bared the tender underside of her neck. Fearing he might mark her, she swallowed as his tongue sampled the sweat that made her shirt cling to her back.

It was ridiculous how hot she was. Suddenly clothes were an obstruction.

He marked a path up and over her chin and both gave a moan of acknowledgement as their mouths met. They warred for dominance, until Malfoy reached down to squeeze her arse. The other hand ghosted beneath her shirt, baring her back for all to see. The man had something she craved as all thoughts of discomfort fled at his handling of her person. She slanted her head to meet his, a show of submission, as curious hands tested if his muscles felt as hard as they looked. She wasn't wrong.

He was hot to the touch, despite being shirtless. Fire masquerading as blood and sinewy lines of muscle clenched as she raked her fingernails over his shoulders and possessively down his back.

Unbeknownst to her, that dominant display caused him to growl angrily into her neck and then out of nowhere, her back had hit the earthen floor below. She grunted at the jarring impact, her equilibrium momentarily lost. What had she done wrong?

With one fist, he grabbed her shirt by the neck, and pulled hard enough to lift her from ground. The fabric split down the middle, leaving her exposed. As she fell back to the earthen floor, she thought for a split second that he reneged on their deal. His nostrils flared in contempt.

But rather than eat her whole, Malfoy wasted no time in feasting on her now-exposed breasts, as he coaxed a nipple from her bra cup with tongue and sharp teeth. Fear subsiding, Hermione mewled and gripped his platinum locks as he lavished her breasts with thick coats of his tongue. Imagining he would use the thick muscle on her throbbing center, she tried to push his head south; but he would not move to her frustration. Cool air made the nipple pebble as he removed his mouth to silent her urging with a meaningful look.

Malfoy wanted her to know that it was he, not she, that was in control.

Message received.

Hypnotized, Hermione watched as mercurial irises bled from silver to canary- yellow as the wolf took over. Anticipation and fear made Hermione's breath catch as he slowly lowered his mouth to the unattended breast, his eyes affixed upon hers the entire time. She did not break eye contact with the wolf.

Malfoy played with the offered nipple in his mouth while other parts of her ached for released. With a teasing pop, released the taunt flesh. His pale demeanor darkened with a flush of arousal as she bit back frustration.

"I will not be gentle," he warned low in his throat.

"I know," she gasped as she nodded eagerly.

She could only watch as he lowered along her abdomen and pulled the offending denim from her legs. She assisted with her knickers and shimmed the fabric to her knees. Once her center was free, he pushed his nose deep into her dripping cunt and inhaled the husky scent greedily. He pressed as far as he could and unashamedly, Hermione moved against his face to abate the tension winding so painfully within.

Scruff on his chin ran against tender flesh and shit. Hermione threw a hand over her mouth to suffocate the moan as her walls started to pulse out of nowhere. She had been thrown completely off guard by the orgasm and the effects of the potion made the sensation linger. Hooded lids drooped and she greedily thought more he licked up her vaginal offerings.

Malfoy pulled her hand from her mouth as if it offended him. "None of that, witch. Next time, I want to hear you howl for me." He licked his lips, wet with the evidence of her arousal. Scooting up on his knees, he shoved her legs apart. As his tongue invaded her mouth, he impaled himself within her wet heat with one thorough thrust.

Blunt fingers clawed at dirt as Hermione screwed her eyes shut. Bloody hell, it hurt. Not that the werewolf cared in the slightest. Extremely pleased to mount a fertile and willing female, Malfoy moved above her, as he growled his plans into her ear.

You'll be swollen with my cubs come daylight.

Thrust.

Are you ready for that, witch?

A twist of his hips for deeper penetration.

You should have never come here.

Thrust.

Malfoy was so much bigger than she expected, but soon, the invasion moved passed painful and intrusive as she stretched to accommodate his wide girth. Soon, an ache of another kind began to bloom deep within. Blood rushed to her womb as if her body knew it had to sustain the seed he was about to release. Thoughts of what was to come left her light-headed. She was about to willingly constrain herself to a pregnancy in the midst of war for his alliance. And it was not just any man's child, but Malfoy's children whom she would carry. This thought was daunting.

As she got used to the heavy burden that smelled of earth and smoke pressed onto her chest, Malfoy moved away; his thrusts stilled. She blinked once at the treetop canopy above her where Malfoy's shoulder had been. Lowering her line of sight along her body, she saw Malfoy sitting back on his heels.

Pushing her knees embarrassingly apart, Malfoy lifted her arse and slid back in. He wanted her attention on him, she realized.

She gasped at the sensation the new angle bought; he was deeper somehow. Deeper than any man had ever physically been. Both groaned at the fit. They were not made to fit together, but Malfoy would be damned if he did not mold her to him. She bit her lip to stop an impending whine as Malfoy's focus narrowed to one thing only: he would not stop until he had bred her.

Effectively trapped by strong hands on her hips, Hermione could only lay there, no hair to hold, no back to caress as he forcefully mated her. Her head was thrown against the Earth from successive knocks of flesh that grew in fervor and resolve. He rutted against her body over and over as forceful thrusts dragged her back against the dried branches and leaves.

A sweaty curtain made of platinum blocked his face as he snapped furiously against her.

And worse, his pack had not dispersed. They appeared upside down in Hermione's lust-filled vision; some openly pleasured themselves to Malfoy's claiming of her person. She screwed her eyes shut because that was exactly was he was doing.

Claiming every inch of her body as his.

He angled her body for his pleasure, buried into her as if he was going to deposit his seed into her ovaries himself. But blast it all, if it didn't feel good. Soon another wave of euphoria had taken her, and this time, she couldn't hold back the cry that tore itself from her throat. Several werewolves howled the moment she did, and yet still, Malfoy did not stop his dedicated assault on her weeping cunt.

Now, he was fighting to stuff himself inside. Every time he retreated if as he were fighting something on the way back in. He growled at the barrier as he pulled her hips closer, his fingers bruising the underside of her thighs.

"Mine," he growled low in his throat. He pushed into her again as his cock grew impossibly bigger in size.

Her body betrayed her. It should have retreated from him in pain as Malfoy pushed his knot, she realized, deeper into her. But instead, her body began to sing. Her bare skin flushed with heat, it became hard to swallow, and bewilderingly she whined over the frantic slapping of wet flesh. "…More," she whispered in sync with her body's needs, with Malfoy's desires, and with the pack's demands.

Because the offer was for new life, and nothing less than new life would do.

One hand released her knee to crudely stroke across her lower abdomen. "Mine!" he growled again as he gave one, two, three mini- thrusts until the massive knot was stuffed completely into her.

The pressure was massive, and all-encompassing. She held a heated ball within her and could feel every pulse and jerk of the swollen organ as wave after wave of seed emptied into the impossibly full channel.

"Oh, God," Hermione cried as Malfoy continued to massage the bulge that sat low in her abdomen in upward strokes. The sight was enough to cause her battered walls to flutter in treachery, as they assisted Malfoy's objective to fill her womb. Her head fell to the ground with a groan just as Malfoy threw his head back on a howl.

His pack howled with him.

Utterly spent, and entirely useless, Hermione felt herself lifted from the ground. Malfoy easily hoisted her weary frame against his chest, their pelvises still intimately connected. She threw an arm about his neck to steady herself as a cool breeze hit her naked back. A hand to her back steadied her middle. Her legs were inoperable, but it didn't seem to pose a problem for Malfoy as bent to scoop her legs about his waist.

Lazily dozing against Malfoy's chest, she distantly noted that he was walking them away from his pack. Nuzzling sleepily into his chest, the ridges and bumps of scars long ago healed lightly scratched against her cheek. Thoroughly ravaged, her body demanded rest as light fabric swept across her back and suddenly, they were no longer exposed to the elements. Weakly opening her eyes, Hermione noted that Malfoy had moved them inside a structure of some kind, dimly lit by a fire in the corner.

With greater care that she would have initially thought, Malfoy lowered her until she felt an impossibly soft bed beneath her. He carefully examined her, but she was punch-drunk, as random jolts of electricity stuck her middle, her arm, her stomach. Then he was gone from view. One of her legs lifted, and the movement brought a pinch of pain, strong enough to sober her from stupor.

Then she was deftly flipped over. Her cascading curls, now full of twigs and dirt, covered the shocked look on her face as rough hands grabbed battered hips and pulled her to her knees.

Hermione struggled to look over her shoulder through wild curls. He had knotted her, she could feel his seed, warm and thick, low in her belly; surely that meant he was done? "But… you've finished?" she asked weakly, her voice raspy and used from before.

Malfoy did not meet her eyes, choosing instead to track his free hand as he palmed her pert arse, flitted up her back, and higher until he grabbed a fistful of her hair. She winced with the pull as her head was forced backward.

"Witch, you gave me your womb," he reminder her. "I won't stop until it's swollen with my pups." With a firm grip on her hair, Hermione held her head back as Malfoy's knot twitched inside her. He had deflated just enough to retreat from her heat. She was in no way finished for the night.

But rather than rutting wildly into her as before, Malfoy pulled the organ languidly from her channel, and inched just as slowly back inside. Forced to watch him to ease the pain in her neck, Hermione took in his fascination as he observed their carnal connection. He was mesmerized by the taunt organ withdrawing and entering her from behind. What she could not see however, she felt. Every inch of her walls collapsed and expanded to meet his girth as he continued his wonderfully torturous assault.

"Ughh," she groaned as her womb began to tighten upon itself. She wanted all of it to be over, and simultaneously for it to never end. It wasn't normal to feel this sensitive, this attuned, this ready for one man.

"Please, Malfoy," she begged.

"Are you ready for more, witch?"

With one hand fisted tight within her hair, Malfoy reached under her dripping cunt to catch the excess seed that fell out upon his withdrawal. His fingers thoroughly covered with the viscous fluid, he used it as lubrication as he massaged her neglected clit.

He easily manipulated her body for his whims. Eyes shut on a groan, the resulting orgasm caused her to take him in even further.

"Fuck," he cried as if caught off guard.

Leaving a trail of semen across her pelvis, Malfoy's jizz-covered hand moved out of her thatch of curls to massage the taunt skin of her lower abdomen. He pushed downward at the small bulge that stretched the skin above her pubic bone. He massaged the organ from the outside gently coaxing her to accept his seed.

His hold on her hair finally released, Hermione fell forward with an exhausted grunt while Malfoy warred with her body to sheathe his expanding knot within; as if it belonged there. His head fell back and his throat opened with another howl as waves of warmth soaked her sensitive core. He kept pushing with mini-thrusts until he was buried to hilt; he made it impossible for any of his seed to escape this time. It was all she could do to let him.

However, now the pressure on her womb was too great. It would hurt to fall on her stomach as Hermione weakly pushed herself up. But he must've anticipated this because Malfoy fell to his side, rolling her with him. Exhausted, the two lay on their side, her back warm against his chest. He propped her leg up with his own, as he sought to remove excess pressure from her battered groin.

Chancing a look down, she noted semen mixed with blood across her thighs and middle. But it did not hurt as much as it should have. Maybe because her walls still twitched and spasmed as her channel stretched to accommodate Malfoy's sheathed cock. He shifted until his knot rested comfortably within her tight heat.

Her thoughts drew his hand over the small of her waist and across her flat, for now, middle.

Losing the fight with her eyelids, Hermione dozed to Malfoy's sigh of content as he inhaled her hair and the crook of her neck. The last thing she felt before sleep claimed her were fingertips stroking her stretched belly full of both of cock and his essence.

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy stared at the curly-headed woman as if she weren't real. The witch had not stirred in two days' time and if not for the barely-there rise and fall of her chest, he would have thought he had shagged her to death.

He, on the other hand, had recovered the following morning after their vigorous coupling; the perks of being an Alpha. But every time he left his tent and re-entered, she remained buried in the midst of his furs. He brought dried rabbit from last night's roast and left some beside the bed, but still she had not stirred.

The morning before the full moon, she finally awoke with a groan. Stretching her arms out, she gingerly rolled over, and winced as she shifted her weight to her side. The witch visibly jumped when she finally noticed him squatting across the way. She pulled the furs closer to her person in worry that he would take her again. He could smell her fear and a bit of arousal, too, as she took him in within the daylight.

There were no need for mirrors within the Forest, and he gathered he looked every bit of the beast that had shagged her most ardently two nights ago. He licked his lips at the thought of taking her again, but there wasn't a need. He had accomplished what he set out to do. She smelt sweeter, more alluring, like baby jasmine, mixed with the headiness of his tent.

And she was ovulating no longer; nor would she for the foreseeable future.

He pushed the dried rabbit wrapped in cloth towards her. "You need to eat," he ordered, watching as she came to a sitting position on the bed.

She stared at the portion before lifting bloodshot eyes to him. "I'm not very hungry."

He frowned at her response. "You're too frail. You need to eat."

Now, she rolled exasperated eyes. "You need not to order me around." The wolf within him blanched at the blatant disregard for his command.

Seeking to cover her modesty, the witch tried to stand from the bed and wobbled with the attempt.

"You're weak," he said disgusted with her frail state. "You need to eat."

"Ugh, I need to use the loo," she complained instead, effectively ignoring him, as she gingerly tested her weight to one leg and then the other.

He smirked as he noticed the dried evidence of their coupling all over her thighs and stomach. His cock jumped at the sight of her lean frame, tarnished with his essence and her blood. But to her earlier point, he looked around the sizable tent and shrugged, as if this place was suitable enough for her biological needs.

She had caught his meaning with alarm. "I will not relieve myself in here. That's disgusting."

"Suits me fine," he admitted as she made a face at the admission. "You can't expect to go outside," he warned.

"Why not? I'll have my wand." She picked up her wand he had long deposited by the bed.

The daft witch was as reckless as she was ignorant. Malfoy stood from his crouch as he lectured what she ought to know, "It is too close to the full moon. My scent on you is not strong enough to provide protection," he said, as he swallowed disappointment. Curiously his wolf was displeased with this as well.

Ignoring this, the brunette witch lifted her wand over her person, but before she could say the spell, he halted her. "Don't!"

She paused, giving him a meaningful glare. "I'm covered in ... in grime, among other things," she said with an uncomfortable grimace.

He sneered at her, "My wolf doesn't know you from Merlin. I will tear you apart if you're not marked in my scent. The pregnancy is too early to discern and there are no guarantees that I won't harm you. That my pack will not harm you. Your wand does little against a werewolf on the night of a full moon." She lowered her wand as she accepted his explanation as valid.

"I'll walk downwind of the pack," she explained as she pressed her knees together in urgency, still hoping to venture out of her own. "Certainly, that should help." She stuffed her feet into her trainers and repaired her torn shirt. Luckily it was humid beneath the forest's canopy as she stepped out of the tent, so little clothing was needed.

But he could not leave her, not yet anyway. He was invested in her safety for the time-being as he followed out behind her. He found her looking down at the valley where his pack currently played, frolicked, and generally enjoyed each other's company before tonight's full moon. His tent was situated on an outcropping of large tree roots above the valley where he could watch over them all, yet was far enough removed if he wished for privacy. "This way," he ordered to her back as he led the way around his tent barefoot. He pulled his wand out of his chest harness and set off. He did not turn to see if she followed, but he could smell her alluring scent of jasmine mixed with smoke as she kept her distance.

"I'm not surprised you order people around like this," she stated from behind him.

"I'm not surprised you're ignorant of pack dynamics," he countered back.

They walked in silence before she resolutely stated, "I'm not a part of your pack." As if he needed the reminder. She continued, "There are people waiting for me. My friends," she trailed off.

He looked over his shoulder to see her magically healing a bruise on her arm, a bruise he put there. "But the children you carry are pack. And I'll be damned if you get yourself killed before they're born."

"Children?"

He said nothing to her astonished question, which only prompted her to pester him more.

She hurried to match his quick steps, though he noted with a satisfied smirk, that she struggled to hide a faint limp. "You can tell there's more than one already?" she asked, astonished.

"There is more than one heartbeat, yes."

"But… but it's too early to know. How can you possibly know?"

There were some things she was not privy to know. She was not a werewolf and what she could not learn from her precious books about werewolf pregnancy, he was not about to share with unkin. She might carry werewolf blood but she was not his marked mate, nor kin. So he choose silence instead.

"But it would take several more weeks to be sure!" she said amazed, as she lifted a hand to her flat stomach over her shirt. "Your hearing is far more impeccable than I'd thought."

"We are not some specimen to examine!" he bit sharply to quiet the beginning of her scientific theories. Her observations sounded like research to him, like an outsider looking in. The wolf within stirred that he make her submit, right there and then. She was unkin, prey meant to be hunted for sport, or pleasure. He had to remind himself that she was carrying his blood, so he could not harm her, but her curiosity about his kin disgusted him.

"I don't think your species are some laboratory specimen to examine. One of the wisest men I knew was a werewolf. You have thoughts, and feelings, and rights as much as I do," she spoke quietly as she walked beside him. "This is new to me," she sighed the admission. "The one person I could have spoken with about the experience is dead, and… and I don't know what to expect, but it seems you do."

Satisfied that they were sufficiently removed from the collective nose of his pack, he threw his head towards a large elm tree, unexplainably bothered by her admission. "There," he indicated with a lift of his chin.

"…Thanks."

She gave him a petulant stare, obviously waiting for him to turn around. Blasted witch and her modesty. It wasn't like he hadn't shredded it two nights ago in front of his pack. He smirked recalling how much she had liked it, had begged for it. The witch would never admit, but she had lost herself just as much as he did. Maybe there was a bit of beast within her as well.

But he turned around, lest the witch soil herself.

He inhaled deeply as her sweet scent tickled his nose. Unbeknownst to her, her scent and body composition had begun to change already. And there was so much more to come.

He heard the fly of her jeans zip as she emerged from the bushes. She performed a spell he did not recognize to send a message to the friends she mentioned earlier. Gooseflesh on his neck prickled as she addressed part of the message to someone named Ron.

The witch did not say where she was, but that she was safe, and was working on something that would assist the Order. She closed by saying she would send word again soon. But all he could focus on was the way she said another man's name. He did not like the way she said his name.

"When we get back you should eat," he repeated a bit more gruffly as they started back towards his tent.

She rubbed a weary hand over her face and into her hair. "I'm not hungry much."

He pierced her with a fierce look.

She sighed as she began her explanation, "There wasn't much to eat during the war. You learn to rely on small, infrequent meals. I guess the habit's carried over."

"You'll need your strength to make it through the fever," he shared reluctantly, as if it hurt to share another piece of werewolf lore with the witch. She was still very much an outsider and a stranger to him. An alluring stranger, but unkin nonetheless.

"The fever?" she parroted back.

"The old crone told me while you slept." He suppressed rolling his eyes at her blatant curiosity making a return. But wisely, she kept her mouth shut and let him continue when he was ready. "She's the oldest living member of our pack and the last surviving human who had been born to a full-blooded werewolf."

"But I thought werewolves couldn't sustain a pregnancy?"

"They can't," he assured her. "Her mother was a witch, impregnated by a werewolf. However, she was bitten in the last month of pregnancy and was forced into birth during her first shift."

"How awful."

"The mother survived long enough to wean the pups, but succumbed a few months later. Her children have all passed on except the crone."

"Does she have a name?"

"I only know her as 'the crone'," he explained as if that was enough. "No one cared enough to ask."

"So what can you tell me about the fever?"

He unconsciously rubbed the top of his left shoulder where the remnants of Fenrir's bite marred his skin. No, the fever wouldn't be as nightmarish as what he had to endure at sixteen, but it would be jarring enough. "Understand that you won't just carry my children - you'll carry the future of the pack. They will be strong, quick, they will have wolf's blood. Ergo, you will have wolf's blood. Your body needs to shift to carry a werewolf pregnancy to term. Your immune system will break down and rebuild itself. If you survive, your biology will have altered and the pack will be guaranteed you can carry to term." He did not tell her that the alteration would be permanent, that she would change as a result of the wolf's blood, and that she would never be able to carry another man's child. But then again, she was unkin and effectively offered her services.

"If I survive?" she scoffed at the possibility, as if the fever was something trifle to deal with.

"I've heard of instances where the witch didn't survive." That shup up her arrogance, as her gaze narrowed in determination. "Like I said, you need to eat."

Resigned, she plucked a curl behind her ear. "When will this happen?"

"A bit after conception," he said softly then, somewhat emphatic to the pain she would endure. Because he had endured something painful and world-changing too. "Maybe a day or two at the most." Which by his calculation, was imminent.

She grabbed his arm in alarm. He flinched at the touch, shaking her nervous hand off. "But you'll be indisposed with the full moon," she realized as brown eyes widened. "Am I to care for myself? What if I need aid?"

He shrugged and began walking once more. Because he had been left alone to deal with his shift. No one had come to his aid, then and she would find little aid, now. "I told you not to come here. And just so we're clear, if you die, our deal is off."

She snorted, somewhat accepting of her fate, "How noble of you."

"Practical, I'd say."

"So, the full moon is later tonight," she stated the obvious.

"I'll leave with the pack before moonrise," he assured. "Stay in the tent. There is no Wolfsbane here, witch. No need remind you what happens…"

"Yes, I know," she finished before he could.

"I'll not harm you," he replied as they approached his tent. He followed in after her, a relic mannerism from a previous life. "If I should return in my wolf's form, don't be alarmed, I'll might be curious, but…"

"Submit to you. Don't make a show of dominance. Yes, yes I know."

"My pack will not come in my tent. So don't leave, witch." He could tell she hated being ordered about, but knew she valued her life more. She would stay put for the time being.

"Why do you call me, 'witch'?" She asked, though not in annoyance or anger as he expected, but in genuine curiosity. She tilted her head at him as she waited for his answer.

"That's what you are," he stated, with a pointed brow. If she were kin, she would no doubt be grinning ear to ear, knowing she had caught him. His heart began to pound in fear as he thought back to his introduction to the pack two years prior.

Boy, or whelp, they called him. So much to the point where he began to answer to it. To the point where he thought it his name. Any time, or name, before pack did not exist to him, they said. And after two years immersed with werewolves, he believed it. Two years of eating, hunting, and fucking like a werewolf. His life before the turn became a daydream of a time long forgotten. Pushing the confusion that came with her question to the recesses of his mind, he frowned in silence.

"Do you know… Never mind," she quickly halted herself, as if coming to a conclusion he hadn't realized.

He cleared his throat. In his first time as Alpha, he grew uncomfortable in his own skin. "I'll leave the rabbit here. You can produce water from your wand until I return."

She nodded, settling onto his fur bed with nothing to do but wait. She reached for her beaded bag and pulled out a book, no doubt paging through the parchment for a section on werewolf reproduction.

He had made his way to the tent's exit when she called to his back, "My name is Hermione." He stilled, his back stiff as the name triggered something in his mind. "You used to call me Granger." The rustling of pages told him she had returned her attention to her text. As he continued passed the cloth barrier of the tent's exit, he tested the name to himself.

Granger. It sounded completely foreign and familiar at the same time.

When he returned a short time later, the witch, Granger, turned over, agitated in her sleep. It would be the last time before moonrise. As he moved quietly towards her, he noted her breathing grew shallow and her skin was warm to the touch.

The beginnings of the fever were upon her, then. Malfoy grunted approvingly as he lowered his pants and took his semi-flaccid cock in hand. Unabashedly, he allowed images from their vigorous coupling to take ahold of him as he jerked himself off right over the dozing witch wrapped in his furs. He thought of the tight fit he had molded to him and soon, released himself over her cheek, her shoulder, and middle as she slept. Lowering to his knees, he generously smeared his seed over her bare skin, assuring she would not be harmed this evening. Again his wolf stirred beneath his human skin, dying to rut the female once more before the shift.

He paused as he rubbed his seed over Granger's flat, for now, middle. She shifted again, groaning low in her throat as the fever intensified. His pups were forcing her body to accept their werewolf blood.

"Keep my pups safe, Granger." He wasn't by any means religious, but he needed her to be there when he returned in his human form.

What seemed like many full moons ago, Malfoy had battled and defeated Fenrir under the light of a full moon. The first order he gave as Alpha was to skin the former Alpha and have his pelt made into the bed cover said witch was now burrowed into.

Fenrir had never mated, had never produced a child for the pack, and had lost his pack to what he called a boy. And now, proof that he, not Fenrir, was the true Alpha lay wrapped in Fenrir's fur.

His wolf howled in elation as Malfoy rose from his crouch beside the feverish witch... Granger. It was time to greet his pack – they would be much to celebrate this night.

Chapter Text

Hermione was back on the floor of Malfoy Manor, screaming her throat raw as Bellatrix LeStrange carved mercilessly into tender flesh. She screamed as the mad witch leered and laughed above her, until the Muggle-born's wish was granted and the very floorboard she lay on, opened and swallowed her whole. She sank through the floorboards, as invisible flames licked up her arm from the cursed scar.

Falling through nothingness, the flames did not cease. Searing heat whipped up her arm until it spread across her shoulder blades and down her back. Her back arched, trying to escape the pain. The pain grew and grew until it encompassed her whole. She fought against the torture as her body, weak from war and fighting to stay alive, simply gave out.

But she would be granted no reprieve, as Hermione floated in betwixt and between. Bare feet touched ice cold stone as her former school appeared around her. The school had been perfectly rebuilt and was polished, ready for the newest crop of witches and wizards. But none would come now. It was the cruelest form of torture.

"Hermione?" A voice echoed down an empty hallway to her right.

She turned towards the voice like a kid beholding Father Christmas. It couldn't be, could it?

Tears immediately dampened the corners of her eyes. "Harry?" Hermione gasped as the deceased teen came into view. His scruffy five o'clock shadow had grown into a thick beard that covered nearly half of his face, but it could not mask the sloppy grin that brightened sparkling greens as the two beheld each other across Hogwarts' Entrance Hall.

"Harry!" she ran barefoot across the Hall to him.

The two collapsed into each other's arms. He was solid and warm. Was this real or had she died back at Malfoy Manor, she wondered? Hermione pulled back from the teen, devoid of his legendary scar and the harsh lines of war he sported on that fateful night in May; it was the last time she had seen him alive. He looked relaxed and happy, and was glasses-free.

"I've missed you," she breathed as she drunk in his face, his warm smile. This was surely a dream, something whispered, but she didn't care.

Harry smiled as he placed a hand to her cheek. She leaned warmly into his palm, desperate for his touch.

"Fight for me, Hermione," he whispered, as he rubbed a thumb across her cheek.

Nodding, she closed her eyes and relished the touch. There was so much she wanted to tell him. How hard she would fight, how much Ron and Ginny missed him, how their world had tipped into ruin, but she could only nod her head.

"Fight for yourself," he quietly bade her.

His hand pulled away, taking with it his warmth, his love.

She opened her eyes and he was gone, and all she could utter were three words.

'Fight for yourself,' repeated in her ears as yellow-amber eyes snapped open in the tumultuous present.

Trying to even labored breathing, Hermione struggled to note her current location through the confusion. She was surrounded by furs, staring at a cloth ceiling that met at a point. Sweat poured liberally into her vision as miniature stints pinched at random intervals across her nervous system. Her muscles ached, and electric currents burned from her neck to her tailbone. Her body was on fire.

She whined, alone in Malfoy's tent as howls sounded in the distance. She was too weak and overcome with pain to move. She bit her lip and whimpered, as she grabbed fistfuls of fur, desperate to grab onto something tangible. Remembering her feverish dream, she wondered if she should let it take her. She so wanted to see Harry again. She wanted to see her parents, and be eleven again, when the worst thing that awaited was an enchanted game of chess.

"Uhhhh," she moaned as she swallowed dryly. Any use of muscle was a reminder of her body breaking down. Malfoy was right, she was too physically weak to survive the werewolf blood tearing her body apart.

But still, she would fight. She would die of thirst, die of this blasted fever wreaking havoc on her body, but she would fight until Hades was forced to give her back. Because she was not done with this world yet.

"I will," she gasped to dream Harry, or the ceiling. She laughed weakly in delirium. She was talking to air now.

Sweat-drenched curls clung to her face as she rolled over, repeating her vow to herself. "I will."

Hermione opened her eyes to morning light streaking through the fabric of the tent.

The first thing she took note of was a growling sound. Inhaling through her nose, a savory aroma tickled her nostrils. The growl sounded again; it was her stomach. As she pushed weakly to her elbows, a piece of meat came into view.

Her stomach growled audibly as she attacked the piece of meat offered. It wasn't until she was several bites in that she realized it was rarer than how she took most of her meat. Rivers of blood ran in the crevices of her knuckles.

"Oh, my God," she moaned at the sight.

"A bit of blood helps the sickness to pass," a girl Hermione did not see before, answered the unanswered question. The girl had beautiful brown skin with almond-shaped eyes. Her hair hung in a thick braid down her back.

"That statement shouldn't make sense," Hermione replied as she swallowed the game-y meat, though her stomach had surprisingly settled. "But oddly, it does."

The girl shrugged as Hermione finished the meal in silence. With bloody hands, she grabbed her wand and vanished the bloody mess from her hands and face. The girl did not move as she watched the scene unfold.

"What's your name?" Hermione asked the girl who had watched her unashamedly eat like a pig.

"Sari."

"I recognize you from that first night," Hermione recalled. "You and your mate brought me to Malfoy."

The girl narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the mention of her mate. Scoffing, Hermione asserted, "I don't want your mate."

"Good," Sari stated with a short nod. "You belong to Alpha now."

Hermione laughed at the obscurity of such a statement and shook her head. "No, I don't."

"You carry his seed. I can smell it."

"Well, that was sort of the point of all this. But I," she pointed a finger to her chest, "do not belong to anyone."

Sari lifted a corner of her mouth, smugly. "Can you stand?" she asked with a smirk.

Feeling determined at the girl's arrogance, Hermione peeled off the fur cover and stood carefully to her feet. She was a bit dizzy, but part of her strength had returned now that she had eaten. Once confidently on her feet, Hermione nodded to the girl. Sari smiled and offered Hermione her wand.

Obviously weak from her recent bout with the fever, it took Hermione two tries to transfigure her jeans into a floor length dress that hung snugly on her waist. Pulling her tee-shirt over sensitive breasts, the light fabric did little to hide the shape of her cleavage. However, she mused the pack had little time for modesty as she took in Sari's partial coverings and recalled Malfoy's general state of half-dress. For the time she had been there, he had worn light colored trousers, and nothing else.

"Is it okay to go outside?" Hermione asked, uncertain. She recalled Malfoy's warning before the full moon, but the full moon had passed and if Sari could smell the pregnancy, then she should be alright. But still…

Sari nodded as she pushed the tent flap back to reveal sunshine outside. "You carry the Alpha's scent and his seed. None will harm you, witch."

"Hermione," she corrected, surprisingly comfortable with the brash girl. Perhaps the feisty werewolf reminded her of herself. Sari stood there, hands on hips, so much like her younger, bossy self. Gods, that seemed like a life time ago.

"Her-mione," Sari repeated slowly as the two women navigated over the thick tree roots outside of the tent.

"It's nice to meet you, Sari. Would you mind telling me, where's Malfoy?"

"He is hunting with the pack elders. Alpha told me to check on you and to not let any harm come to you," she explained.

Hermione jumped down from a particularly large root. Dizziness overtook her as she righted herself; she let the moment pass. "Hmm. Tell Alpha next time, I can take care of myself. Well since you're here and he's not, would you mind showing me around?" Interest made Hermione anxious to explore the werewolf pack she would be immersed in for coming weeks.

Sari rolled her eyes, but complied. Hermione got the distinct impression the younger werewolf had to be about fifteen or sixteen years old. As the two walked towards the pack situated within the center of the valley, Sari explained pack life to Hermione.

"The younger and weaker members of pack stay within the center of the pack," Sari pointed out the layers of werewolves as they walked among them. "The stronger stay on the outer rings. They protect the weak."

"Malfoy stays out further than any of them," Hermione noted the significance of this, as she passed through the rings of tents with various occupants. One by one, they emerged from their dwellings to stare at her as she passed. They sported varying looks of disgust and intrigue. Hermione couldn't remember their faces from that first night, but she had been… well, in disposed. But it seemed as if they had not forgotten her.

A woman about her mum's age approached. She placed one hand to Hermione's middle before Hermione could stop her.

Sari snarled at the woman. "Stay back, Winnie!" she warned as she pushed the woman away. The two werewolves growled at each other, which Hermione observed with fascination before the older woman submitted to Sari and fell back.

While Sari stared down the woman, forcing her to retreat, someone else came up to Hermione's side. Quickly, the werewolf buried his nose in her shoulder. Reflectively, Hermione lifted her shoulder and squeezed him out of the intimate area, but as he had neared her heated skin, the man backed away with a grunt. He sneered at her before stalking off.

Sari spoke from behind Hermione. "That is Greyson. He came just before Alpha did. He was checking to see if Alpha gotten a babe on you."

"Why?"

"Some do not believe Alpha that has brought new life to the pack. Greyson was one of them, but he rarely believes anything Alpha says. Some thought Greyson would challenge Fenrir for the pack. But Alpha beat him to it."

Hermione dipped her head to the side, seeking an explanation. "He's not originally from this pack, is he?"

Sari nodded at Hermione's understanding of pack dynamics to recognize Greyson's status as an outsider. "He was exiled from his own pack and came across the sea. Fenrir took him in, and others like him, to grow his numbers."

Hermione pondered, "And Malfoy let him stay?"

"We do not question, Alpha," Sari said the words as if she had said them many times before.

They walked among the throng, and Hermione noted all had willingly parted as she and Sari made their way through. And true to Malfoy's word, none harmed her. They viewed her with contempt or curiosity, but none harmed her. "And what about you?" Hermione queried, unable to slack her need to know. "When did you join the pack?"

"After Alpha turned me," she said simply.

Hermione stopped right then and there. "Malfoy infected you purposefully?!" she said incredulously, the beginnings of anger stirred deep in her belly. Because that, she could not let stand.

"He was made to by Fenrir," Sari replied quietly. "I was fourteen. Throughout the first full moon of my first shift, Alpha never left my side. I could tell afterwards he was not… happy to have done so. Now, I never leave his side," she finished.

Hermione nodded, unsure whether to offer her apologies or sympathy. Unsure how the werewolf would take it, she thought it best to leave it alone. She filed the thought away to speak with Malfoy later.

Once close enough to epicenter of the pack, Sari stopped outside of a tent. A group of four children ran past them, chasing after a ball. Judging by their age, they had to be between eight and ten years-old.

"The last of the children bitten by Fenrir," Sari explained from Hermione's side as they observed the children at play. "We keep them and the elders among us closest to the center to keep them safe. As your pregnancy advances, Alpha will move you here with them."

Hermione smiled, tight-lipped. She would not share the specifics of their deal. There was no need to reveal to the girl that she would soon be leaving.

They entered the tent and sitting on dilapidated chair, was an old woman. Despite the August heat outside and the stuffy air within the enclosed space, the woman was wrapped in furs as if it were the middle of January.

"This is 'the crone'," Sari said by way of introduction. "She wanted to meet you, but cannot stand long enough to make the journey to Alpha's tent."

Hermione looked to the old woman who appeared to be dozing. "She wanted to meet me?"

"Come here," the crone suddenly ordered, her words slurred and whistled from missing teeth.

Sari nodded, indicating for Hermione to move closer.

"It is good to see you well, child," the crone said before breaking out into toothless grin. "I knew the fever wouldn't take you. Strong you were to come here that night. Too strong for the fever." She muttered to herself as if holding a conversation with someone not present in the room.

Unsure what to say to the ancient werewolf with thin, pale hair, and few teeth, Hermione replied, "Thank you."

"Strong children you will give our Alpha. Yes, yes. He needs someone to carry this burden. Dreadful to carry alone. Once you've been birthed, he will need more heirs, too," she laughed. "Yes, more life for the pack."

To that, Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh, no! You don't understand…"

Sari placed a hand to Hermione's arm. "Are you scared we won't be able to assist in the birth when the time comes? We have two former Healers within our pack, you know?"

"No, it's not that," Hermione insisted to Sari and the crone.

"We can assist you, child. Give you what you need," the crone insisted.

"It's not that," Hermione repeated, hesitant to share with Malfoy's pack the specifics of their arrangement.

"You came here looking to get what you needed," the crone stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione slightly narrowed her eyes at the crone's unseeing milky-white irises. "Yes," she admitted carefully.

The crone leaned back into her furs, relaxed. "And you yet you both will leave with so much more."

"Alpha will not let her leave," Sari replied, resolutely. "She carries our future."

The crone laughed. "The girl is fearful of us. Can't you smell her anxiety, little wolf? She's curious about our way of life, intrigued what we can do for her, but in the end, she will leave." Suddenly, the crone cackled. "But you will be back," she assured.

A skeptical brow rose as Hermione replied, "Your Alpha has not marked me, and I am not a werewolf. My friends will wonder where I am if I am gone too long. I need … I need to be back with them."

"But won't your friends be angry when you return in a such a state?" Sari pressed, referring to Hermione's impending journey into motherhood.

"You mean if they see I've returned pregnant?" Hermione clarified with a grimace.

Sari nodded.

Hermione smiled sadly as she stared at her feet. "They won't." Lifting her head, she powered on, "You see … This pregnancy isn't my first."

But instead of responding, Sari dropped to one knee, a fist over her heart. "Alpha, I have kept her safe as you have commanded."

Hermione whirled to face Malfoy, who leveled a stare at her hot enough to make her stomach flip in dread and a blush flame her cheeks.

Chapter Text

Hermione smiled sadly as she stared at her feet. "They won't." Lifting her head, she powered on, "You see … This pregnancy isn't my first."

But instead of responding, Sari dropped to one knee, a fist over her heart. "Alpha, I have kept her safe as you have commanded."

Hermione whirled to face Malfoy, who levelled a stare at her hot enough to make her stomach flip and a blush flame her cheeks. His long hair was pulled into messy bun on the top of his head; his normally pale skin, tanned from his recent hunt. She wanted to bite her lip at the sight of him.

Sari replied from her spot on the floor. "But that first night, there was a lot of blood… I thought…" Sari trailed off.

Hermione finished for her, though she kept her eyes on Malfoy. "That I was a virgin?" She shook her head. "No, your Alpha was not my first."

The old crone laughed somewhere behind them. "But he will be your last!" she cackled at her own joke.

Silver grey eyes glittered with sharp intent. "Granger, a word."

"Typical," she muttered with disgust, but followed him nonetheless.

On her exit from the tent, he pushed an apple into her hand which she gratefully took. Her stomach rumbled as she polished off the fruit, a step behind Malfoy as he moved with authority through his people. Staring at his bare back, she tried to place him with the boy who used strut through Hogwarts. But instead of the showy arrogance then, she found an earned confidence now. And respect.

The werewolves regarded him with deference. They regarded her as an afterthought, as if she didn't exist. The conflicting images forced her to reconcile the boy she remembered with the young man she did not know. But she wanted to know more. What did the crone mean 'it was dreadful to carry this burden'? Was it burdensome being an Alpha – how so? How did he command such a quiet respect that she hadn't seen since Harry with the Order?

But it was not her place to ask such personal questions. Though they travelled different paths, they had been led to the same place for a time and Hermione was determined to learn more about the man behind the title.

They had made their way through the pack and headed in a direction opposite of his tent. "So, are we going to talk about this?" she said to his back, outfitted with scars; fresh nail marks from her, and battle wounds from Gods-only-knew.

He looked over his shoulder, but said nothing. Eventually they ended their trek at a river that, if she guessed, emptied into Hogwarts' Great Lake. Temporarily stunned by delight, Hermione waded to the river's edge, eager to cool her overheated skin. Squatting down, she perched at its banks and removed her shirt, grateful to dunk the shirt in water rather than scrourifying the fabric. There was something to be said for freshly washed clothes.

As she worked, she noted Malfoy behind her, observing her movements. He waited for her to speak.

Wringing out of her shirt, she began, "I know you heard us back there. I could feel your stare burning into my soul, Malfoy," she said sarcastically, hoping for some sort of reaction. A smirk, a witty retort, anything.

"The werewolf blood has increased your senses already." Leave it to Malfoy to remain practical, then.

"Among other things," she said to herself.

Malfoy approached and squatted beside her, his feet hidden beneath the river's cool water. He narrowed his eyes at her. "What 'other things'?"

Hermione swallowed, uncertain. Disturbing, dangerous things if she were honest. After she had awoken that morning from the fever, other than food, the first she wanted to do was to fuck, and to be fucked. Her womb sat heavy in her pelvis as she squatted in the water. She refused to look at him, scared he would discern the desire in her eyes. Instead, she pushed her hands into the water, hoping the river's cool current could quell the heat making her uncomfortable within her own skin. "I'm hot," she admitted instead. "Unbearably hot. I know it's August, but I feel like my blood is boiling beneath my skin. I can see why many, like you, choose to go without traditional clothing."

"The blood of werewolves runs hotter than the average human's. Your core temperature is rising to sustain my blood. It won't lessen until you've given birth," he replied, scooping a handful of water and throwing it over his shoulder to cool himself.

Hermione watched the droplets separate and race down his tanned back. Mesmerized, she watched as they traced a path over the nail marks she'd left on his skin. She wanted to lick them clean off.

Bravely, she turned her head away, seeking to change the subject. She eyed the river enviously – she wanted to run and dive headlong into its cool waters. "You heard I… I was pregnant before?"

He nodded, also looking out at the river. "I did."

"You're not surprised?" For some reason, she thought he would be.

But he coolly lifted a shoulder, as if she had informed him that water was wet. "Pregnancies happen."

"Oh. I thought you might be upset."

"Why would I be? Who's was it? The pup?"

She pushed her hands into the river's muddy banks and responded evenly, "Harry's."

Malfoy was quiet for a moment. "You carried the Chosen's One's child in the midst of war, but now carry mine. I guess, I win."

Standing up, she pulled the damp t-shirt over her head and across her bare back. She would not magically dry the garment; it felt soothing to her overheated skin. It did little to soothe other aches though.

She thought it best to be forthright with him. Making up her mind, she strolled into straight into the river, until the water was up to her ankles, her knees, and then her waist. She explained while walking against the current. "There was this night, you see, and we were so tired of everything. The running, death, the threat of being caught. We were alone; Ron had left. Harry tried to lift my spirits with this silly dance. One thing led to another as they so often do and then, we made a colossal mistake, though it didn't feel like it at the time."

A step behind, Malfoy followed her. Though the river met her waist, it met just below his hips. "And now you are here, with child again," he finished for her.

"Though this time, by design," Hermione chuckled ruefully. "Sounds awful, doesn't it?" Hermione swallowed the hurt that came with the memory. "Because winning is what matters most, right? Back then, the timing couldn't have been more awful. Ron and Ginny found out, of course. But there wasn't time for the anger and hurt. We had a war to win," she sighed, all of sudden reflective.

This is what Harry must have carried with him. The burden of assuring everyone a victory, even at the ultimate price. He had sacrificed himself, so that a horcrux could be destroyed and Voldemort could be weakened.

And now, she would willingly give away a part of her to secure a formidable alliance.

She bit her lip. No, it wasn't best to think of it like that. If she grew too much of an emotional attachment to the pregnancy, thought of it as a part of her, then it would be hard to remain independent of the decision that had to be made.

She had to remain focused. Fight for yourself, Harry had told her. And so, she would.

Hermione sighed, back in the present. "It seems like it was so long ago, but it really wasn't. We found out at Christmas, a few weeks later, perhaps? We were on the run, so there was no way to know I was, you know? Then when I knew, suddenly, I wasn't," Hermione spoke with a detached sort of acceptance as she disclosed secrets with a practical stranger.

But she was resolved to learn about the man Malfoy had grown into. And if she expected him to open to her, she would have to take the first leap. They knew each other intimately, but she was a closed book to him as much as he was to her.

"It won't happen again," Malfoy vowed with quiet finality as he approached her, causing water to splash against her shirt front. Her heart clenched with his promise.

"You can't possibly know that," she whispered.

"I can."

Wisely or not, she decided to broach the sensitive topic once more. "Do you remember what you said? That I can leave once the pregnancy is ensured viable? By my calculation, that's in about ten weeks."

Malfoy growled in his throat, displeased with the reminder.

"It is what we agreed," she reminded him, though she sensed it was dangerous to do so. But she would make sure he understood.

"You'll be in danger, and thus, my pups will be in danger. I cannot allow that."

Hermione ran a frustrated hand through her curls, knowing the stubborn man would walk back his earlier statement. But she wasn't going to give up without a fight. "The Order is no longer actively fighting. They're regrouping, recruiting others, and devising a strategy to systematically take out Voldemort's strongholds. I'd hardly be involved in any fighting, and contrary to what you think, I do have an investment to keep the…," she paused as she forced her mouth to voice the words she had been avoiding, "…children safe until they are born. I keep my word, Malfoy." Her heart thundered in her ears at the admission.

Children.

Her children. With Malfoy.

A means to an end, she reminded herself.

Malfoy cocked his head at her, as if he doubted her word. "You lost one child, and would so willingly give up the next?"

She pierced him with a somber look. "My life and the lives of any theoretical children I would have in such a world would be forfeit, if we were to fail. In the end, nothing matters if this arrangement between us does not work."

The end of it all - that is what she fought for. Maybe history wouldn't remember her actions or the steep price it took to turn the tide if her plan worked. But the wizarding world would remember the victors; and there, in the aftermath, when their world rebuilt itself after the fall of Voldermort, she could finally begin to grieve and process all that she had been through in the past tumultuous year. She pushed curls off of her forehead holding off tears.

"I could care less for your pointless war, Granger. But you carry my blood and thus, what happens to you matters to me," he said in a way that puzzled her. Did he truly care for her safety, or for his incubator?

"So that's why you'll fight for us? Because I will give you children?" she pressed, moving closer to him. She watched the water pushed against his britches, his waist. Her fingers itched to delve into his waistline.

"It isn't because I champion your cause," he replied tersely.

She wanted to point out to him that her cause was his cause by extension, but he needed no reminder that he was no longer pure, that his line would be no longer pure. Did he not care about their future and what would happen to people like them in such a world? Did he think he could stay hidden from Voldemort and his new world order forever?

"Regardless of what is to come, you'll need to improve health," Malfoy replied as he drank her in from her curls, to her waist, to what the river covered below. The blatant appraisal made her flush even more. Cursed river was supposed to cool her down as the heat returned.

"Did Sari mention our Healer? Ever since the battle, we've rummaged supplies from the school's infirmary. We have plenty of potions, salves, and ointments and will stock more in time for the birth. But you should see Clara soon. You've made it pass the fever, but you are still too skinny. I wouldn't be surprised if you're deficient in everything," he sneered at her.

"What's it like?" she couldn't help but ask, ignoring his well-meaning, but paternalistic tirade. She would see the blasted Healer tomorrow, but now had other things on her mind.

"What?"

"Sari said earlier she could smell the pregnancy. You told me before the day of the full moon that you could hear more than one heartbeat. What's it like to stand here, knowing there are more than the two of us here, right now? With tangible proof from your senses?"

Malfoy visibly warred on whether to respond to her or not. "It reminds me what's important in the end," was all he said, though she knew him to be holding back.

Hermione nodded for now, accepting his answer. Sighing, she elaborated, "I imagine it's difficult carrying on a conversation while faintly hearing three heartbeats." By her calculation, the fertility potion had been quite strong and Malfoy had said there was more than one heartbeat. So, that meant twins.

"Four," he said quietly, lowering his silver-grey gaze from her head to her eyes.

"W-what?" she coughed. She lost her footing on the muddy banks and stumbled in the river.

"They are no longer faint," he assured her. "But I can hear four, distinct heartbeats. Yours, and three ..."

But Hermione would hear no more, as her ears clogged, her vision tilted, and the world went black. She was about to get that dunk in the river she fancied after all.

Draco caught the witch with a satisfied smirk as she fainted against him. That ought to shut up her inane questioning. Catching her behind the knees, he easily lifted her to his chest. He told her she was likely deficient in everything, including iron, which made her prone to bouts of light-headedness and fainting. And that would not do.

He carried the woman who carried his triplets out of the river and back towards his tent. She carried the closest thing he had left to family in this world; the thought made him tighten his hold. The pack was his kin, but in a different way; she carried his blood. And after he learned about the deaths of his parents shortly after he had been bitten, Draco thought he was fated to live the rest of his life without true kin.

It wasn't long before the witch stirred against him as he walked. He took note how she subconsciously pressed her nose against his chest, seeking his scent even in her sleep. "Hmm, where are you taking me?" she murmured against him. Warm breath tickled his ribs, causing him to inhale sharply.

"You need to get back. You're much too weak to be out so soon."

"I've been cooped up in that tent for days," she whined, though she made no attempt to move from his hold. Not that he would let her escape now. "The summer air feels good," she sighed.

"You'll be back out when you're stronger," the beginnings of a growl made her stir against him anxiously. Not that he was angry at her, but he found himself upset at the situation that had caused the malnourishment in the first place. The stubborn witch was too busy trying to save the world at the detriment of her own health. Instantly, his wolf sat in attention - he could take care of her.

"I'm not some weakling," she replied, drawing his thoughts back to her.

"Some weakling could never carry my children," he granted her the compliment. "But there are things in the Forest you know nothing about. They would kill you before you knew they were upon you. In your current state, you couldn't properly defend yourself."

She asked against his chest, as fingers tapped absently against his skin, "Sari said the others do not cross the boundaries of your pack? That you have an understanding with those who dwell in the Forest?"

Her tappings made it hard to focus. Carrying her brought her alluring scent ever closer to his nose. "We have an understanding that they do not harm pack. But as you said before, you are not pack. And to them, you are a meal fit for a king."

"So, that's why you dragged me out of there like a caveman?"

"You fainted. I caught you. Less words, less effort." He shrugged to her infuriation.

He smirked, glancing down at her pout. The bow of her lips unnerved the wolf within as he entered the safety of his tent. Lowering her into his bed, he watched as she settled in, obviously tired and a bit pale. But strangely, he did not want to break the physical contact just yet, as he lay down with her. Absently, his finger traced down her arm to the cursed scar it bore. "You were hurt?" he asked as he lightly outlined the jagged letters.

"Your Aunt," she replied, watching him intently. But he couldn't place the face – a distant memory from a life no longer his own. Then a light hand grazed the shoulder that carried Fenrir's bite. He jumped at the unexpected contact as Granger cautiously spread timid fingers across the width of scar, testing for a reaction. He let her explore the bite. It was the first time he had let anyone near it. "We all carry scars," she sighed, as he relaxed under her touch.

It seemed as if she did not want to end the physical contact either as something shifted between them.

Draco lowered his mouth achingly close to her neck, freeing a few strands of hair from his ponytail. He growled, low and in warning, "If you keep touching me, I'm going to touch you back." His wolf pushed warred within, seeking to reach out and mark her for their own.

Granger laid back, her hand ghosting from his bite mark down to his forearm, subtly pulling him closer. Her eyes had darkened, and she wet her lips. "And if I don't want you to stop?"

Draco crawled on top of her, carefully throwing a leg to her side, as he shifted his growing erection. Careful not place his full weight upon her, he pushed his nose into her neck and sampled her enticing scent, simultaneously excited and frightened at the heady arousal found there. The witch was falling into lust, no doubt on account of his pups' blood fusing with hers. But what was more frightening was how much he wanted to oblige her in every way.

Their arrangement had called for him to take her until she conceived, and he had fulfilled his end of the deal. Anything further would be taking advantage of the wolf's blood currently driving her into such a state.

Normally, he would not have a problem rutting a willing female, but terrifyingly, he didn't want to fuck to her slack her lust. His wolf wanted her protected, and permanently his. And then, he would fuck her over and over again until she walked permanently bow-legged.

But above all, he wanted her safe.

That had him pulling away from the witch in fear. "Rest," he clipped. "I'll send Clara in to see to you."

Granger laid back, obviously hurt and confused, though no more than he.

He had to get out of there. Pushing his wand into his chest holster, he backed out of the tent as his wolf battled to stay by her side.

"Wait!" she called, but it was too late.

He had already left.

Chapter Text

Hermione scribbled the latest entry in her journal as Clara, the pack's resident Healer, entered Malfoy's tent. Clara had been made a werewolf by Fenrir during the first Wizarding War. A medi-witch by trade, she continued her work at St. Mungo's after being infected, but old prejudices made it hard to keep clientele. She and St. Mungo's mutually agreed to part ways after they proclaimed her a liability to their patients. She returned to Fenrir's pack afterwards and never looked back at the Wizarding world.

"Come to torture me with vile drink again, have you?" Hermione teased the werewolf as Clara set down a bag full of potions and books, ready to begin their daily routine.

After three and half weeks of being peppered with potions and all manner of food, Clara had declared Hermione officially on the mend. She was to stick to a strict regimen of potions, accompanied with balanced and regular meals if she were to have a successful pregnancy and not lose vital bone mass and iron in the process. Admittedly, she hadn't started the pregnancy in the healthiest state, but Clara was determined to help her mend.

"It's a lovely day today. Alpha may let you stay out longer than usual - wouldn't that be nice?" Clara teased as she unstoppered two vials and handed them to Hermione.

"Don't presume to fill my head with promises." Hermione laughed as she swallowed the contents quickly.

After Malfoy had stormed out of the tent weeks ago, she had seen little of the reclusive Alpha. But that didn't stop him from restricting her physical movements. She had been constrained to bedrest for two days after she collapsed in the river, free to leave for essential biological needs only. By the end the third day, she had enough and had demanded the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Malfoy begrudgingly agreed, before he had abruptly left on 'pack business'. The next day she was either chaperoned by Sari or Clara, but had been allowed to explore beyond the confines of the tent.

Hermione shuddered as she swallowed the contents of the vials. "Between you and him, I'm starting to feel like a Herbology project."

"You can't blame him," Clara responded as she took the empty vials from Hermione. Then she unsheathed her wand to begin the required spells to check her vitals. Every day Hermione grew stronger and as she did, so did the pregnancy. By her count, she was almost six weeks along.

"The pack shares in his excitement," Clara explained. "New life means new blood."

Hermione smiled as the spell returned three separate lines of fluttering heartbeats. "Well, thanks to you, I'm certainly feeling much better. Thank you, Clara, for your help these past few weeks."

Clara smiled as she perform the next spell. "Oh, you'll be seeing plenty of me in the foreseeable future. But I wanted to make sure you were on your feet before the next full moon. It's only a few days away, but you should be strong enough now to manage." Clara's brows lowered in concern as she noticed the smile falter. "What is it?"

Hermione closed her journal and placed it on the new desk beside the bed. One night, she had went to sleep writing in her lap, and the next day, a desk had appeared. She suspected Malfoy had brought it. "With the full moon approaching, and Malfoy's erratic presence, I haven't had a chance to ask … I haven't read anything on the topic and I was wondering if you would know. Do you know if the fetuses will shift? I mean they are not full-blooded werewolves, but I don't know. Can they shift even if I don't? Does that make sense?" She wished she could have spoken with Tonks these past few weeks. But the accompanying sadness made her halt that line of thinking.

Clara nodded, encouragingly. "Don't worry, Hermione. They will not shift in-utero. As the pregnancy progresses, it may get a little uncomfortable around the full moon for you, but that is several months down the line when the fetuses are more developed and active. For now, you should be fine," she finished.

Hermione released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding and nodded, accepting the information. "I've been cataloguing my symptoms and experiences in a journal I brought with me. The crone was the last to have been born a full-blooded werewolf, and during my visits with her, she doesn't seem to remember much. I've captured what I could, but someone should document this for the pack's sake." She closed the journal, her fingers playing with the latch.

Clara smiled, hedging, "Maybe for you, too?"

Hermione frowned. "Oh no, this is not for me."

Sighing, Clara replied, "If you say so." The Healer put away her wand, and began cleaning up her bottles and equipment. "Like I said, the full moon's in a few days. I'm sure Alpha has left you with plenty of instructions."

Hermione nodded, indicating to the side of the tent. "And food to boot." She gestured towards the pile of fruit, dried meats, and various nuts Malfoy had been storing for her. "He must think me a whale if he thinks I will eat all of that." She imagined he brought it when she was sleeping because she would go to bed one night, and more food would magically appear in the morning.

"He is concerned for your well-being. I'll echo what he's probably told you, but the pregnancy, while progressing, is still early. It would be safe for you to stay in the tent the night of the full moon this month. Next month may be better. We don't want you to run afoul of any of us while we've shifted. There is no Wolfsbane here, Hermione," Clara stressed. "Besides that, how are you doing? Is there anything else you would like to share with me?"

Hermione hesitated, "Well, there is something I haven't told Malfoy …."

"Yes?"

"He knows about the overheating. Of course, the increased appetite, the sensitivity to hearing and smell, but there are other things. Symptoms, or by-products of the pregnancy, I'm not quite sure what to do with."

"Increased sexual frustration, you mean?"

Hermione laughed at the Healer's frank response. "If were being non-clinical, yes. It's mad!" she admitted. "And I know Malfoy can sense it. It's probably why he's barely spent more than two minutes around me before dashing off to something or the other. And when I confront him about where he's going, he tells me it's 'pack business', as if that was enough."

Clara crossed her arms, before revealing, "He's been travelling as of late, Hermione. He's been treating with the lesser packs of Great Britain that were too fearful of Fenrir to venture near us."

That was news to her. "Oh. He didn't tell me that. I swear, if it weren't for you or Sari, I wouldn't know what's going on the outside. It's driving me spare." She was starting to feel isolated and lonely. That brought back awful memories of hiding on the run with Harry and Ron, she thought to herself. Suddenly she wondered what were her friends doing? They rarely sent messages via Patronuses lately.

"I know he can be a bit standoffish, but have you tried speaking with him about this?" Clara offered. "He'll be back for the full moon. He has to."

"You mean about the loneliness or the horniness? I know it's a combination of pregnancy hormones and wolf's blood that's exacerbating the issue. I swear, it's like being on a fertility potion that spikes and never ebbs."

Clara mused as she observed her charge, "It could be that the approaching full moon is affecting you, as well. We, werewolves, find it hard to control our baser instincts and moods the closer we get to the full moon."

Hermione thought back to one month ago when she set her plan in motion and how she had used that exact knowledge to her advantage then. Now the same loss of control would persuade her actions for the next nine. "I know."

"Well, all I can do is encourage you to speak with him. Honestly. Who knows? Maybe he feels the same?"

The day of the full moon, Hermione walked in the warm rain with Sari. Both noted the pack was restless as ever as moonrise approached. Most the males leered at her as if she were a tasty morsel as she walked among them, but they still parted as she made her way through the crowd. It made her wrap her arms around her middle as she pushed through the throng of leers and lewd comments.

Sari barked at the men to stay back and hurried Hermione through the pack's Elders.

From her brief time there, Hermione learned that smaller clusters existed within the large pack. There was a group who mended and tended to the pack's clothes, a group made of the quick and the strong who hunted (the Elders, Sari called them), a group that minded the pack's youngest and most vulnerable members, and an inner Council that reported directly to Malfoy.

Each group had unique dynamics, but they had one thing in common: all deferred to the most senior or strongest member within their cluster. That distinction, she learned, was not one and the same. For example, Sari was the most junior werewolf within Malfoy's council, but she was the strongest, so the Council deferred to her in Malfoy's absence. That made Hermione respect and admire the sixteen-year-old even more.

And so, Hermione learned about pack life from Sari, who belonged on the Council along with Greyson - the outisder werewolf from before, and from the Healer Clara, who belonged to the cluster who minded the pack's young.

Hermione floated between them all, ever curious.

Each group tolerated her presence, complete with a quill and journal, if she stayed on the outside and did not interfere. It was torture for her not to ask why the pack did this or that a certain way, or to offer a remedy she thought would be useful, but she was not pack. And to insert herself in such a way would upset the delicate balance Malfoy had set in motion. So she would keep her mouth shut and observe as she moved among them for the better part of a month.

The rain continued throughout afternoon. And like the pack, Hermione was just as restless as she played a game of catch with an eight-year-old werewolf, named Zachary. He was bitten by Fenrir when he was six and ostracized from his wizarding family because of it. But children were resilient, Hermione had learned. Zachary was quickly coming to see the pack as his new family and Malfoy as a big brother.

"They say you and Alpha are having a baby?" Zachary threw a ball at her, which she missed. Sports in general had not been her strong suit as she bent to pick up the ball. A light wave of nausea struck her as she righted, but it passed after a moment.

Hermione nodded, allowing the warm rain and fresh air to clear the bout of nausea. "We are." Several, in fact, she thought to herself, as she tossed the ball back to the boy.

He caught it easily, his senses far sharper at eight, than hers at almost-nineteen. "Are you a werewolf, too?"

Hermione shook her head, as wet locks clung to her neck. "I'm a witch. Unfortunately, werewolves cannot carry and birth a baby. I'm here to help Alpha." She had also learned it was best to refer to Malfoy as Alpha among the pack. She called him by his surname only when around Clara and Sari, who seemed to accept that she knew their Alpha before he became one of them.

"So, Alpha is mated to a witch?" He threw the ball back to which she missed, again.

Sighing, she deflected for the moment, "It's quite complicated, Zachary. How about you find Clara and get your things together for the shift?"

He seemed to like that idea and ran off. "Okay. Bye!" he shouted back to her.

There were all getting ready by now. Items were brought inside their tents, and mated pairs openly celebrated their love by vigorously coupling in the middle of the rain storm. She averted her eyes although the rest did not; she would be lying if she did not admit that the blantant coupling affected her.

Her knickers were constantly wet these days as she walked among the gratitous moans of pleasure back to Malfoy's tent alone. Pausing for a moment, she rolled her shoulders to ease the growing tension, letting fat drops of warm rain splash on her face. There was a dark moment when she wished it was someone else drenching her skin with another kind of warmth…

Hermione's heart raced as she opened her eyes, halting the daydream. Looking up at Malfoy's tent illuminated from a fire within, she grew anxious and excited as she climbed over the tree roots that surrounded the dwelling she called home for the past four weeks. Was he back?

She pushed passed the cloth barrier with bated breath, nervous, yet excited to see Malfoy bare back and shoulders. But he was cursing, and must have pulled at his hair from the tousled pale locks hanging askew.

"Is something the matter?" Hermione asked as he turned and pierced her with a sharp look.

"I leave for a bit and come back to everything smelling like you. Your scent is everywhere," he sneered to the litter of items strewn about his tent.

She looked around the modest tent, outfitted with her books, change of clothes, and miscellaneous items. "I can move to another, if you'd like." She walked closer to him as the rain outside increased in intensity. She hadn't seen him in days and was about to not see him again for another two. Her heart stuttered at the small window of opportunity as she bit her lip in anticipation.

Malfoy exhaled harshly through his nose, no doubt inhaling her arousal. "The full moon's tonight," he grated the obvious, to which she nodded her head.

She was unsure how to read him. He was anxious, eyes shifting here and there, and seemed to avoid looking at her.

Was he going to dart out now? Would he say more than two words before then? Did he know how he was making her feel?

She remained quiet, not sure what to say.

Silver eyes flashing, he stalked towards her. "Get on your knees," he grated the order as he unbuttoned his britches.

Merlin, if she didn't want to drop to the ground just then! Her body responded on its own accord to the authority in his voice, as her cunt quivered with eagerness. Down in the valley, mated pairs were giving into their baser desires before moonrise. Would he do the same with her?

But she remained standing, stubbornness and habit made her rebel. "Why?" It took effort, but she managed to lift her chin. Why was it a struggle to resist him?

Anger poured from him in waves. Fists opened and closed as he warred against something. She thought for a harrowing moment he might strike her as he lifted a hand, but instead placed it on her bare shoulder, still slick from the rain. He applied pressure until it hurt and she had no choice but to kneel. "Get on your knees, witch."

With his free hand, he lowered one side of his britches and pulled out his now growing erection. Hermione's eyes widened at the sight of it. Looking up, she hoped against hope that he would take her again as he worked himself with the palm of his hand.

Hermione bit her lip as she drank him in: the pink, taunt flesh of his cock, and higher to sculpted abs, and higher still to steely silver eyes that never left hers as he slid his hand up and down the length of his thick shaft. His eyes began to bleed from silver to yellow as the pace increased. Moisture gathered at the tip, and she instinctually licked her lip. Her womb clenched at the thought. Somewhere above her, he groaned as the hand at her shoulder squeezed harder into her flesh.

"Can I?" she asked breathlessly, sitting up to move closer to the cock she had dreamed about for the past few weeks. The same cock she had begged for in front of his pack, that had stretched and filled her so beautifully glistened red from strain. Her mouth watered for a small taste.

His hand stilled from pleasuring himself before lifting to slide along her jaw, her neck before roughly grabbing the curls at the base of her neck. He pulled her head closer until the organ ran against her nose and cheek.

Taking the cue, she turned her head and dropped her lower jaw to take the large, pulsing organ into her heat of her mouth. The hand at the back of her neck clenched her curls tighter as she licked and sampled him before relaxing her jaw. She had never done with a man before, but like the know-it-all she proclaimed to be, she sought to be exceptional for him. Sliding her tongue along the underside, she swallowed him down until the tip pushed against her throat. She was surprised to feel fluids run down her thighs at his groan of approval.

He growled above her and she took it as a signal to proceed. Malfoy was still angry with her, and was not gentle as he pushed and pulled her head back and forth along his cock. But strangely, his anger excited her. He effectively used her for his pleasure as she sucked and hollowed her cheeks, experimenting with twists and licks until she found all the ways he liked his cock to be sucked. A constant influx of fluid in her knickers indicated she liked it just as much he did.

As her jaw numbed, she found freedom to take him in further as he effectively fucked her throat. But after two passes, he abruptly pulled his cock from her slack mouth. She blinked, temporarily confused, as hot spurts of his seed hit her face, shoulder, and dribbled down her neck. He squeezed every drop of cum over her shocked face, as she struggled to comprehend what has just happened.

Why did he stop?

He still held her head as he emptied himself across her lips, her chin, and neck. Warm trails of his essence dribbled into her hair and down her neck. Some fell onto her bottom lip, and she brought a finger to catch some. She was about to push the finger into her mouth for a taste when his hand stilled hers.

Lowering to his knee, wide, amber eyes met piercing yellows. Taking a generous helping of his essence, he began to smear it across her face, down her neck, and across her bare shoulders.

"So you'll be safe," he said by way of explanation as he spread his seed over her bare skin.

But she was not satisfied.

When he was done, she took his hand and slowly brought it to her mouth. Staring at yellow eyes that shone with desperation, she took a digit into her mouth and orally demonstrated what she wanted to do before he had halted her movements before. She closed her eyes at the taste. He tasted sweet to her as she ran her tongue across the length of his palm. She wanted more.

So much more.

She licked her way to the veins on the inside of his wrist. She could just hear a wild and jumbled heartbeat in her ears (or was that her own?) before Malfoy warned on a growl.

"Don't push me, Granger."

Looking up, she saw Malfoy struggling to take in breath as he towered over her, showing himself the stronger of the two.

She rubbed his hand against her cheek, unknowingly submitting before him. "It's benefits us both, Malfoy." She turned to face him as she nuzzled his jizz-covered hand. "No one has to know." Brazenly in lust, she took his other hand and lowered it to the junction between her legs; he needed no additional prompting to cup her sex.

His thumb massaged the apex between her thighs as if he owned it already, as she shifted to increase the friction she so desperately sought.

Her eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy, as she moved against his hand, needing more. "Please," she whispered, as instinct overran rationality. This was not about conception. This was satisfying pure need as her blood boiled passed the tipping point.

He nuzzled against her neck now covered in his seed. She could tell he wanted to sample, but was hesitant to lick or kiss his essence off her skin. Warm breath fanned across her heated skin, making her shiver against him as he continued to massage her through the cloth barrier.

"If I take you again, I will mark you. You'll stay here. Permanently," he breathed into her curls. Finally, his fingers battled away the annoying fabric and roughly pushed into her tight heat.

"Ahh!" she pushed against his hand as he twisted and withdrew two digits, expertly teasing and pushing against her walls. She drew her knees together to hold him inside.

"Do you understand me, witch?" He grated into her neck as his erection bobbed to life against her stomach. "I will claim this tight cunt for my own. Will your Order like that?"

His words struggled to pierce her fog-addled brain, because all she could think of was how good she felt, how her skin burned with fever, and how much she wanted him to fuck her.

"Is that what you want?" he hissed, pulling away from her neck as if it pained him.

The wolf's blood was strong and she had been too-long without, but Malfoy was trying to give her an out, she realized. His hands pulled out of her knickers, drenched in her arousal. Reversing his earlier actions, he lifted the wet digits to his face and smeared the clear fluid over his cheeks, scar and chest.

He wanted her scent to remain on him as well, it seemed. When he was done, he licked her cream off his fingers with broad strokes of his tongue; his eyes bore into hers the entire time.

Her breath was wild at the innuendo. Maybe he wasn't angry with her after all? Maybe he was just as frustrated as she was?

"Give me your answer after the full moon." He pushed to his feet, and left her on her knees.

Moonrise had come and with it, came howls of pain and misery as the pack shifted in the valley below. Hours later the howls had subsided, but within Malfoy's tent, Hermione paced in indecision. She had been shaking from desire when Malfoy left her on her knees to join his pack for the shift. Two hours later, the desire had still not abated.

These feelings were dangerous as she tried to dissect this uncharted territory. She thought she'd prepared for every contingent when she put this plan in motion. She could handle nine months of confinement if it meant securing a victory for their side. She could handle nausea, uncomfortable-ness, and yes, even labor if it meant defeating Voldemort.

But this? This was something else entirely as she mentally battled for rationality. Pacing back and forth in Malfoy's tent did little to help matters.

Making a decision, she grabbed her wand and quickly left the safety of the tent for fresh air and a fresh perspective. Maybe she could find her way to the river again?

Taking deep breaths as she walked in the night air, she sought to cool the flames of longing Malfoy had left in his wake. Malfoy said he would mark her, claim her, mate her if they were intimate again and that would not do. They had an arrangement that included physical intimacy with the goal of conception, and what she would give him in nine months' time. That arrangement did not include a lifetime commitment.

She rolled her shoulders to ease the tension again, as her wand tapped against her thigh. So, she needed a thorough shag? It was just a by-product of the wolf's blood. She supposed she could tolerate it for nine months, though something whispered that each successive month might be worst that the last.

But there was no time to answer as a growl interrupted her thoughts, followed quickly by another. Two large wolves, with piercing blue eyes, stepped out from the undergrowth. The growls intensified from warning to foreboding as they stalked towards her, their stances prepped for the hunt and a kill.

Even though she stood still, made no sign of dominance, they continued to advance upon her. Shit.

At six weeks pregnant, with Malfoy's seed all over her face and shoulders, it did nothing to stem the werewolves' advance towards her. Cursing at the situation, Hermione lifted her wand, prepared to defend herself, but all she could think of was how screwed she was.

Chapter Text

There were precious seconds for Hermione to scan avenues available to her.

If she ran, the wolves, now breaking formation to surround her, would catch her handily and kill her. If she fought, she risked being scratched or worst, bitten. And if she were infected, the pregnancy would be lost along with Malfoy's alliance. The Order's defeat would be assured. Malfoy would probably kill her in anger, as well.

She had faced high-stakes before, but this suddenly became more than her immediate safety. There was one moment to regret her reckless decision to leave the safety of the tent. This was about the lives of her friends, and future Muggle-borns who deserved an equal spot in their world regardless of birth. It was about Sari, Clara and Zachary being welcomed back into the Wizarding world, because it belonged to them, too. And finally, it was also about three fluttering heartbeats who, until their birth, depended on her for their continued growth and survival. Her regret morphed into a fierce determination.

Senses focused, she watched as one wolf, covered in a dusty gray fur, stalked closer to her left flank. Its ears lowered, primed for an attack.

Holding her breath, she prayed she was quick enough. She wordlessly fired the Incarcerous ensnaring the wolf closest to her in thick ropes. But the movement left her right side exposed to its partner waiting in the wings.

She spun away as the unbound wolf leapt at her; dizziness made her movements lethargic. The wolf barely missed her as its hide collided with arm, the force strong enough to send her crashing to the ground. Sweaty palms gripped her wand, her lifeline, as she thought through spells that could stop a werewolf.

The wolf she had bound now broke free from his binds, and the one that missed her swiftly turned around ready to finish her off. Ferocious jaws bared, the wolf went for her leg as she fired the spell she prayed was potent enough to penetrate the wolf's thick hide.

"Diffindo", she shouted from the ground as an inky jet of light struck the wolf's neck.

Thick heaps of scorching blood spilled onto her legs as the wolf's head separated cleanly from its body. The trunk, now headless, fell lifelessly to its side.

Instantenously, agonizing howl went up behind her, as Hermione whipped around to find the now-free wolf howling the moon above. "No, no, no, no," she whispered her litany, disheartened because one did not have to be a wolf to recognize that call. It was a call of mourning, and a cry for help. The deceased wolf's blood coated her arms as she pushed the large head from her leg, mindful of its open jaws. Hermione stood to bloody feet hoping to dispatch the wolf who called for aid.

But it was too late.

Like calls from its kin answered in kind all around her. They echoed off the trees, drowning out all other creatures of the night. They were coming and they would kill her.

Her breath raced as the ground shook from the pack's impending entrance. She swung wildly to the right, to the left. Which way would they come from? Would they attack from behind? She spun in a circle, waiting for the pack's entrance.

She stood over the headless body of the defeated wolf, proof of her skill in combat, ready to defend herself as best she could. Quickly, she swung her wand towards the wolf who called for aid. Piercing blue eyes met determined amber eyes as she squared with the one opponent she could see, for now. The wolf growled menacingly, lowered its ears, before charging at her straight on.

Dropping to a crouch to make herself a small target, Hermione fired several slashing spells at the wolf, hoping to slow its charge. They landed as nicks and cuts, but did little to slow its advance, as the wolf charged out of anger.

Lifting an arm to cast the charm for Fiendfyre as a desperate last resort, she was seconds from killing them all when a lean wolf knocked into the side of the attacking wolf. Lowering her wand arm, she couldn't tell who had come to her salvation. The wolf was lean, fair in color, but possessed sharp amber eyes. The wolf couldn't have been Malfoy - his eyes were yellow. The incoming inertia of her savior was enough to send the wolves tumbling to the ground, entangled, as the pack slowly emerged from the shadows. Endless pairs of glowing eyes focused solely on her, as they growled, snouts bared with their collective anger.

She had killed one of their own. She was torn at whether she should fire at them because she did not want to hurt them. They were protecting one of their own. But she was, too, in a way.

Several wolves closed in on her from behind, cutting off any room for escape, as the two wolves wrestled for dominance meters from where she stood. Others hedged closer, licking their snouts as they inhaled her utter fear.

And then, silver fur entered her peripheral. Wand still raised, she glanced down to take in the large wolf who stood as tall as her waist, and knew without doubt that this was Malfoy in wolf form. His silver fur reflected the bright moonlight, so that his fur glistened as if accented with drops of dew. He swung his head towards her, as she instinctually lowered to one knee and then the other. She recognized the piercing yellow eyes; the scar that ran across his cheekbone and brow, was also present in his wolf form.

Now on both knees before the wolf, she hesitated to lower her wand, unsure if Malfoy would attack her as his pack wanted to. She was partially covered in his pack's blood and Malfoy would not retain any of his human faculties.

The wolf growled lowly as she lowered along the ground. She was not going to touch the wolf Malfoy, but that did not stop him from touching her. His nose, large and wet pushed into her curls, huffing and seeking out her scent before lowering along her shoulders, her waist and lower to the junction between her thighs.

Malfoy growled at the blood of his kin that covered her legs as she slowly pulled them in until she lay in a fetal position. She closed her eyes and prayed he would not bite her, or worse. Malfoy returned his wet nose between her legs, pressing in as if searching for something. He cleared his nostrils with what sounded like a grunt as his nose pressed into her middle. Swallowing nervously, Hermione waited for death or an impending infection, until a broad lick of tongue swiped at her middle, followed by another, then another long swipe on her bare arm.

Malfoy growled fiercely in warning above her. That had her opening her eyes, but she found he was not growling at her. The silver wolf moved until his heavy frame covered hers and openly growled to his pack which had closed in around them.

His pack did not like that he had denied them a kill and openly barked and growled their anger. Their Alpha protected what they saw as a meal to be devoured, a threat to their pack. Scooting back until she was safely under Malfoy's belly, Hermione pressed herself to the earthen floor as Malfoy snapped at those who tried to advance. As his growls grew in warning and intensity, the circle that had been closing upon them, halted, then slowly backed away. Though the pack was not happy, they would obey their Alpha.

A pathetic whine drew Malfoy and the rest of the pack's attention to the fight that had come to a conclusion. Peeking through Malfoy's shaggy silver fur, Hermione saw the lean, fair wolf throw down the wolf that had attacked her. The fair wolf was wounded and bleeding in several places, but padded over to Malfoy obediently after disposing of Hermione's attacker. The defeated wolf did not move as it lay on the floor.

Malfoy licked the smaller wolf's wounds, and turned his attention to his pack. Throwing his head back, he howled once, long and fearsome, before the pack had no choice but to throw back their heads and howl with him in agreement. Hermione curiously wondered what had happened? Even though she was not pack, she could feel the shift in the air.

Then unexpectedly, Malfoy collapsed on top of her. His great belly of warmth and fur flattened her to the ground with a shocked gasp. Darkness and fur surrounded her as she pushed against his weight. She shimmied and pulled against the ground until her head was free. She wiggled an arm free, followed by the other that held her wand.

She stilled her movements after Malfoy swung his head around to growl in warning at her escape attempt. She pushed against the silver fur that effectively held her lower middle and legs captive. "You're smashing me," she stared into yellow eyes, hoping against hope for recognition, but knew it was pointless. The rational man was buried beneath the wolf, and the wolf would not budge.

Effectively stuck, Hermione had no choice but to lay back against the dirt floor. Throwing a hand across her eyes, she complained beneath her breath, "I should have never left that tent."

Malfoy would not move his great weight off of her through the night or the following morning, though he successfully kept the others from curiously approaching the lone human in their midst. She was not surprised that Malfoy and his pack did not shift back to their human forms as the sun rose. Technically the full moon would not wane for another day and night, even though it could not be seen during the day. Unfortunately for her, that meant she was literally stuck with a pack of vicious werewolves for the interim. For someone who was naturally curious and restless by nature, that meant utter boredom. Hermione drank water from her wand, and picked at the scraps leftover from the kills the other wolves brought Malfoy.

Amazed, Hermione watched as other wolves attended to Malfoy's biological needs while lazed on top of her. He had been a spoilt prince at school, and was still somewhat spoilt now.

By time the sun reached the middle of the sky, she was bored out of her mind and frightened of limb loss. Every so often she would wiggle her toes into the softest fur imaginable to keep blood circulating. Malfoy would swing around and snap at the annoyance, to which she immediately ceased. As time passed, the pack reverted to business as usual, as Malfoy had effectively claimed her as off-limits. Hermione could only guess that her savior, the wolf that had dispatched her would-be attacker, was Sari. The fair-haired wolf lay with her mate a few meters away, but often trotted forward to show deference to Malfoy.

Over Malfoy's large body, Hermione could make out that her attacker had not been killed, but was severely injured. He (or she) spent most of the morning licking their wounds and recovering far away from Malfoy, who lay in the middle of them all.

All around, his pack wrestled with each other, content to run and snip at each other's heels. It was fairly easy to discern the mated pairs, who lay intertwined together, from the younger werewolves, almost puppies in comparison to Malfoy, who jumped and pulled at their exhausted, older counterparts. More than two hundred or so wolves surrounded them as the pack frolicked and played.

The gravity of what she had been rescued from weighed heavily, as she watched them interact with each other. She had not meant to cause a disruption among them, but was rapidly beginning to feel like the 'other' among the pack. And no matter how upset Malfoy would be with her, if she stayed, she would always be the lone human among a pack a werewolves. A temptation, a distraction, an outsider.

At some point during the afternoon, Malfoy sat up and released her from his self-imposed captivity. He stood to all fours, and stretched as she rolled to her side, her legs tingling from non-movement. Malfoy stalked around her, but remained close.

He came to a stop by her bloody legs. She looked up to meet his yellow gaze as the wolf lowered his head to begin licking the dried blood from her skin. With broad strokes of his tongue, he cleaned the bit of blood from her legs, then her arms, before moving to lick the side of her face.

"Ugh, Malfoy!" she leaned away as he licked her hair. Her curls were bushy, full of twigs, and now full of wolf saliva as Malfoy attempted to groom her. "Enough," she hissed.

He grunted back at her, and continued anyway. When he was satisfied that she was clean enough for her, he stalked around her, before settling down, his warm back to her side.

Unable to help herself, she pulled in close to Malfoy's soft fur. Being close to him assured her safety. Laying her wet head on his back; she rose and fell with each breath he took. "I suppose it won't make it a difference, seeing as you won't remember," she whispered into his fur, "but I should thank you for last night."

But the soft statement was loud enough for the silver wolf to turn an ear followed by his head. She stared into his yellow eyes, hoping for a spark of acknowledgement, though she would find none. The man might run away from her, but the wolf, however, gave her its complete attention. "That was reckless of me," she began.

The wolf grunted through its snout, as if in agreement.

A corner of her mouth lifted with reluctance. "I'll give you that."

Another lick to her face.

"Stop it, Malfoy. You may accidently scratch me with your teeth."

The wolf ceased its licking, and moved its wet nose down her shirt front, before nuzzling her middle.

"Can you understand me?" She asked from over its head as it inhaled against her middle. The wolf did nothing to indicate a response.

"Of course, you can't," she answered herself, as she pushed away the head softly. "Stop that, it tickles," she said with a chuckle, as the wolf continued to lick her stomach. he yelped excitedly against her middle.

"I know," she responded, taken aback at the wolf's curiosity and excitement at his scent on her person. "Thank Merlin, you had the foresight to foresee my recklessness."

As he hovered nearby, she reached a hand out hesitantly to touch the scar that ran along his brow down and the underside of his snout. Malfoy stilled as she placed a soft hand on the scar, but he allowed her to stroke the scar and caress the skin of his scruff.

He continued to allow her to touch him for a few minutes until he turned away. Hermione settled comfortably on his back. Absently, her fingers played with the silver fur as her eyes grew heavy.

"Why can't the real Malfoy be as pliable as you?" she wondered aloud; drowsiness made her words slur.

Her sleep patterns were horribly confused as she felt herself sliding into slumber mid-afternoon. But there was little else to do to pass the time besides to draw in the dirt. Malfoy the wolf would not let her venture any further from his person, not that she wanted to after last night.

So, lulled by the rise and fall of his great chest, Hermione fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

A hum of magic and agonizing howls tore Hermione from a dreamless sleep. Bleary eyes opened just as the pack's curse ended, starting the monthly cycle anew.

Her companion for the past two nights had rolled away, whimpering in pain as the cursed magic took root. Entirely helpless, she could only watch as silver fur from the wolf Malfoy peeled back to reveal blood and muscle underneath. Hermione grew nauseous at the sight of so much blood.

Malfoy howled a mangled scream from a throat, unseen, as viscous fluid fell in thick globs on the ground. Spurts of the fluid flew in every direction as tissue and bone snapped and re-formed; with her proximity, some landed on her. It was hot and thick to the touch. The howls morphed into painful cries of pure agony as Malfoy and his pack shifted in front of her.

This multiplied the harrowing events she had witnessed in third-year.

Her mouth froze in silent shock as she witnessed a werewolf's painful transformation. It was not seamless, it was not quick, but it was unforgettable. Handfuls of fur shed from the wolf's form as new skin stitched itself over reshaped muscle. Malfoy collapsed from standing on four legs, as his paws shifted back to a man's arms and legs.

Minutes passed as she watched the man re-form itself; remnants of the silver wolf he had been littered the ground. By time it was over, her shirtfront was covered in sticky clear fluid, bits of blood, and other bodily fluids as the curse released them all into their human forms.

She sat on the ground amidst them. They were unaware of her presence, which was fine, because she was too shocked to move. The building nausea became too much as she leaned forward and expelled the contents of her stomach onto the forest floor. She retched until there was no more, and hastily wiped her mouth with the back of her arm.

She moaned in disgust, before she was hastily pulled to her feet by the back of her shirt.

Stark naked, and unashamed, Malfoy glared at her as he held the back of her shirt. The transformation left him covered in fluids, as if he had been dunked in river. He exhaled harshly through his nose as he pushed wet, blond locks from his face.

"What are you doing here?" he grated, his voice rough from non-use.

Gritting her teeth against the backlash that was sure to come, Hermione wrestled Malfoy's hand from her shirt and replied once her feet hit the ground, "I left the tent…"

"What?!" he roared, the intensity rising.

"I know!" she tried to equally give back to him, but was uneasy from the nausea. Between gulps of air, she explained, "I know, alright. There was an incident, but you found me. It was sort of difficult to leave after that."

Malfoy's eyes raked down the length of her body. "Are you hurt?"

She would have shaken her head in the negative, but nausea had her doubling over again. Hands on her knees, she retched over the top of her feet as Malfoy left her to it.

A cry from behind the pair interrupted the fothcoming scolding.

"No!" someone screamed.

"Laina is dead," a wail sounded behind her.

There were more whimpers and cries as the werewolves mourned the decapitated wolf who had not shifted back with the rest of them.

Hermione straightened again, as pairs of leery and accusing eyes settled on her.

"It was her!" a voice, decidedly male, accused. The accusation had Malfoy throwing her behind him.

The werewolf she recognized as Greyson, reformed with new scars across his face and chest, approached his Alpha pointing at the lone human among them. "I recognize the severing spell. She is the only one who could have cast it."

Malfoy snarled in warning to Greyson, who wisely kept his distance, "And she did that you your face, as well?"

Greyson did not answer, as heated eyes settled on Hermione. "You killed our kin!" Shifting his gaze back to his Alpha, he spat, "You know the rules!"

"I make the rules!" Malfoy shouted as his pack shuffled back in fear at the power behind his words. Even Hermione hesitated, though she remained behind his shoulder as Malfoy defended her to his pack.

Disgusted, Greyson stalked back and forth in front of them. "You would defend some mere human who killed our kin?" he sneered looking around at their pack for support. Some nodded in agreement with him.

Malfoy did not miss those who agreed. He rolled his shoulders in agitation. "I would defend the woman who carries my children. Our future," he reminded them all.

"She doesn't belong here," Greyson growled, though he would not look Malfoy in the eye. He would not challenge his Alpha openly.

Malfoy looked over his shoulder with a look she could not read. If he was displeased with her actions, she could not tell. "She carries the future of this pack and is under my protection," he spoke directly to her. Turning, he lifted his voice then so that all could hear. "Hear me well, I will not hesitate to kill anyone who seeks to harm her. In this matter, I, alone, will deal with her. Do not make the mistake that Laina did, or you will deal with me afterwards. Do I make myself clear?"

Slowly, they nodded in submission. They quietly picked up the body of their fallen pack member to bury its remains. One-by-one, they retreated into the forest until only Hermione and Malfoy remained.

Hair rose along her neck as Malfoy turned from his pack's exit to pierce her with a deadly look. There were no words that could make this right, as she rubbed sweaty palms on her skirts, but she would try anyway.

But Malfoy interrupted before she could start her apology, his anger directed solely at her. "You. Could have been KILLED!" he roared as he stalked towards her. If she hadn't been pregnant, he would have killed her, she was sure. He regarded her with that much contempt.

Armed with that knowledge, she stood her ground before the irate werewolf and looked him square in the eye. "I know. I'm sorry."

His eyes narrowed at the challenge, "I don't think you do, you bloody ignorant witch!"

Hermione defiantly lowered her chin. "Calling me names will not change a thing."

But Malfoy would not be moved by her stubbornness. He may have looked like a drowned, blond dog, but the man radiated magic and power that stilled the forest around them. He grabbed her upperarms, struggling not to shake her. "You could have been bitten, if not outright killed, and the pregnancy would have been lost!" He squeezed until she whimpered in pain. "If you had been bitten, as your Alpha, I would had you killed. Do you know what you've done!? You killed Laina. She was Greyson's lover! By rights, you should be his to kill." He released her just as quickly as he had grabbed her.

Hermione swallowed, uncomfortable with the strife she had unknowingly caused as she rubbed her arm. "I didn't know. I'm sorry," she repeated the apology with true remorse. She had killed during the war, but in her mind, killing Death Eaters or Snatchers was justified. Now, she had taken an innocent life because of a careless mistake on her part. Tears welled in her eyes. "I feel awful, you have to know that."

He spat in disgust as he stalked around her, "You don't get it! Your bloody books don't mention shite about werewolf life, or rights, or the hierarchy I've carefully instilled. And then you fuck nearly everything up by disobeying my order."

Hermione tracked his movements about her person, the distinct feeling that she was prey to his predator. "You said yourself, I am not pack," she reminded him. "You cannot presume to order me."

"Would you rather I let Greyson have you, then? If it weren't for the fact that you carry my blood, he would. Do you understand what I'm saying, witch?"

Both fumed at the divide, too sharp and wide, between them. He was a werewolf and she was not. He was a man, a stranger, when she desperately craved a friend. Hermione shook her head at the challenges that strained this arrangement. Admittedly, she gave that she was not accustomed to his rules and their way of life, though she was learning. But still, "What more do you want from me?" she asked, exasperated. "I've already apologized. Yes, it was incredibly reckless, but you've kept me bound in that tent for too long. I needed some air, some space. And when I was attacked unprovoked, I acted accordingly," she finished, firmly standing by her actions. "I told you, I would protect this pregnancy to the best of my ability. But it's become increasingly clear that this arrangement is dangerous for us all. I should leave." Greyson was right, she did not belong there with them.

His eyes darkened, but she continued, "Let me return to the Order. Some space would be beneficial to us both. You can smooth things over with your pack. I can inform the Order of our alliance, so we can properly prepare."

Malfoy stepped closer and snarled down at her, "No."

But stubbornly, Hermione continued with her logic, "It's apparent we shouldn't be around the other during the full moon. I'm doing much better thanks to Clara…"

"No," he persisted.

Huffing, "This is best for everyone involved. I can come back before the delivery."

"I said, NO!" he hissed, his silver eyes slowly bled to yellow.

"Why?" she threw her hands up in frustration. "Give me one reason."

"You carry my blood," he answered quickly.

Dirty curls bounced against her cheeks as she shook her head. "You need to do better, Malfoy."

"There is nothing more important than that. I can't assure your safety, their safety, if you are away from me."

"Then come with me," she offered, before she could think on it.

Malfoy reared back as if the offer offended him. He remained silent as he considered, before slowly responding, "I cannot leave my pack for an elongated amount of time. I'm required to be back for the full moon."

"Sari says you leave to treat with other packs often," she argued. "Think of it as the same. You'll be treating with a different type of pack to further our shared goals. Your wolf will be at peace, if you need to physcially guarantee my safety. Not that I couldn't on my own, mind you." Briefly, she wondered how the Order would react to them returning with news of their alliance, but the option of seeing her friends again was enough to make her bloom with hope.

Her thoughts scattered as Malfoy lifted a hand to entangle fingers in her hair. He tugged on her hair until she was forced to bare her neck to him. "You want to see this 'Ron'?" he sneered, the beginnings of growl fanned across her neck as he licked the rapidly pulsating vein her neck presented.

Hermione quickly sought to temper the flame of jealously before it could grow. "My pack," she explained to the trees above, as she was unable to see his face. "There are others who are waiting for me. They want to make sure I am safe." His nose pressed into the crook of her neck as a memory unabashed came back to her.

"I should have said this earlier, but thank you," she whispered. His hold slackened on her hair, though he did not release it. However, it gave her the leeway to lower her eyes until she could meet his. "You, and Sari, I'm guessing, saved me that first night of the full moon. You were correct to mark me with your scent," she whispered as his nose traced its way up her neck and into her hair. "Your wolf recognized me because of it, and kept me safe from the others until you shifted back. I might have been killed or bitten, otherwise."

Malfoy pulled back from her hair, which was surely ripe with the need to be washed. But he seemed to not mind the smell he found there. "And have you thought about what else I said to you that night?"

Her throat went dry. She had.

Swallowing, she carefully replied, "It's was the wolf's blood, and the lead-up of the full moon that brought on the onslaught of emotions. I apologize for my actions, and any confusion they may have brought," she replied evenly, as his brows lowered in confusion. Even though her heart raced, she continued, "Our alliance is predicated upon a shared investment. That is it. That's all it ever can be," she finished, a breath away from his lips.

His eyes bled back to their normal silver, as he moved a step back from her; ice settled where his warmth had been. "Fine," he scoffed. "I will accompany you on your trip to the Order. To protect our shared investment."

He turned and marched to his tent, she wagered, as Hermione followed just as determined, a few steps behind.

Chapter Text

Malfoy would not let Hermione Apparate, after Clara cleared her to travel, but cautioned on the mode of travel. Travelling by Floo was recommend for her condition.

Hermione did not join Malfoy when he informed his pack of his travel plans. He left Sari in charge and quickly came to collect her once he had finished.

Malfoy carried only his wand in his chest holster and a shoulder satchel. She carried her beaded bag full of potions and books as the two made their way through the Forbidden Forest to the ruins of Hogwarts. They wagered its Floo network was still accessible and active.

As they traversed the forest, she couldn't help but admire the way he moved through the forest's expansive tree roots, valleys, and dark shadows. Though he was barefoot, the various rocks and branches that would have stung her feet did not impede his quiet steps. She wouldn't have known that he was there if her eyes weren't upon him. After an hour's journey, she realized that he moved slow for her benefit so that she would not fall behind.

For the better part of their journey, the rustle of animals who scattered out of their way, the hooves from a pack of cenataurs, and the gentle September wind kept them company.

"Do you venture back to Hogwarts often?" she asked, no longer standing the strained silence between them.

He answered without turning, "Only when we need to stock up on potions ingredients or supplies."

"I haven't been back since May," she admitted, tightening her hold on the straps of her shoulder bag.

"The wards have weakened since the battle. I fear it is only a matter of time before someone comes along and takes back the school."

She jogged a few steps to walk alongside him. "Do you remember anyone else from school, from our year?" She ventured a sideways glance to see his physical response to her query.

Malfoy visibly stiffened at the question, but kept his pace.

Hermione continued at his silence, "You seem to remember Harry."

"This entire island has heard of the great-but-now-dead Harry Potter. Fenrir knew of his importance to the Dark Lord."

She pressed, "And you seem to recall specific traits about me from our school days. Is there anyone else?"

"Does it matter?" He cut scathing silver eyes to her.

Not that she would be deterred. "Just trying to make conversation, Malfoy."

"Conversation, I could do without."

Hermione sighed, "It's important to know who we're about to meet, don't you think? A few of the Order stays with Fleur and Bill Weasley at Shell Cottage. I'm sure Ron and Ginny Weasley will be there." Again, she watched him for signs of recognition.

His frown deepened at her mention of the youngest male Weasley. Something inside her sparked with the flickers of hope. "Do you remember them?"

"You mean the one you've sent messages to via translucent otter?"

"They're called Patronuses. And yes, Ron and Ginny Weasley. Do you remember them?"

The frown morphed into a scowl. "Are you blathering on for my benefit or your own? This was your bloody idea. Why in Merlin's name are you nervous about returning to your friends?"

She wasn't nervous per se and told him as much. "I'm concerned about their well-being, and in general, what's going outside this forest. It's been only a month and I already feel cut off from everything. Besides they need to learn of this alliance. It changes our strategy, and gives us the necessary time to plan."

Malfoy chuckled low in his throat. "Your heartrate is accelerating, I can hear it from here. You're nervous."

Hermione glared at his shoulder, but said nothing. Lying her way out of this would prove useless, not when her physiological response gave her away.

Malfoy smirked down at her. "Why are you nervous?"

"I've fought Death Eaters and a bloody snake," Hermione huffed in response.

"That was an adversary. It's easier to face down an adversary. But your so-called friends? You're worried about the judgement they'll pass on you for conceiving with a werewolf," Malfoy read her like an open book.

"That is not it," she said between clenched teeth, though Malfoy was not far off. She did not care about others thinking less of her because she was pregnant again. No, she was worried about her friends' reactions to whom she had agreed to conceive with, along with the agreement she and Malfoy had reached. The Weasleys were already angry with her at their perceived betrayal of her sleeping with Harry. And now, less than three months after his death she was pregnant again – and this time she would hand the children over willingly. She did not expect everyone to agree with her logic, but she knew the backlash that awaited once this got out among the Order.

"So, your friends will be happy then?"

She ran a hand through her curls as they broke through the forest's tree line and emerged at the foot of the castle. "Some may be upset, some may not agree with it. But in the end, if they want this war to end, they will respect my decision."

"Are you saying that to me, or to convince yourself?" he asked as they walked by Hagrid's former hut.

But she would have no response to that.

The last time she had Apparated to the grounds of Hogwarts', it had been under the cover of darkness and she had forced herself not look upon the school-turned-battlefield. But as they walked up to the castle's gates as the sun began to set, she had no choice but to take in the ruins of her childhood home.

The wards, full of ancient magic, had been corrupted during the battle in May. There was no Headmaster to restore its protective enchantments, and without it, the castle rapidly began to show its age. The stones had aged into gothic ruin.

It was so very different than the Hogwarts of her dream.

She prayed she could see it returned to its former glory in her lifetime. The pair of former students, now a battle-weary solider and werewolf, made their way through the courtyard until they made their way inside. Eerie silence followed them; even wildlife chose to avoid the silent castle that stood as an mausoleum of sorts.

Automatically, her feet set her on a familiar path across rubble and chipped stone. She tried not to look at the blackened stone that indicated spellfire or spilt blood; they littered the walls and floor. Once they reached their destination, Malfoy pushed a large boulder that blocked the ceiling-high doors. Once a pathway had been cleared, she eagerly hopped over the pile of rocks and took stock of what once had been a grand sight to behold.

Now it was a grand sight for an entirely different reason.

She gasped as she took in the physical disarray that perfectly represented her current world, "This used to be where I came for solace, for answers, for everything…" she trailed off. "And now, it's been destroyed."

Within Hogwarts' grand library, thousands of books had been strewn about, as if someone had raided its shelves for its secrets. The books' spines had been broken, blank parchment and empty bottles of ink had been thrown about. Half of the stacks were blasted over or charred from spellfire. She did not remember the battle touching this part of the castle, but she could not be certain. There had been other matters to attend to that night.

"We studied theories and composed essays here, don't you remember?" She said on a watery smile as she imagined the library during its heyday. She lost track of Malfoy as she gave into her reverie, but he answered from behind, never far from her.

He sounded just as far away as she. "Your point being?"

She turned to face him then, as the restored library from her dream faded back to ruin. "You do, don't you?"

He stared at his feet, growling in warning.

"It's alright if you don't." She turned, continuing her walk among the toppled shelves. She imagined Madam Pince somewhere out there in permanent distress at the thought of her once-immaculate library torn to shreds – that is, if she was still alive. She entered what used to be the restricted section. "I read before that the mind can shut out certain events, if it proves too traumatic. It's a defense mechanism to ensure survival under great periods of stress. I don't blame you…"

"I don't need your pity!" he abruptly interrupted her as he stalked ahead.

"It's not pity, Malfoy," she called to his back, as he set about warding a clearing among the tattered books. "It's called sympathy. I don't know all you went through with Fenrir, but I understand what it means to survive." Because there were things she shut out, too to ensure her mental survival. She had to because it was too painful to deal with it all now. And while it wasn't the healthiest way to deal with everything, it kept her attention focused to the here and now. To the immediate.

To her agreement with him.

She took a deep breath, swallowing the emotion that sat just beneath the surface. Recently (she blamed the influx of progesterone coursing through her veins), she found it harder to hold the swirling tide of emotions in check. But Malfoy would not respond to her, so they settled down in the library as night settled over the castle.

After dinner, Hermione took out a jar from her beaded bag and lit a bluebell flame strong enough to provide light through the night. She didn't need the flame for heat; she was quite warm as the chill of Fall crept through the castle, but the flames provided a sense of comfort and peace as it cackled within its glass confines.

A few feet away from her, Malfoy sat on his hunches, queerly turning at the pages of a discarded book. He frowned at it as if it was foreign to him, but she could read the intrigue etched onto his brows as he turned the pages. Settling down, she lay on her side facing him, with one hand curled under her head.

Compelled, she called to him again, "I'm truly sorry for the other night … during the full moon."

He froze his page-turning and swung his chin over his shoulder. The move was symbolic since he could hear her perfectly from where he was.

She sighed and closed her eyes, as the horrible turn of events replayed in her mind's eye. "I've killed before, but not someone who hadn't truly deserved it. And Laina did not deserve it," she admitted, re-opening her eyes to find Malfoy turned completely towards her.

"No," he replied quietly. "She didn't." He stood from his crouch and began a slow walk towards her. He crossed the distance between them quickly before lowering in front of her. His pale hair hung free and covered his scar like a curtain as he dipped his head to her. "But I understand."

She looked up at him, as hot tears pooled in her eyes. She whispered the fears she hid from the world to the him and destroyed books around them, "I realized how close I came to losing a pregnancy, again. And all I could think about was how that couldn't happen. I couldn't let it happen. Not again." She was quickly taken back to a dark time when she and Harry were on the run.

"You may be stubborn and reckless as bloody hell, but I do not blame you," Malfoy admission brought her back to the present.

She hid beneath the hand that covered her eyes, thought it did not stop the tears from leaking through tight fingers. "I blame myself enough already." She cried then, hard and all-consuming. She cried at the guilt for losing one pregnancy, the last link she had to a friend no longer living, and for the innocent life she had taken in place of her and their children.

She could not stop the sobs that shook her frame as she allowed one moment for emotion to consume her. Through hiccoughs and sobs, a quiet, but strong tenor broke into song:

"An old, grey-maned King am I,

Barking gruff orders under Orion's sky

And, beneath my throne of dew and stone

My people, all sinew and bone,

Flashing fangs and eyes of smoldering coals,

Haunched on brawny hinds they do attend me.

Ah, my soul is gnarled, like gnarled the tree

I nightly choose for blessed sleep;

Aye, the Hunt has tired me-

The time is come- can you not hear the howling?

The Hunt is called again...

this time without me."

The tears had receded by time Malfoy had finished his song. She sniffed and wiped the remaining tears away as the song came to a close. Malfoy had a beautiful singing voice, she longed to tell him. But she did not want to anger him further and gratefully took the solace he offered.

He sat down beside her and though she knew he would not sleep, she took comfort from his closeness. She inhaled his scent long and deep, pushing the ugliness that had temporarily escaped somewhere else for the night.

"Sleep, Granger. We'll find and activate the Floo tomorrow."

Completely drained, yet at ease, she readily complied.

Chapter Text

Quietly, Draco stepped out of the fireplace into a tidy parlor room that carried the remnants of a breakfast already eaten. He did not know what awaited them at Shell Cottage that morning, hence why he insisted on arriving first. This was unfamiliar territory as he pulled his wand from his chest holster.

"Hello?" Granger called as she stepped out the fireplace behind him. She quickly vanished the soot that covered her arms and hair. Inhaling, Draco caught three distinct smells he did not recognize. Instincts demanded he be on guard. Outside of Granger's familiar jasmine scent, two were decidedly female and floral in nature, and the other was …

Draco growled, and caught Granger's elbow the same time a tall, red-headed wizard rounded the corner. A cursed scar he would recognize anywhere sliced across the man's face. It left the distinct odor of Fenrir on the man. Draco growled at the wizard in warning as he pulled Granger closer to him.

Wisely, the wizard slowed his entry into room. "Whoa, there," he eased, his eyes firmly on Draco.

"Bill!" Granger called with obvious relief. "It's so good to see you."

Bill kept his eyes on Draco, as he responded to the witch, "Too bad your friend there can't say the same."

A light touch on his arm drew Draco's focus from the man across the room to the witch carrying his pups. She had grabbed his forearm. "Malfoy. It's just Bill."

"He smells of Fenrir," he growled to her.

She nodded and gripped his lower arm, firmly applying pressure in effort to calm the wolf within. But she did not understand, he would never relax until he was back and safe back among his kin, with her preferably beside him.

It was Bill who replied, "Yeah, Fenrir did this." He indicated to the scar across his face. "And I heard you killed him. I guess I should thank you." Draco nodded his head at the man, but did not let go of Granger's elbow. Bill continued, "Hermione, maybe you should stay close to him, you know? Just until he warms up a bit."

"Oh, alright," Granger replied. She looked at Draco as if asking for permission. "I'm going to give him a hug. Is that alright?" His wolf hated the idea, but he gruffly consented.

Slowly, he released the elbow he had been squeezing and let her cross the room to hug the older man. Draco noted she purposefully left space around her middle and smirked at the sight. Even unconsciously she was protecting their pups. His pups.

The wizard, Bill, called to others elsewhere in the house, and before he knew it, a set of feet came running down the stairs and another from the kitchen. He easily recognized the other magical creature, the part-Veela, as the blonde witch warmly embraced Granger. The witch herself was swollen with child as Hermione stared in shock at the witch's growing middle.

"Fleur, I didn't know," Hermione began after they parted. "Congratulations!"

"Merci, Hermione. We found out ourselves a bit after the battle in May."

"Not exactly the way we wanted to start our family, but hey, when is the timing ever perfect?" Bill joked as he pulled his wife under his shoulder. He dropped a kiss to Fleur's head.

Draco caught Granger's unsure gaze as she briefly met his eyes. He smirked until the set of feet that had been upstairs joined them.

He hissed as the last to join finally entered the room. The witch, with lax blonde curls, visibly jumped. Her eyes were immediately drawn to him. She froze, on the tips of her trainers, unsure whether to prepare for a fight or to run.

"Lavender?" The shock was clear in Granger's voice as she moved to embrace the witch. Trapped in Granger's embrace, Lavendar Brown wasn't running anywhere soon. "I hadn't heard anything in months, I thought…"

"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up, yet," Lavender sullenly joked, though she kept her eyes trained on the other werewolf in the room. "I'm still here."

"She's a werewolf," Draco announced, though he suspected everyone in the room already knew. Lavender blanched at the declaration, even if she knew it herself.

"Yeah, and so what?" Lavender snipped back.

Bill explained, "There was a mission before the battle in May. Lavender and other Phoenixes were captured by Doholov in Romania."

Lavender picked up the tale, "The sick bastard keeps a werewolf locked in his dungeons. Thought it was fun to see which of us would survive the full moon with a feral werewolf."

"Oh my God, Lavender. I'm so sorry that happened to you," Granger gasped. Her eyes watered with emotion that easily overcame her these days.

"Five of us went into that cell that night, only one came out," Lavender finished in a dull monotone. "Bastard turned me into one, and kept me there for months. The Order rescued me just last month." She sneered to her former classmate, and the Alpha werewolf across the room, "Why is he here?"

Granger looked back to Draco, before replying, "We need to contact Minerva and Kingsley immediately. I have information that can turn the tide in our favor."

The rest of the day was spent trying to contact Minerva McGonagall or Kinglsey Shacklebolt. As current leaders of the Order of the Phoenix, both were extremely hard to track down. Draco watched as they moved around him, ignoring his presence. Fleur prepared the house for guests, while Bill and Hermione continued calling various safe houses at the fireplace. That left Draco and Lavender out on the back porch facing the shore. Neither one could stand being cooped up indoors, for similar and yet, different reasons.

The salty breeze felt good against his heated skin. Draco crossed his arms and stared at the shoreline, waiting for the werewolf beside him to speak first. It was only a matter of time before she did; he was rarely wrong when it came to these sorts of things.

He did not have to wait long.

"Hermione loop you into something, Malfoy? I can't imagine you'd be here otherwise."

He did not respond.

The blonde werewolf continued, "I heard about what happened to you. How the Dark Lord gave you to Fenrir as punishment, how you killed him and took over his pack as your own." She shook her head with a dark chuckle. "Gods, two years. It must've been lonely not having a connection to the real world. Merlin knows I nearly lost my mind in the months I was cooped up in that hell-hole."

Finally, he interrupted the one-way conversation with a bored drawl, "Don't presume to equate my experiences with yours. You'll not find pity here."

She gave a feral grin as she turned to face him fully, mirroring his stance and crossed arms. "Ooh, you've changed. Guess you would have to take control of such a large pack?"

Draco slid a weary gaze from the shoreline to the werewolf beside him. He was no longer naïve to the ways of his kin. Often on his travels to other packs, he found an ample amount of willing females who offered themselves to him. They were drawn to the status and power he commanded. Biology commanded females to breed with the strongest male available, even if they could not conceive and reproduce. And whether she was fully aware or not, the new werewolf was beholden to the same laws.

Draco turned back to the shoreline and sighed, "You're young, so I'll grant you your ignorance."

She blanched at the slight, "Excuse me?"

His eyes narrowed as he clipped, "Not interested." In fact, he hadn't been interested in any female for almost two months now if he thought about it.

"You're not mated. I would have smelled her on you," she stated pointedly. Her bluntness would be considered rude among others, but among his kin, it was the norm.

"No, I'm not. And yet, I'm still not interested," he dismissed her advance, but he wouldn't be an Alpha if he did not extend the offer he gave to others like her – exiled from others like herself. "There is much you can learn about our way of life, you know. Much more than what you would find here among witches and wizards. I know you feel the call to pack during the full moon." He watched as her eyes widened. Of course she did. "After our business here concludes, you're welcome to come back with me. Meet others like yourself. If you don't like it, you're free to leave." He winked at her, which caused her to blush. "I promise we won't bite."

She laughed, unsure at the joke. "Yeah, and where's home for you now?"

Unconsciously, he glanced through the kitchen window inside to where Granger was, but answered smoothly, "Hidden within the Forbidden Forest outside of Hogwarts."

Lavender bit her lip in thought, but he could smell her anticipation. "Hmm. I'll think about it."

"See that you do."

Draco did not join them as the occupants of Shell Cottage sat down to dinner at the kitchen table. The entire concept was unusual and brought back whispers of a time long forgotten. He grew awkward with the unfamiliar and it only served to paint a stark picture of how different he was from them now. He was used to hunting his meal, and eating it alone in his tent. He looked at the plate Fleur had prepared for him as he, again, sat on the back porch, the light of the half-moon above.

He caught her scent before the back door even opened and instantly turned as Granger emerged from the entrance, a plate in hand. She sat down beside him in the empty chair and placed her plate in her lap.

"It's so stuffy in there," she gave by way of explanation before she tucked into her meal. He smirked as she ravenously tore into the meal; at least she was on her way to gaining an healthy amount of weight.

"Have you taken your potion?" he asked, observing her eat. He liked observing her at odd times, he noticed. Like when she ate, or wrote in her journal, or slept in his bed.

She nodded, her mouth full of food. After swallowing she replied, "Clara gave me enough to last the month. It should be easy enough to brew an additional batch, especially since Fleur is also expecting. She's due in January and is also taking a similar potion. I can easily brew my own from her stores."

"You mean to stay until then?"

Granger sighed, clearly weary from the day and what was to come. He could see the exhaustion around her eyes. "Let's take it one day at a time, okay?" she replied instead. "We finally got in touch with Minerva. She's going to join us after dinner."

"You need to rest. It can wait until morning," Draco grunted at her stubbornness.

"I will rest after we've finished," she insisted. "And besides, I don't know if she'll be here come morning. No, it's best we tell her now." Hermione picked her scone apart.

"You're nervous," he smirked at her fidgeting.

Hermione quickly shook her head as she lifted her plate from her lap and placed it to the side. Leaning forward between her knees, she emptied the contents of her stomach as nausea called unexpectedly.

Something in his heart constricted at the sound of her retching her dinner all over the floor. Lifting from his chair, he moved to gather the curls she valiantly tried to keep from mixing with the bile. He held the voluminous curls in one hand and rubbed soothing circles on her back until the she swallowed shaky gulps of air. While she vanished the mess, he handed her a glass of water to which she took gratefully.

"Have you been able to keep down anything today?" he asked as he lowered to his haunches before, concern in his eyes.

Granger rubbed the heel of her hand into tired eyes. "I had some soup and toast earlier for lunch, some fruit before that."

He frowned, "That isn't enough. Clara says you should be eating more."

She snarled. "You try keeping down solids when your stomach shakes like a leaf," she spat, though he did not garner the frustration was directed at him.

Draco stood then. "I can ask the Veela. Maybe she knows of a potion."

The witch quickly leapt to her feet. "Not yet," she implored. "Besides I'm almost nine weeks, the worst of it should be passing soon. I can manage."

But that was not acceptable for him. "You're to take in proper nutrients, Granger. You can't expect to continue this way for nearly another month."

"I will be fine," she assured him as she stood from her seat as well. She attempted a half smile, "Concerned about our shared investment, are you?"

He frowned, upset that she so nonchalantly saw this as a means to an end, as something immaterial, when it was so much more to him. It was the only link he had to a family he could call his own, to his blood. "No, I'm concerned about our children," he growled before stalking back to the patio door. "Your guest has arrived," he announced to her as he walked back inside the house. He left her puzzled and frowning, but it wasn't long before she re-joined the small party that gathered by the fireplace in the parlor room.

Granger was a shade paler from her earlier bout of nausea, but none seemed to notice. Lavendar quirked a brow at her, before swinging her gaze curiously over to him. He did not meet it.

"Minerva, I'm so glad you could make it," Hermione greeted Minerva as the witch dusted herself off from the fireplace. "Is Kingsley available?"

The older witch pursed her lips as she regarded her former student. "He's in Romania treating with a contingent of neutral wizards. Now, what is this information you so urgently need to discuss? And why did you disappear for over a month without telling a soul where you went? We thought you were captured or worse, until Mr. Weasley conveyed to us your Patronus."

Draco watched as Granger reverted to a solider reporting to her commanding officer. "That's what I need to tell you. I've found a way to change the tide back to our favor." Except, she was literally the key to the weapon that would turn the tide.

Bill and Fleur Weasley eyed her with interest as the room waited.

"Go on," Minerva bade her, over the rim of her spectacles.

Granger indicated to Draco, and he moved to stand behind her. "I left back in August to treat with Malfoy."

"And just how was it, you weren't killed on sight?" Bill asked, intrigued.

Hermione pressed on as she spoke to the room, "As you can see, I wasn't. But most importantly, I was able to secure Malfoy's pack of werewolves to our side. They will join us in battle. He has at least one hundred and seventy-five able- bodied werewolves who can fight."

Minerva gawked at her former student. "And however did you manage to secure such assistance?"

Bill took note of Draco's closeness behind Hermione, his general closeness to her person throughout the afternoon. "He's mated you?" he guessed, fairly certain.

Granger shook her head at the statement. "The terms of our agreement is private, but suffice to say, it will be enough," she assured the room.

Bill shook his head. "I've worked with magical creatures before, Hermione, forgive me if I say if Malfoy's word won't be enough."

"What do you know about werewolves, Weasley?" Draco sneered from above Granger's shoulder.

"I know they only look out for their own," he responded in kind, before replying directly to Granger, "And if you two aren't mated, then Malfoy has little incentive to join our cause. Sorry, Hermione, but you can't trust him."

"Bill…" Granger pleaded, clearly not comfortable with giving much away.

"I'm afraid, Ms. Granger, that Bill is correct," Minerva agreed beside her former pupil. "We had considered treating with the werewolf pack near Hogwarts, but truth is, there is little that binds their cause to our own."

Growling at their suspicion, Malfoy grabbed the slack of Granger's baggy shirt into a tight ball at the small of her back. The resulting tightening of the shirt, framed the minor, but noticeable bulge Granger had been trying to conceal throughout the day. Malfoy smirked wickedly as various gasps sounded in the room. They knew what the small, but tell-tale bump meant. He sneered to the room, "Is this enough proof for you lot?"

"Hermione?!" Fleur raised a hand to her mouth, though none could tell if it were in genuine shock or sadness. Perhaps it was both.

"I knew there was a reason you smelled different," Lavendar sneered. "I just didn't know what it was at the time."

Granger closed her eyes for purchase before re-opening them about the room. Determined, she pulled the shirt free from his grasp and concealed the bump once more, thought it did not stop his hand from skirting under the fabric and around her thickening waist.

Granger countered, before they could interject with their opinions, "I knew there was little the Order could say or do that would convince Malfoy to join us. This was my decision that I, alone, made with Malfoy. And as such, I am guaranteed his allegiance as long as the pregnancy remains viable."

Aghast, Minerva asked, "You understand this means you'll be barred from fighting on the front line? One of our best fighters," she huffed to Bill and the room, "sidelined."

"I understand that, Minerva. I do," Hermione affirmed. "But I determined the benefits outweighed the costs, and that is a concession I am willing to make. But in the long run, this increases the probability of a victory," she spoke to the room. "I couldn't let the opportunity pass. Not when we're steadily losing members."

"Have you really weighed the costs, Hermione? The true costs?" Bill asked, bewildered at the lengths the witch would travel for the Order. "Others will find out about this," he insisted. "My brother and sister …"

Hermione swallowed, but held her ground. "Then they will find out! It's my decision, and it has nothing to do with them." She looked to Minerva, and asked quickly, "How many on our side have we lost since Harry fell?"

She thought for a moment, and then answered, "Nearly twenty."

Hermione nodded. "This gives us back more than enough. And how many are estimated to be on you-know-who's side?"

However, it was Malfoy who surprised them all by answering, "Around two hundred and fifty," he recounted to room. "I've been treating with my kin across the island," he spoke to their stunned silence. "You are not the only one to have completed reconnaissance on the Dark Lord."

Minerva nodded in the affirmative. "Mr. Malfoy is correct. Your werewolves would put us at an advantage for sure." She turned to the former Gryffindor and took a hold of both of Granger's hands. "I know it's too little, too late to ask, but are you sure about this? Pregnancy during such a time can be difficult." She nodded to Weasleys present. "We've kept Fleur safe, but even she can tell you the perils you will face to keep not only yourself, but the babe, safe."

Granger smiled, but did not move to the correct the older witch. She had more than one babe to keep safe. "Thank you, Professor," Granger affectionately addressed the woman by her title, though she no longer held the position. "But yes, I'm sure. I can keep myself safe until the delivery."

Minerva sighed and straightened once more. She was visibly uneasy with the decision, but it was too late to reverse course now. "Well, I shall inform the rest of the Order, then. I'll try to keep the details of your… arrangement with Mr. Malfoy quiet, but these things have a tendency to get out, you know?" she gave as forewarning. Minerva squared her bespectacled gaze solely on Draco. "I won't lecture you, as you both well over the age of consent, but you will keep her safe, Mr. Malfoy," she ordered.

Draco caught eyes with Granger as his fingers spread across her middle. Both knew the order wasn't at all necessary.

Chapter Text

"Good morning, 'ermione. I brought you some tea, with extra ginger, for the nausea," Fleur announced as she entered the room and set the tray on a table beside the bed. It was almost mid-morning from the angle of the sun outside the window. Choosing to skip breakfast in order to rest, Hermione cherished sleeping on a mattress in the small room. It had been too long since she had slept in a real bed.

"Thanks, Fleur," Hermione yawned her gratitude as she lifted to a sitting position. "I know it's a side effect of the pregnancy, but even I didn't think it'd be this bad," she referenced the rolling nausea that seemed to ebb and flow at all times of the day.

Fleur checked to make sure Hermione's room was properly stocked. "It could be a reaction to the potions you are taking?" she guessed.

"Healer's orders," Hermione grimaced as she unstoppered the daily regimen of potions lined on the nightstand the night before.

Fleur bit her lip to keep from frowning as she watched Hermione swallow one bottle followed by another. "Malfoy slept outside last night, but he came back inside after breakfast. He is downstairs waiting to see you."

Hermione nodded, as she waited for the prerequisite morning sickness to roll through her stomach. She nibbled on the scone beside the pre-offered tea. "Hmm. He isn't much of an indoor person," she said after a bit.

Fleur walked to the door, closed it, before returning to sit at the edge of Hermione's bed. "I don't presume to know you that well, but I must ask. Why would you undertake such a risky endeavor?"

Hermione peered at the French witch unsure, and hedged, "Risky because it's him, or because of what I'm doing?"

"I do not presume to know Malfoy as well as you do, but I know magical creatures," Fleur said with warning. "They are possessive, 'ermione. You must always be aware of the wolf within the man. I guarantee you Malfoy is."

"We have an understanding," Hermione explained, though she knew how close she'd come to the wolf within. She'd almost gave into it herself once.

"The wolf within will not care about 'your understanding', as you say. You carry 'is pups, 'e will see you as permanently 'is, if 'e doesn't already."

Hermione swallowed, though unsure, she felt secure in her logic. "There were times I felt the lines had blurred. The longer I stayed, the more difficult it became. It's one of the reasons I suggested we come here. If we were to put space between us, then it will sort itself out, I'm sure. I'll see to it personally that it does." She sighed, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Besides, I understand Malfoy's concern about the pregnancy. They are his children, but some distance between us both will put things in better perspective." Especially for her, she thought to herself.

Fleur frowned, as she placed a hand on her own swollen middle. "They are your children, too. Does that mean nothing?"

Hermione took in the mother-to-be, a picture of calm, poised with an unnatural glow. How could Fleur be so calm in the midst of war? The Veela was about to bring a child into a world with little light. What was so joyful about that?

Nothing about the circumstances surrounding Hermione's pregnancy was right, so it seemed fitting that the circumstances around the birth be untraditional as well. "My situation and yours are vastly different, Fleur. You and Bill are married, and …" she trailed off as emotion, powerful and swift, stifled her words. Sharp images of possibilities, of another time hit her. Maybe in another life she could have had what Fleur and Bill had? Maybe she would have given birth to Harry's child by now, and things would have been different?

Hermione rubbed her eyes, refusing to let the emotion win again. Gods, these hormones were getting wildly out of control. "But things are different." Different, now that was a loaded word if there ever was one. "By this time next year, when this war is over, maybe then I will have what you and Bill have. But I need to get there first. We have to get there first." And this pregnancy was her assurance.

Hermione rose from the bed to don her dressing robe, as she sipped her tea.

"I do not see our situations as so vastly different," Fleur replied from the bed. "Yes, we will bear children in a challenging time. But after our bodies break to bring them into this world, we will pick up our wands and go off to fight for them, for their safety and their future. And it is what Bill, and Malfoy, and Molly, and Arthur understand more than any other. That it is not about ourselves, 'ermione. It is about something much more selfless than that." Fleur pushed off the bed with a little difficultly. "It is getting harder to keep my balance these days," she teased to the younger witch as she stood to leave.

Hermione couldn't help but ask as Fleur reached for the doorknob. "Are you sacred?" It wasn't often Gryffindors admitted fear, but the question on the tip of her tongue rushed forward as the Veela made for the exit.

Fleur did not ask for clarification, immediately aware of what Hermione referred to. "Terrified," she admitted easily. "But also, excited, and anxious, and so wonderfully overwhelmed."

Hermione rose a brow to the witch as if she were mad. That made absolutely no sense at all.

Fleur chuckled at the witch's expression, and offered rather unhelpfully, "You will see. When you are ready, please see to Malfoy downstairs. 'e is getting rather restless."

Hermione sipped her tea, before walking to the wardrobe, about to do a very girly thing.

Vanity had been lost during her time on the run, and it felt like ages since she gave herself a proper once over in a mirror. As she took in her reflection, she noticed there was a healthy pallor to her cheeks. Her eyes still carried the weight of war, but nothing drastically had changed. She certainly did not have Fleur's permanent glow. It was hard to tell if she had gained any weight (probably because she regurgitated every other meal), but all in all, she looked fit.

She opened her robe and lifted her nightshift, turning slightly in the mirror.

A bulge protruded slightly above her pelvis. It was more noticeable than the day before, she realized. Timidly, she lifted a hand to touch it. It was firm to the touch. Visual and physical confirmation made it more real somehow as she pressed two hands to her expanding middle. She realized with undeniable certainty that three separate and new lives were forming and growing within her. She quickly pulled on the hem of her shirt and swallowed the emotion that began to creep-in from the edges.

Even if she would not consciously admit it, her carefully structured compartmentalization had begun to crack.

By time Hermione came down the stairs, she found Lavender and Malfoy waiting in the parlor room.

"Well, well, I have to admit it, Hermione. You've got guts," Lavender admitted as Malfoy approached.

The werewolf did not look like he had slept, as he lowered his head to the crook of her neck and shoulder. He inhaled her scent as his hand ghosted across your middle. "Have you eaten yet?"

Hermione was very aware of Lavender's eyes on she and Malfoy, as she hesitantly replied in a low tone, "Yes, Fleur brought me something this morning." She lowered Malfoy's hand from her middle, understanding his need for physical contact, but not at all comfortable in the presence of others. Surprisingly, Malfoy allowed her to move his hand. "I'm fine. But, I need to go outside for a moment."

As expected, he followed as she left the small cottage and took a sharp turn up an embankment of sandy dunes. Lavender also followed, but stayed further back as Hermione made the requisite journey. It became something of a ritual whenever she visited Shell Cottage.

The Order had left the decision of Harry's final resting place to she and Ron. Though they had been at odds with one another, it was something they readily agreed to. It would have been dangerous to inter Harry at Godric's Hollow beside his parents, as Voldemort's forces had taken control of the Wizarding village. So, they easily settled upon Shell Cottage in the sandy dunes beside the free elf, Dobby.

Hermione had made it her solemn vow to return Harry to rest beside his parents once this war was over. But for now, she stood before the small headstone she and Ron created. She lowered her head in memory, as she re-affirmed her dedication to this fight. She prayed for forgiveness, illogical as it was. She grieved for the losses they had suffered while on the run, and for not being able to save him that night in the forest.

All the while, Malfoy stood in her peripheral. He gave her the space she needed while she grieved privately for her friend. Even if Malfoy couldn't properly remember everything from their past, he sensed the space she desired.

"It's funny. This is the first place you'd come after abandoning us for nearly two months," the acerbic retort drew Hermione from her reverie.

The remaining member of the Golden Trio hadn't changed since she saw him last. Ron Weasley's shaggy red hair had now grown to the tips of his shoulders. The mirth that used to be present in his sky-blue eyes was long gone.

War had a way of snatching the innocence from them all.

Hermione turned to Ron as he made his way up the embankment, flanked by his younger sister, Ginny. The younger witch wore a permanent scowl whenever they crossed paths, but the disgust was even more evident today. What should have been a lovely Autumn morning deteriorated as tension and old wounds festered between them.

Word apparently spread quicker than Heremione thought.

Forging onward to get this over with, Hermione greeted them both with obvious strain, "It's good to see you, too, Ron. Ginny."

"How dare you stand there at his grave?!" Ginny accused, cutting past the pleasantries. She pushed past Ron, unable to hold it in any longer. "After what you've done…"

Hermione squared her shoulders for the insults to come. "I know it's difficult to fathom, but I've done this for you, too," she tried to begin with logic.

Ginny seethed, the ire marking its way from her neck to her cheeks. "Oh, that's a laugh! You've whored yourself out to Malfoy for me? Going to slag it up with a Death Eater next?"

"I'd watch what you'd say," Hermione warned with a frown, annoyed at Ginny's dense way of thinking. She turned to Ron who remained uncharacteristically quiet. "And I suppose you feel the same?" she sought his input, unsure if it would be supportive, or in line with his sister.

"How would Harry feel if he was here right now?"

The question struck her into silence.

Ginny nodded beside him in agreement, as Ron continued, "I'm imagine he'd be right pissed that his friend, his lover," he spat the term. "… snuck off in the middle of the night to offer herself to the one he hated the most."

"That isn't fair, nor accurate. How could you say that? Harry isn't here, Ronald."

"And for once, I'm glad he isn't!" Ron shouted, his temper finally spilling over. "He'd probably feel betrayed that his former best friend is having a baby by a man he hates. That the girl he loved enough to make a child with, ran off to a friggen werewolf…"

"Harry and I weren't in love!" she shouted for the thousandth time for all the world to hear. Sometime after the Battle of Hogwarts, rumors started to swirl among the Order that she and Harry have been in love, and willingly dismantled the carefully constructed relationships Ginny and Ron thought they were entitled to. Looks of accusation, or disgust, followed behind her after Order meetings. It was easy to brush them off because they simply weren't true and there was a war to be won. She had tried to broach the sensitive topic with Ron, but his family closed rank around him. She had been effectively shunned from the Burrow after that.

"Yeah, well I was!" Ron struck back. "Ginny was waiting for Harry while we were on the run. You both knew that."

She lifted frustrated hands to her head and bit back sharply, "How many times must I say this?" Slow enough for a child to understand, she enunciated each word, "It … only … happened … once. You can't possibly blame me for a mistake that both of us made!"

"Except it's happened again!" Ginny jumped in. "Different man, same whore," she sneered, looking very much like her mother.

There was no hesitation as Hermione reared her hand back. She'd be damned if she let someone insult her for a decision she made. She felt a satisfactory crunch as her knuckles met cheekbone. She grabbed her hand in pain afterward; it had been too long since she struck another physically. "Don't ever call me that again." Anger kept Hermione's wits focused as several things happened at once.

Ginny's wand slid into her hand.

Ron turned a shade of scarlet after she struck his sister.

Hermione plucked her own wand from her sleeve, ready to retaliate, though she did not want to.

Time stood still for a moment, but even that wasn't enough to notice Malfoy catching Ginny from behind. Hermione missed his arrival, but all of a sudden he was there with his arm around Ginny's neck. Caught off guard, Ginny was thrown to the ground, her wand snatched out of her hand.

Malfoy stood over Ginny, growling at the wizard who tried to square off against him. Ron was pissed, but he wasn't stupid as he swung his wand from Hermione to Malfoy.

"Ron, don't," Hermione warned as she watched the two, both on the precipice. Any movement could send them both over.

Ron stared down the length of his arm at his former nemesis. "Give me a reason," he whispered as he twisted his wand, itching to start the duel.

Though Malfoy had Ginny's wand in hand, it would be nothing for him to kill Ron with his bare hands and teeth. Not that Ron wouldn't do grave damage beforehand. No, this would not do, as Hermione sought to de-escalate the situation.

"Ron!" Hermione shouted to get his attention. "Please. Let's discuss this inside like civilized adults."

Ginny snorted from the ground, well aware of the irony in Hermione's statement.

Ron seethed, "I have nothing to say to him." But Ron lowered his wand as his brother and sister-in-law left the cottage to join the fray. "Look at him, he ain't even civilized anymore," he said on a smirk. Ron gave a hand to his sister to help her from the ground.

"My wand?" she threw her chin at Malfoy.

The werewolf sucked his teeth at the confrontational witch, but tossed the wooden stick to her. Together, the Weasley siblings made their way back to the cottage followed by Bill and Fleur. Ron called over his shoulder, "Well, are you coming to talk, or not?"

Hesitating by Harry's grave, Hermione nodded at Malfoy, unwilling to follow Ron and Ginny just yet. "Thank you." She took pride in her capabilities, but even she knew Ginny could throw a mean hex. She appreciated Malfoy coming to her aid and wasn't above showing the werewolf the gratitude he deserved.

Lavender appeared from the rear. The other werewolf had been far enough not to interfere in the scuffle between friends, but was close enough to watch the whole thing unfold. "You know, Ron's never going to forgive you for this," she stated the opinion as if it were fact.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the assumption. "It isn't his forgiveness I seek," she clipped.

"Well, he thinks you owe him something." Lavender wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "No offense, but you were pregnant by his best friend and now, you're pregnant by his enemy."

"Watch your mouth," Malfoy growled to the other werewolf. Lavender smiled, but wisely shut her mouth.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione spoke to Malfoy, though she could not read his eyes. She wished she could. "I don't need his forgiveness, or his approval. I'm not ashamed."

But a violent crack of Apparition next to her interrupted further conversation as Ron suddenly appeared. Clearly agitated from moments before, he grabbed a hold of Hermione's wrist and huffed impatiently, "Let's go."

There had been no time to pull her hand away.

There was a split-second to watch Malfoy's eyes grow wide in alarm, before Hermione was side-alonged away from the dunes and back into the kitchen of Shell Cottage, the pull behind her navel foreboding and jarring.

As soon as they landed, a sharp, stabbing cramp had her doubling over in pain, as Ron deposited them back inside. "Ahhhhhhh!" she groaned as another cramp followed the first.

A terrible, fierce roar had all in the kitchen, save Hermione, looking over their shoulders in fear.

Chapter Text

Very few things that rose to the level of rage for Draco Malfoy. The fateful night he killed Fenrir for the terror the deranged Alpha inflicted upon his pack was the most recent. Since then, other incidents were mere annoyances or irksome; they could be managed without awaking the beast within.

But the moment the ginger-headed wizard disApparated the witch who carried his pups away from his side, something within him snapped, broke, and went irreversibly wrong. One moment she had been standing in front of him and the next, she was gone; and like a branch snapping in two, his psyche fractured.

It was freeing, in some ways, giving into one's most basic urges. Fenrir Greyback had habitually crossed the line and it eventually cost him his life and station. The former Alpha gave into the beast too often, and left little humanity for the man. Draco knew the lines between man and wolf were perpetually blurred, so he tried to manage the two better than Fenrir had.

But the moment his witch disappeared, taken forcibly from his side, he whirled about towards the small cottage and gave a terrible roar. It was then that Draco, the man, descended into darkness, as he gladly gave into his wolf.

He was dimly aware of Lavender beside him, as she shrank away in fear. Even she knew better than to say a word now. Things went 'black' for the man as the wolf appeared.

Draco would not remember much after that, but his ever-sentient wolf would.

Even though her cries of pain were diluted by brick and wood, the sound thundered in sensitive ears. Tracing the faint scent of jasmine faintly mixed with the headiness of his tent, the werewolf leapt down the embankment, and raced toward the door.

The man had tried to be civil as Granger argued with her friends. The wolf had been beaten into submission so she could proceed on her own terms, and look where they had ended up. The wolf would submit no longer. He gave a furious snarl when his witch, again, moaned in pain.

The red-headed wizard had endangered his pups!

With menacing force, he threw his shoulder into the closed front door of the cottage. He threw himself into it once, then twice, before the wood began to splinter. The decorated wooden barrier could not stand against his rage. Yes, he had a wand, but the wolf did not care about magic. Some things were better taken care of with hands and teeth. And at this moment, he wanted to make sure his witch was alright, then he would take care of the rest.

The door gave a final groan before it shattered under his force. He stepped through the small frame, instantly picking up panicked chatter from the kitchen as voices frantically whispered on the best course of action. As if he couldn't perfectly hear them all.

" 'Ermione, look at me. You must breathe," the French Veela implored.

"Ron, I think you should go. Now," her husband whispered to his foolish brother. He was not long for this world, the wolf promised.

"Ron… I think he's right." The red-headed witch's voice held a palpable amount of fear in it. Gone was the overconfident superiority displayed earlier out on the dunes.

And then, he heard it as he advanced upon the kitchen. "Ah … I think I'm okay. It's passing," his witch sought to appease the room.

The rage decreased by a substantial measure at the sound of her voice. She was alright. He trained his ears to latch onto her physical signature, easily separating it from the wildly varying physical output coming from the others. His witch's heartbeat had slowed to a normal tempo, her breathing had righted; and there, he could distinguish three separate heartbeats fluttering like a hummingbird's wings.

He would have sagged in relief, if the wizard who caused all of this hadn't stumbled into view. The Weasley boy was trying to sneak out the kitchen door that led to the back patio when something made him turn in fear.

During the hunt, the prey always caught on at the last moment that they were being stalked, and they always gave the reaction the Weasley boy did now. Unmitigated fear that they were about to square off with a wolf: at stake, their life.

Foolishly, Weasley tried to take him down with a Stunner. Struck in the shoulder, the spell slowed his charge, but it would not stop him as he smirked darkly. A werewolf possessed certain advantages over the average wizard. While in human form, in addition to the heightened senses, lycanthropy afforded his kind protection from extreme elements, and attacks, including spellfire. He wasn't immune from all magic, but where one wizard would fall under one hex, he would stand until taken down by many.

Another hex hit him in the stomach, but adrenaline and fury masked whatever damage the hit could have done. With supreme satisfaction, he grabbed the offending wizard's shirt with bare hands before Weasley could utter his next defense.

He pulled the wizard in-close, and growled, "I hope your affairs are in order."

Multiple voices screamed from behind, as he tore into the wizard. Something stung his back, but he ignored it, watching the wizard try to scurry away in fear as teeth tore into flesh. To his delight, his prey was not about to go down without a fight, as Weasley clawed and scratched at him. His attempts only served as encouragement, as teeth sunk liberally into the base of Weasley's throat. Sensitive flesh caught in his teeth as he inhaled the familiar stench of blood running over his chin and down his neck. He pulled away while Weasley struggled to scream from his damaged throat.

The boy, pale and gasping for air, went limp. He stepped back and let him crumple to the floor.

Moments ticked by as shock and astonishment reigned in the aftermath.

But the wolf was not done yet. Stepping away from the blood pooling on the floor, he quickly turned his focus to his witch. Those who had been attending to her eagerly stepped away not wanting to draw his attention, though the eldest Weasley had to physically restrain his sister.

His witch, like the others, stood in shock at what had just occured. One hand clutched at the counter for purchase; the other fell from her middle. Stunned into inaction, she gave no response as he bent to gingerly scoop her into his arms. Once he turned and left the kitchen, the room sprang into action as they jumped to Weasley's aid.

He ignored them all, as he shifted the witch in his arms for her comfort. She stared at him, aghast. His gaze swept down the length of her until movement behind him made him turn.

The French Veela kept her distance, but insisted from the entryway, "She needs to rest. It would be unwise to travel now." Fleur did not attempt to approach him in such a state. Hastily, the wolf sought other options as he hugged the witch closer to his chest. He needed to get her back to his pack. She and his pups were not safe here.

Fleur continued at his apparent hesitation, "Take the room upstairs. I'll see to it that no one bothers you. Please, she needs to rest."

He growled at her and she backed away, but reluctantly did as she bade. Taking the stairs two at a time, he found the room that carried her scent the strongest.

"Lay down," he said roughly as soon as they entered the room. He placed her on the lone bed. His voice was strained from the adrenaline coursing and waning in his veins.

"I think the worst of it …" she began with trepidation, but he was in no mood for arguments.

Not now.

"I said lay down!" he growled at her overall stubbornness, her insistence to come here in the first place, and her decision to remove herself from the safety of his pack.

She jumped at the intensity behind his demand and quieted, as if she could sense the struggle within. His heart raced, after being brought to the cold edge of a fear he had not felt in years. Shallow breath rushed in and out of his nose as he imagined what could have happened. But she was safe, his pups were safe. Piece-by-piece the wolf began to retreat as the man re-emerged. The dichotomy between the mental shift left Draco's head aching terribly.

"Okay," Granger acquiesced without a fight as she laid down carefully on her side, her eyes wide and trained upon him. Even more paranoid, Draco locked the bedroom door, barring any entry into the room.

Then he doubled back to the bed and climbed in after her. The witch's eyes grew wide in alarm, but she scooted over and granted him entry, still in shock to do much else. The mattress was too small for them both as he quickly molded himself to her. His head hovered above hers as he inhaled her scent for reassurance. His nose burrowed into wild curls. In and out, he took steadying breaths until the wolf was appeased. In turn, his heartrate calmed, and his breathing returned to normal.

If Granger was perturbed by the blood staining his mouth and chin as he pushed his nose into her neck, hair, and shoulder, she did not say anything. She simply let him.

After moments of uncertainty, Draco released a shuddering breath as he again bade her to, "… just lay down."

She lay on the lone pillow the bed offered, as he settled his chin on top of her head. In case she needed verbal confirmation as well, he informed her, "We're returning to the pack as soon as you can travel." His tone left no room for argument as he wrapped a hand around her back, careful of her middle. He gathered her even closer to him.

She faced his chest, and though he could not see her physical response, he felt her sigh of acceptance. Possessively, his hand marked a path from her back to her middle. Fingers tinted with blood caressed the soft skin beneath her shirt.

Feeling her slow nod beneath him, finally, the wolf slept.

"Bill, there is a bag of potions under the sink. Bring it to me," Fleur directed, rushing back into the kitchen. With a deadly calm, she dropped to her knees and worked her wand in complicated patterns over the gushing wound on Ron's neck. They were all used to seeing blood and casualties on the battlefield, but it was unusual to see it displayed so prominently on the floor of a safe house.

Ginny gasped, unable to assist. She lifted two hands to her mouth as she took in her brother lying prone on the kitchen floor. "Is he going to be alright?" she asked behind her fingers.

Fleur took the bag Bill offered and instead of responding to Ginny, called to the lone werewolf across the kitchen. "Lavender, I need your assistance," Fleur's voice shook as she called. The healing spells stemmed the blood flow, but magic could not stop it completely. And there was so much blood already. "When I am done, please administer three drops of the blue potion into the wound, followed by four of the yellow. Then 'e will need a blood replenishing potion. You need to 'elp him to swallow." Fleur took in Ron's pale demeanor as his body shed precious fluid onto her knees and the tiles below.

Lavender frowned, but did as told. She had seen her fair share of death too, and recognized the chilling moment it entered the room. They all did.

Bill comforted his sister as she openly cried while the Veela and the werewolf worked. In tandem, Fleur conducted the healing spell, followed by Lavender with a potion. It took three tries to successfully get Ron to swallow the potion. Ginny sobbed as the potion poured out of the wound instead of being properly swallowed. Still, the witches worked.

" 'E's severed 'is vocal cords, but I 'ave managed to save the artery," Fluer announced as she sat back on her heels, her wand slipping between bloody fingers. " 'e needs rest. We 'ave done all we can do."

Bill stepped forward to assist his pregnant wife from the ground, before turning to levitate his unconscious brother from the floor. After a bit, the witches were left alone in the kitchen. None moved to clean the bloody mess on the floor.

As soon as Bill had levitated Ron away, Ginny turned to them in fury. "He could have killed Ron!"

Fleur wearily sat in a kitchen chair, and simply offered, "And 'e would 'ave been justified. Ron should 'ave known better. It is dangerous to Apparate while pregnant. It is even more dangerous to jeopardize a wolf's pups."

Ginny squeezed the back of a chair, exasperated. "Ron couldn't have possibly known about Apparition and pregnancy. He's been fighting a war, Fleur, not making a baby."

Lavender frowned. "Then what do you suppose we do, Ginny? Turn Malfoy in to Voldemort's Ministry? Kick him out? Though I'm sure the only reason he's still here is because of Hermione. Unless you want to explain to McGonagall and Shacklebolt why we've lost the best thing the Order's seen since Neville raided the McNair's?"

"Oh, believe me," Ginny assured them. "My parents will speak to McGonagall and Shacklebolt about this." She made an sound of frustration. "He's a friggen danger to us all! I can't believe they would so easily agree to this farce of an alliance!" She harrumphed, but would find no sympathy among the two. "You don't agree with me?"

Lavender raised outstretched hands in apology. "I'm sorry Ginny, but did you see how quickly he took Ron down without going down himself?! I'm sorry!" she stressed to the anger that greeted the assessment, but continued in a rush, "I really am, but that was masterful. Imagine if we had that on our side of the battle? You-know-who wouldn't stand a chance. I'm sorry, but this skirmish, as ghoulish as it was, is not worth the Order's alliance."

From her seat at the table, Fleur nodded in agreement. "I am sorry, Ginny, but I also agree. 'e was protecting 'is pups, as Bill would do for me. Probably not to such a degree, but nonetheless, it is all the same. Professor McGonagall would loathe losing Ron, but in the end, she would understand."

Crossing her arms, Lavender whistled lowly, "Shrewd, Fleur. But accurate."

Ginny shook her head at them both. "I'm going to check on my brother."

" 'E will not stay here," Fleur admitted to Lavender, once Ginny had left.

Lavender carefully stepped around the puddle of blood and started a kettle of tea with shaking hands. It wasn't even noon yet, and it had been a hell of a day. She had just witnessed the rage, and the power of an Alpha werewolf. It was terrifying and yet, exhilarating; it left her wanting to know more about the Alpha Malfoy had become. "Not that I blame him."

Fleur wearily rubbed her face, unintentionally depositing Ron's blood on her temple. "No, I mean, if 'e will not stay, then 'ermione will not stay either. I can't see 'ow 'e would permit 'er to leave 'is side now. She admitted earlier this morning that she wanted to stay 'ere, to possibly put space between them."

Lavender set two cups of tea on the table and joined Fleur at the table. "Why does she want to put space between them?"

Fleur sighed. "She feels as if the lines between them are blurred. I think she may have miscalculated the unintended consequences of her plan."

Raising a cup in the air to the witch who slept upstairs with a werewolf, Lavender chuckled, "That's Hermione for you. Ever since first-year, she always thought she had the one-up on everyone. The swot."

Fleur nodded, and lifted from her seat with some difficulty. "I should go check on Ron. If he makes it through the next day, he should be okay … for the most part," she finished, uncertain.

"What about Hermione?" Lavendar asked, indicating to the ceiling. "Will you check on her?"

The French Veela quickly shook her head. "It'd be wise if we left them alone for the moment. Things are precarious as it stands. Non, if something was truly the matter, Malfoy would 'ave collected us by now. 'E will take care of her now."

Chapter Text

There was much ado about Shell Cottage in the aftermath of the one-sided attack. For someone who was naturally curious and generally concerned about a friend, Hermione felt awful that she could do little about the current situation.

She laid on her side of the bed, her back to Malfoy's overheated front, listening to the commotion occurring one floor below. From the raised voices, she gathered several visitors had arrived throughout the day to check on Ron. Hermione herself wanted to visit him as he recovered in the room downstairs, but the hand splayed firmly across her middle would not be persuaded to let her leave. To do so now, given Malfoy's possessive state, would cause even more distress. So impatiently, Hermione lay on the bed to wait because even if she wanted to dash out of Malfoy's arms and down the stairs, she knew it was not wise to do so. Not after everything that had occurred. She had never seen an Alpha werewolf focus his rage as accurately as she had that morning in Fleur's kitchen. Malfoy had been lethally calm, resolute, and quick as he tore into her friend's throat. Any lingering thought that this was the cocky, petulant boy they dealt with in Hogwarts quickly vanished after that.

Further, it was even more unnerving to share a bed with someone who critically maimed her oldest friend. The air between them was tinged with uncertainty. She recoiled from the sight of Ron's blood on his mouth, while Malfoy sought physical contact. She was disgusted, but also stunned, at the length Malfoy went to correct the perceived slight against him.

She filed the moment away for processing as the current torrent of emotion was too raw to handle. Her inner Gryffindor balked at the act as cowardly. Her stomach turned at the thought of someone fighting for his life while she hid away in a room upstairs. The very thought was enough to make her ill. Yet, she concluded it a wise decision as another cramp, though mild, rippled across her womb. Malfoy tightened his intimate, yet possessive hold of her person.

Yes, leaving to visit Ron was out of the question at the moment.

She sighed as her mind worriedly ran through every worse-case scenario that could be occurring downstairs. Despite their recent history, Ron was a friend and Hermione cared about his well-being. She wasn't naïve enough to blame Malfoy entirely for Ron's current state. Ron was at fault, too, but she did not know if the punishment fit the offense. She closed her eyes in vain, as if the childish notion could make the chaos of her self-made situation disappear.

Possessive, but light strokes on her middle brought her back to the very-real present.

Ever since Malfoy had squirreled her away to the upstairs room, he had scarcely left her side. She would leave to make use of the facilities, but meals were taken in the room after being brought by Fleur or Lavender. Days and nights ticked by in similar fashion until she had enough.

Sitting up on the morning of the sixth day, Hermione swung her legs to the side of the bed. The restlessness drove her mad. "It's been nearly a week," she complained. "And the cramping has subsided. I think it's safe to leave the room," she clipped.

Though Malfoy had left the bed, he had not travelled far. "The Veela recommended more rest. You are not beyond miscarriage. And given your history, I will not take any chances," Malfoy replied from his spot by the shut door. For being an 'outdoor person', she took note of his obvious discomfort from being shut in the room.

Malfoy had recently created a pile of stock items by the door, similar to one he had fashioned back in his tent. He had gathered food items and potions in preparation for their departure. "You've taken enough chances already," he muttered as he stuffed items into his satchel, obviously keen for the return journey to the Forbidden Forest.

He had taken to grumbling about her foolishness, and made threats of varying degrees to permanently tie her to his bed until delivery. At first, she had been wracked by fear of the sporadic cramping and Ron's health to focus on the idle threats, but the closer they moved to the full moon, visions of being tied to Malfoy's bed brought reactions varying from dread to sickeningly, anticipation.

Hermione studied his bare back as he worked. Clearly, he was unhappy with their current arrangement as much as she, but he remained by her side, seeing to her needs in his own way. He brought her meals and her potion regimen, but he also barred visitors from seeing her. She wasn't sure if that was for her benefit or theirs.

"Why am I to be punished for others' reactions?" she asked out of the blue. "You can't possibly hold me responsible for how others choose to react," she maintained her defense, though internally admitted it was a weak argument. The Weasleys were prone to tempers, everyone knew this. And coupled with Ron's previously harbored resentment from her tryst with Harry, this pregnancy had been the catalyst to his current predicament. She closed her eyes and again prayed for his swift recovery.

From the look of repugnance Malfoy threw over his shoulder, Hermione gathered he did not agree with her lack of responsibility either.

The werewolf remained silent.

Hermione went in another direction as frustration began to seep through, "So, when do we leave?"

There would be no debating that point. Any leverage she might have had to stay at Shell Cottage the duration of the pregnancy evaporated with Ron's crack of Apparition. There was no way Malfoy would allow her to stay now. Likewise, he would not leave his pack and stay here with her. Since the Order's leadership had signed off on her alliance with Malfoy, she would find little recourse to suit her needs. It was now about winning this war at whatever costs; and to Malfoy's satisfaction, she would spend the next seven months living with his pack in the Forbidden Forest.

"In a few days. That should give us enough time to get back, and for the pack to get acclimated to Brown's presence before the full moon."

Hermione's brows lifted in surprise. "Lavender's coming?"

Malfoy shrugged. "She hasn't said as much, but she will in the end. The call to pack is too strong to ignore," Malfoy stated confidently as he lifted from his crouch beside the door.

Hermione blinked as she digested that piece of information. "Oh, well. I guess that's alright."

Malfoy peered at her strangely. "It was never your decision to make."

Hermione blushed fiercely as Malfoy smirked at her for unknown reasons. "Of course, it wasn't." The two remained silent as discomfort settled between them. Never comfortable with strained silences, Hermione broke first, "Would it be possible to see Ron before I left?"

The smirk fell as ice took hold of his features. "Not today," he said gruffly.

She bit her lip as hands clutched at the bedspread in annoyance. "Despite everything, he is my friend." She struggled to keep her voice even. Now that she knew what Malfoy was capable of in human form, she would tread lightly.

Malfoy scoffed at her, "A friend who endangered your pregnancy. Our children..."

She cut him off at the claim of joint ownership. Even if it was true, she could not bear to hear it aloud. Instead, she offered a strong defense of her friend, "Still, I refuse to believe that he would willingly do such a thing."

"Why?" he asked abruptly as he approached the bed.

"What?" she gave back, aghast by the idea. "He wouldn't have!"

"And you know this, how?" Malfoy pressed as he stroked the bump that was starting to make an appearance through her clothes. The more the small bump grew, the more captivated he became with touching her. Though he did not meet her eyes, his gaze squarely on her stomach, he continued, "You did not have to be a werewolf to sense his feelings of betrayal, and he was angry enough to forcibly remove you from my side. Even a lesser wizard would have treaded carefully."

Hermione shook her head as she stood from the bed, keenly aware of the minimal space between them. Squaring her chin, she looked up at Malfoy determined. "Ron can be hot-tempered, and short-sighted at times, but he would never intentionally cause me to miscarry. He just … wouldn't," she finished simply, though something in the recess of her mind made her pause. War made her paranoid, and the sixth-sense had its uses. Still, Ron wouldn't have, she repeated to herself.

Malfoy regarded at her a bit longer, as if assessing the truth behind her words. He carelessly shrugged as his hand fell away. "Suit yourself. But the answer is no. I can't trust him, or his family, around you," he admitted as his eyes tracked over the length of her person.

He was doing that a lot recently, as if she were made of glass. It annoyed her, but she would be lying if she didn't admit that the heat behind his silver stare made her neck flush. But she was reminded of Ron's current condition and very much doubted he would try anything anytime soon. "What if you escorted me?" she offered.

He ran a hand through his hair, uncharacteristically free from his usual ponytail. The struggle played out across pointed features before he admitted in a whisper, "I wouldn't trust myself."

She had been well-prepared with a counter when the admission made her pause. Malfoy did not share much in the two months they had been dealing with the other. But for him to admit self-doubt spoke volumes to her. Though something within bade her to belabor the point, she retreated, "Okay," she relented. "I won't go to him. For now."

It was exactly one week to October's full moon and the day they were due to return to Malfoy's pack. Waking from a restful sleep, Hermione tracked the rising sun outside the window and exhaled, relishing awaking in a feather bed in a proper bedroom. It would be months before she would see one again. Turning on the pillow, Hermione found Malfoy missing from the room. As she dressed, she grew surprised at the bump that sat low in her pelvis. It had begun to grow steadily in size. She knew she was small-framed, but she had not anticipated magically loosening the waist of her jeans at ten weeks along, and yet she was.

In a loose-fitting sweater and Muggle jeans, she exited the bedroom and tip-toed down the hallway. There, at the foot of the stairs, she could hear Lavender, Malfoy, and Kingsley Shacklebolt in the midst of conversation.

"I know it's your wish to return with Mr. Malfoy to the Forbidden Forest, but are you sure?" Shacklebolt posed the question with sincerity.

"The Order's laying pretty low now," Lavender laid out her case to return with Malfoy, just as he stated she would. "With the majority of the fighting pretty much on pause until Hermione's delivery, I don't see a reason to remain. Besides I'll just be underfoot here."

Shacklebolt did not say anything in return, indicating either his agreement or concern. From her place on the stairs, Hermione could not discern the former Auror's reaction. "Well then, it's agreed. Maintain the Order's report-in schedule with your contact."

"She'll report to me," Malfoy interrupted the wizard. "I'll relay her status, as well as Granger's."

Hermione crept closer to the top stair.

"Yes," Shacklebolt answered with equal frostiness. "See that you keep us informed on the pregnancy, Mr. Malfoy. As I'm sure you know, Hermione's one of our best offensive fighters. We will need her in the battle to come. See that she returns to us unharmed."

Hermione caught the thinly-veiled threat hidden beneath the words.

Malfoy did as well, apparently. "No one will harm her," the werewolf coolly assured the wizard.

The creaking wood of the stairs gave her away. As she descended, Shacklebolt stared at her middle before meeting her eyes, as if to visually confirm the rumor he had heard by now. Subconsciously, she lifted a hand to the sweater-covered bump. "Lavender and I will communicate via Patronus if we need anything, but Malfoy will liaise with the Order in the interim," Hermione agreed.

Shacklebolt nodded as she joined their discussion. "It's good to see you again, Hermione. Minerva filled me in on the alliance you've managed to secure for us. I couldn't make it earlier, and then I heard there was some difficulty following your arrival."

As expected, Malfoy approached her side soon after her arrival. She was used to Malfoy's familiarity with her person, but the discomfort that followed had her once again pushing his hand away from her stomach. "There was an incident," Hermione admitted carefully. "I gathered that's why you're here. To see Ron?"

Shacklebolt raised a brow as he observed the strange interaction between her and Malfoy, though he did not comment on it. "Yes. He's lucky Fleur and Lavender was there to give aid so quickly…"

"Hold on," Lavender interrupted as she turned to look over her shoulder, catching something Hermione could not hear. "Shit," she swore, doubling back and out of the room.

Malfoy also looked beyond them as Shacklebolt followed Lavender. Now alarmed, Hermione called after them, "What is it?"

The former Auror and the young werewolf hastily made their way to a room beyond the stairs. Hermione moved to follow them, but her own werewolf grabbed the crook of her arm.

She turned to face Malfoy. "Let me go! Something's happened."

Malfoy looked over her head to the commotion beyond, but stoically replied, "Nothing that concerns you." He maintained his hold on her elbow.

Raised voices in the interior room indicated otherwise. This had her heart beating in fear. There were few causes for such an alarm: either something had happened to Ron from the sound of footsteps coalescing into the room, or Fleur had gone into premature labor. Hermione wagered the former.

Hermione turned to Malfoy, her face pale with fear. "You can hear them," she accused knowing he could. "Tell me what they are saying."

Dropping his gaze from a spot over her head, Malfoy met her eyes for a span of five petrifying heartbeats before responding, "He's fading," he announced without emotion.

Hermione staggered away from his grasp. "What?!" A lack of properly circulating blood caused her to grow dizzy as she tried to move towards his room. "I have to…" she trailed off as Malfoy's arm wrapped under her ribcage, steadying her.

"His sister is there, along with members of his family. Your presence, at the moment, would do nothing but agitate the situation."

She tried to look over her shoulder at him as tears threatened to fall. "So, I can't say goodbye?" she pushed against the arms that firmly, but gently held her to him. "But what if …?"

Lavender came around the corner then, and Hermione recognized the familiar numbness after death had touched someone close. She did not have to be a werewolf to hear the distinct wails of grief that followed. Lavender sagged against the wall and sighed as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders.

Hermione ceased to struggle against Malfoy's arms. "No…" she gasped in disbelief. "Please," she implored to Lavender. "Please, tell me he's not…"

Lavender looked at the ceiling, trying to blink back tears. A curse caught in Lavender's throat, and Hermione knew. She would have fell if Malfoy was not holding her up. She irrationally pleaded with death to release him. She simply could not comprehend that her last connection to Harry was gone.

Steady arms tightened about her waist as Malfoy whispered above her head, "We need to leave."

Hermione could not see Malfoy gesturing to Lavender. However, the whirl of an activated Floo, and Lavender's strained call of 'The Headmaster's office at Hogwarts' indicated the other werewolf had left.

Hermione feebly pulled on Malfoy's hands as he dragged her to the fireplace to follow behind Lavender. She hit his arm with her fist before he whirled to face her. With misplaced anger, she shouted, "He was my friend!" But rather than react, Malfoy curiously observed her grief. "For Godric's sake, have you ever lost someone you cared for?!"

He activated the fireplace, and he threw floo powder into its wide hearth. "No. And I don't intend to."

Chapter Text

As soon as Lavender Brown stepped out of the Floo, Malfoy quickly ushered her into the vacant Headmaster's quarters. And soon after, they were running.

It took Lavender three seconds to understand why.

A group had made their way into the abandoned castle. And from their raucous laughter and gloating, it couldn't have been anyone from the Order. And that left Voldermort's Death Eaters.

After Hermione stepped out of the Floo, Malfoy roughly grabbed her arm and took off.

Lavender was miffed at his blatant ignoring of her safety, as if she wanted to be left behind with Death Eaters. But seeing how Hermione was pregnant with his blood and the only non-magical creature between them, she understood his possessive need to keep her safe. However, the twinge of jealously was brief, yet sharp.

Hermione, to her credit, was alarmed but quietly followed Malfoy's lead, though she sharply pulled her hand from his as soon as they were off.

Floo powder clung to the remnants of Hermione's grief on her cheeks, but there was no time to clear the dirt-stained tears. Not now.

So, the trio ran through the ruins of the castle that used to be her home. Fortunately for them the contingent of Death Eaters was small and overconfident that they were alone. Malfoy easily led them out of the castle as they arrograntly celebrated their victory, thought it was months after the fact.

Fortunately for Lavender and Malfoy, their werewolf senses gave them unnatural quickness and stealth, though Malfoy purposefully held back for Hermione. The witch was cunning, but she was not as quick.

Lavender grew frustrated every time they had to stop and hide because Hermione could not keep up. During the intervening time while they waited for the pathway to clear, Lavender found herself recalling a much happier time in the now-quiet and decimated halls.

But Malfoy signaled that they were about to move again. Reveries would have to wait for another time. Soon, they found their way outside, down the rolling hillside and into foreboding darkness of the Forbidden Forest.

As soon as they crossed the forest's barrier, a stark change came over Malfoy and Hermione. As Lavender observed the pregnant witch walking beside with Malfoy, she wondered what the unlikely duo had endured before they showed up at Shell Cottage. The space, though small between them, was thick with tension.

Hermione held her wand out at her side, as if she were thinking about using it, as she walked in step with Malfoy. But she tapped frustrated beats against her leg instead.

Malfoy, was either oblivious to the witch's anger (highly unlikely for a werewolf), or was unconcerned that Hermione would actually harm him (probably more likely).

Lavender observed much about the pair from behind.

They were fascinating to watch.

By time twilight started to the paint the forest orange and ruby red, they came upon a large clearing. Down in the center of the clearing were a throng of people. Here Hermione sharply parted ways with Malfoy, content to finally leave his side. She must have been quite confident about where she was headed, but she was intercepted by a young girl with a long plait down her back.

The girl threw her chin back towards Malfoy, but Hermione refused to turn around and look at the blond Alpha, who had immediately been surrounded by his pack upon their arrival. Hermione did not want to face the man who had killed her friend, but Lavender keenly watched the Alpha, who every few seconds, turned to watch the lone witch among them.

Lavender raised a brow, surprised that the girl eventually relented and let Hermione pass. The curly-head witch disappeared into the throng.

Then the girl who let Hermione pass was suddenly next to her. Lavender marveled at the girl's ability to move so quickly undetected. Or perhaps, Lavender's senses weren't sharp as she thought.

"Who are you?" The girl stood no taller than Lavender's shoulders, but squared off with her, hands on hips. Lavender had to suppress a chuckle at the spitting image of Hermione circa fourth-year on her S.P.E.W. campaign.

The girl smelled of the forest, Lavender slowly recognized. Frustratingly, her own werewolf instincts were dull. She didn't recall much else from their third-year lesson on the species.

Lavender looked to Malfoy, unsure what to do next. But the blond was busy talking to the group that had surrounded them upon their entry. "I'm with Malfoy," Lavender began uneasily.

The girl's sharp brown eyes narrowed, as the beginnings of a growl started to emerge.

"Alpha belongs to another," the girl announced with a cold finality.

Lavender's eyes widened in alarm. "No, I don't mean like that. Geez. No, I mean Malfoy invited me to come back with him. I knew him in school and -"

The girl coolly interrupted, though the narrow of her eyes did not lessen, "You know Hermione, then?"

Lavender rolled her eyes. "We were roommates for six years. I'd say I knew her well enough."

The girl continued looking at Lavender as if discerning the truth behind her statement. Hair rose on the back of her neck from the scrutiny. Just who the hell was this girl?

The girl nodded. "Sari," she said by way of an introduction after a few moments. "I take it you are new kin. Have you shifted yet?"

Lavender frowned at the unfamiliar term, but nodded. "Yes," she clipped, though she did not specify the that it had only been four times. Twice in captivity, and twice at Shell Cottage.

Either way, Sari sensed that it had not been much. "If Alpha has invited you to our pack, then I will show you around. Welcome…" she trailed off.

"Lavender," was all she would give for now. She wasn't exactly sure of this place, and no matter Malfoy's offer, there was no guarantee she would stay.

Sari nodded. "Welcome, Lavender to the pack."

The girl, Sari, had to be no more than sixteen or seventeen, but spoke with an authority Lavender could never imagine at that age. Sari confidently led Lavender further into the throng of Malfoy's werewolves.

As she moved through them, they all stared at her clothing as if it were foreign to them. Lavender gathered from the varying states of undress that they were not used to much clothing. But it was October in Scotland, and though Lavender constantly ran hot, she was too vain to not dress in the finery she was accustomed to before her attack. She clung to what little humanity she could.

Sari was finishing a description of another sub-group called something or the other (like Lavender would retain all of this information anyway) before stopping before a single tent.

"Alpha will be by shortly. You may be kin, but the pack does not know you yet. Until then, you stay here." Sari indicated to the small, white tent. It looked small enough for a child.

Lavender frowned as she stooped beneath the entrance, eager to leave the eyes that trailed her every move. Inside, she found Hermione Granger, of course, magically extending the tent. Lavender scowled, but couldn't help but admire her handiwork. Hermione had already set up a mini-cauldron over a fireplace, a small reading table with two chairs, and was working on what looked to be an entryway to a private sleeping area.

"Roommates again, I see?" Lavender called as she magically enlarged her trunk and items from a travelling bag. She set the items on the rug before her.

Hermione turned mid-wave of her wand to glance over her shoulder. "Oh, I thought Sari would've placed you somewhere else. I'll, umm, get to work on your room next," Hermione replied, focusing back on her wandwork.

Lavender huffed as she peered over the cauldron to the purple potion that bubbled inside. "Huh. I thought you'd be with Malfoy?"

The frostiness was clear from across the room. "Malfoy wanted me to return back to the pack. I did. I said nothing about staying with him," Hermione bristled.

Lavender shook her head, and tsk-ed the witch. "For being such a bookworm, you know precious little about werewolves, and even less about men."

Hermione turned, the stress of the morning's events, their hasty retreat from Shell Cottage, the brush with the Death Eater at Hogwarts, caught up with her. Her curls crackled with anger. "And what is that supposed to mean?" she asked acidly.

Lavender shrugged, unwilling to get into it now. It had been a long day and she wanted nothing more than to sink into a pillow. "Nothing, Hermione. Never mind."

The curly-headed witch frowned severely. Lavender could see her visibly swallowing the retort she had been ready to return. The two witches remained in a heated stare, but wearily Lavender relented first. She may have been a monster, but she wasn't immune to emotion either.

"I'm sorry about Ron," she offered, running a hand through blonde tresses. The words would never be enough, but it was all she had. For all his faults, he did not deserve to die like that.

The words halted any impending fight. Hermione's shoulders sagged as a glassy sheen covered tired eyes. "Me, too." With that, she turned and silently began on a second sleeping area.

Lavender quietly watched the witch work.

True to Sari's word, Malfoy stopped by later that night. Hermione was out, courtesy of a dreamless sleep potion, leaving Lavender wide awake in her cot as she tried and failed to identify the forest sounds caught by her sensitive hearing.

The jostling of the tent flap had her sitting up in bed as Malfoy appeared in the entry way.

But rather coming by to speak with her, Lavender watched as Malfoy stood as a sentry before Hermione's side of the tent.

Lavender explained to his bare back as she approached, "She knocked herself out about an hour ago."

Malfoy did not turn to face her. He watched the witch sleep a few moments before replying, "I'm leaving on pack business in the morning." His voice was low, and careful not to disturb.

"And you wanted to see her before you left? How endearing." Lavender watched as Malfoy dropped into a squatting position beside the sleeping witch. Even in her sleep, Hermione seemed to know he was there. Agitated, Hermione rolled over, an arm falling lifelessly to her side.

Malfoy gently lifted the arm, the one scarred by a cursed blade, and tucked it onto her chest. He traced the jagged letters on her scar. "You've met Sari?"

Lavender nodded, though Malfoy could not see it. "Yes," she replied instead.

"Good. She'll set you up with the task most suited to your position." Malfoy pushed up to a standing position, this time meeting her eyes. "Everyone has a role, Brown. I'd expect you to find yours and quickly," he let the end of his sentence hang with warning, the air tinged with his inherent power.

Lavender swallowed against Malfoy's pull. Damn the bastard. He had to know what kind of effect he had on females. Snarling, Lavender threw her head towards the sleeping witch. "And what's her role? What does she bring to the pack?"

She had witnessed first-hand the distress and disarray Hermione caused at Shell Cottage. Lavender did not have to be proficient in the ways of a werewolf to know that a non-werewolf hardly fit in with a semi-feral pack. Lavender estimated there was a reason Malfoy wanted her squirreled away with him and not here, among his kin. She could read the worry he tried and failed to hide.

But just like that, the fleeting glimpse of fear, was gone. In its place was a dark glint, full of promise. "Something worth killing for," he said with deadly seriousness.

Maybe the dark warning would have deterred others, but Lavender pushed on never much afraid of others growing up. And now a monster herself, she was even less afraid of others. "The full moon's coming up. Will you be back?" she found herself asking. It was the first time she would be shifting with someone she knew. Hermione couldn't be there, but Malfoy would.

The thought brought excitement.

Malfoy nodded, his gaze still on the sleeping witch. "I will."

Lavender slept little over the coming days, but the lead-up the full moon was like that. Something itched beneath her bones. At times, she could feel it slinking across her back, or beneath her gut, as it crept ever closer to the surface in anticipation of being released.

It was intoxicating and damning at the same time. She was as nauseous as she was excited, nervous as she was eager. Remarkably there were nearly two hundred or so others who felt the same way.

No one looked at her strange when she would suddenly lose control of her temper. The pack's healer, Clara, offered her a potion to combat the shakes and minor tremors that seemed to take ahold of her limbs at odd times of the day.

Sari explained that the first full moons were always the hardest. Apparently, the shifts got easier to manage as one learned to accept their wolf. That was easy for the sassy sixteen-year-old to say, Lavender thought with a sneer as she quickly downed the potion Clara had given to her. It was two days before the full moon, and the symptoms were becoming more apparent.

Lavender groaned at the bitter taste that oozed down the back of her throat. "Ugh!" she complained.

Someone chuckled behind her back. "Isn't that the potion for the younglings?" Arrogance laced with humor had her spinning about in contempt. However, she was not prepared.

A man, a few years older than her, smirked down at her.

Lavender hastily wiped the remaining potion from her lips as she drunk in light green eyes and tussled brown hair. Faded scars lined prominent cheekbones and dipped onto his upper chest. A wolfish grin completed the roguish picture that had her womb clenching anticipation. She cursed the werewolf blood coursing through her veins.

"They said Malfoy had brought back a youngling, but I didn't know it was a pretty youngling. What's your name, dove?" the roguish werewolf gave her a thorough once-over that spiked her blood temperature even more.

Lavender bit her lip in anticipation as she gave the man a quick once-over. "My name's Lavender."

"Pretty name for a pretty flower," the man smirked as he moved forward to grab her limp wrist. He placed a sweet kiss to the underside, no doubt catching the frantic strumming of her heart.

Lavender felt the side of her mouth rise on its own accord, as she finally came across a reason to stay with Malfoy's pack. "And yours?" she breathed.

He rubbed a sensual thumb across her wrist. "Greyson. Welcome to the pack, Lavender."

Chapter Text

Hermione pushed her curls to the top of head to relieve the sticky feeling of damp hair on her neck. She carefully worked to brew the nutrition potion Clara had shared with her from the instructions jotted on parchment beside the cauldron. After adding the rare vine into the concoction, Hermione frustratingly grabbed her wand and cast another cooling charm over herself. It was the morning of the full moon and she was hot. Not from the weather, because it was brisk outside, but from the kind of heat that seemed to slide off the bone and make the blood boil. It left Hermione feeling frustrated, agitated, and snippy.

On the other hand, Lavender had immediately taken a shining to Malfoy's pack. Or specifically, to the werewolf, Greyson. The werewolf stopped by their tent often to escort Lavender here or there. He acted as her personal guide about the pack and to their way of life. Hermione could see the swoon envelop Lavender whenever the reclusive werewolf came around.

It was sixth year all over again when Lavender then gushed over her latest beau, Ron.

Hermione paused her potion-eering as she thought of her late friend, the gaping hole in her heart still raw and inflamed. Even though they were not in a good place, Hermione held onto a hope of reconciliation after the grueling duty of war had ended. But now, there would never be a chance. The Golden Trio from her storied youth had dwindled to just her.

She stirred the potion without seeing, momentarily giving into the darkness within. There was no one left. She thought of giving up, for what purpose would there be to continue in the face of so much pain? She purposefully avoided looking down to her middle, though a dangerous whisper floated through her mind.

She wanted to cry for lost friends, scream in anger, and hex something to channel her grief. Why did Ron have to Apparate her away from Malfoy? Why did Malfoy have to accompany her to Shell Cottage? Things would have been drastically different if even one moment had changed.

But now she was here. Alone amidst two hundred. Sharing a tent with a woman who had found companionship with another soon after their arrival.

The approaching full moon did little to tamper these feelings. Malfoy had told her that the fever would alter her body composition to carry the pregnancy to term. The wolf's blood coursing through her veins left her agitated, and intermixed with grief, she was constantly on edge.

Frowning, she focused on scooping vials of potion, seeking a distraction rather than deal with the complicated emotions swimming about. So, she had set to brewing a nutrition potion from the instructions Clara had shared with her.

The rustling of her tent flap had her looking over her shoulder.

Like her, Lavender had not completely given into the pack way of life. The blonde was dressed in Muggle jeans and a pink sweater, though she was sweating profusely.

"Are you leaving tonight?" Lavender referenced the approaching moonrise in a few hours. "I haven't seen anyone taking Wolfsbane around here," she warned, though Hermione was well-aware of the fact.

Hermione shook her head and replied, "The past two months I've stayed in Malfoy's tent. I don't know where the pack goes during the full moon, but they seemed to avoid the area."

Lavender asked skeptically, "And no one bothers you?"

Hermione swallowed a bit nervously, unsure how much Lavender's new friend had shared with her. "No. They don't approach Malfoy's tent, or anything marked with his scent. But seeing as I'm nearly past the first trimester, according to Clara, I carry enough of his scent to stay any intruders should they come wandering. And since the …attack at Shell Cottage, I thought it best to stay here," she indicated to their shared tent hidden amongst his pack. She also thought it best to avoid Malfoy entirely for another set of reasons, but she did not share that with Lavender.

Lavender inhaled and nodded after a moment. "Yeah, you smell like him alright. Maybe because there's more than one baby?"

"Hmm. Possibly. So, how are you doing otherwise? Are you ready for tonight?"

Lavender shrugged as she freely began undressing in front of her roommate. She shed the sweater, tossed it onto her bed, but missed. Hermione frowned at her messy roommate. "I suppose so," Lavender mused, completely ignorant of Hermione's frown at her miss. "I mean, it's going to happen regardless if I'm ready or not. But it's comforting, in a way, not to have to do it alone." Here, she broke into a smile. "And Greyson has been incredibly sweet, Hermione. I mean, I know Professor Lupin was a werewolf, but after Romania…"

Lavender visibly shuddered at the memory, before continuing, "I thought all werewolves were monsters after what happened to our team. And then suddenly, I was one, too. But I dunno. With Greyson, it's like I'm starting to appreciate my newfound abilities and what I can do, rather than despise them."

Hermione was genuinely happy for her, especially given what her roommate had experienced. "That's great."

"And now, I can mind the symptoms leading up to the full-moon thanks to Clara. Still can't mind the overheating, but I'll manage. Greyson's also been accommodating in other aspects," Lavender gave a wolfish grin.

Hermione bit back a smile. "Ah, yes. I remember the lead up to last month's full moon. It does have a certain sway over the pack, if I recall," she demurred remembering how everyone seemed to couple vigorously in plain view. She was still not used to such a blatant display of lust.

Lavender gave a toothy grin and tried to waggle an eyebrow. "Thank Merlin, I don't have worry about contraception charms!"

Hermione laughed at the poor attempt of lifting a brow.

The young werewolf noticed the shift in moods. "I can smell the arousal on you, too, Hermione." Hermione quickly stopped laughing as Lavender continued, "Is that why you've been avoiding him since he's returned?" Both knew to whom she refenced.

Hermione responded with a dangerous narrowing of her eyes.

But the werewolf was not deterred. "It's just sex, Hermione. No need to be afraid." She indicated to the witch's middle. "Clearly you're familiar with it."

Hermione made for her private quarters, not wanting to entertain the werewolf. "The arousal you're referring to is a physical result of the pregnancy and the wolf's blood from the fetuses," she explained. "That's it."

"So clinical! But is it though?" Lavender pressed as she followed behind. The comparison between Hermione's private quarter and Lavender's were stark. Not one item was out of place. Even the bed was meticulously made. Lavender's quarters reflected her perfectly: organizable chaos, she called it.

"What do you mean?" Hermione sighed once she noticed that Lavender was not leaving.

"I'm just saying I think it's more for Malfoy, and maybe you, too. From what I hear, the pack already thinks you two are mated."

"That's ridiculous. Malfoy hasn't marked me. Nor would I accept his mark."

"All the same to them. They see the children you carry as belonging to pack. And you to him. Especially Sari." Lavender laughed at her own joke, before continuing, "I mean all of that to say, it's possibly more than sexual frustration, Hermione. Because you don't you see it, do you? Something in you calls to him. And from what I can tell, he's dying to reply."

"What do you mean, see it?"

Lavender struggled to explain since it was still new to her. "The full moon brings out more than just animal instincts as it approaches. I don't know how to explain it, since it's more than that. There's something inherent within us. I don't know if the wolf within just knows while the man is blind to it … or maybe it's because of the curse, but I know you wouldn't have negotiated this alliance had Greyson been Alpha."

At the sound of the werewolf's name, Hermione pulled back in disgust.

Validated, Lavender pointed at her, "See?! Something in you is drawn to Malfoy specifically. A pregnancy wouldn't have successfully taken if you two weren't compatible to each other from the beginning."

"Yes, I remember Tonks saying something similar after she had Teddy."

A wrinkle suddenly appeared between Lavender's eyes. "Did she also tell you what happens after you've given birth to a werewolf's pup?"

A sense of dread quickly overcame Hermione. "No. Why? What else is there?"

Lavender's mouth opened and closed as she wrestled with indecision. "I thought maybe Clara or Malfoy would have told you?"

Hermione sat on her bed, suddenly light-headed. "Clearly, they haven't. What else is there, Lavender?" Hermione stressed.

Lavender was clearly uncomfortable. "I thought you knew," she began by way of explanation. "It's why the pack thinks you two are already mated. I was asking Greyson why the pack reveres your pregnancy so. As I'm sure you know, pregnancy isn't a big deal among humans. Greyson then told me how female werewolves couldn't fall pregnant because of our curse. But a witch could."

Hermione nodded, already familiar with this.

Lavender continued, "But as a witch's physical composition shifts to carry a werewolf pregnancy to term, the alteration is permanent and specific to the werewolf who impregnated her." Slowly, Lavender elaborated, "Hermione, you will only be able to carry Malfoy's pups. His wolf's blood flows through your veins and it won't play well with others. Your body will only be able to accept his seed, should you want to conceive again."

Hermione dropped her head in her hands, as she stared at her feet. She thought she had read everything there was to know and covered every avenue. But she had missed this.

"Fuck. I'm sorry you didn't know," Lavender whispered sorrowfully above her head.

Hermione screwed her eyes shut. "No, I didn't," she weakly admitted. Malfoy had neglected to mention that fact before he had taken her in front of his pack in August, though there had been little time for discussion as she remembered her potion-induced haze.

Witch, you gave me your womb, he had said.

Merlin, she should have known! She tried to find the anger within, but after losing Ron, this admission only numbed her.

Lavender sat on the bed beside her and tried to cheer her fellow Gryffindor, "Okay well, try to think of the positives."

Hermione inelegantly snorted as she lifted her head from her hands. "I very much doubt there are any."

Still, Lavender tried, "I don't know that much about werewolves, but from what I gather, Malfoy isn't an ordinary one. He took down Fenrir, for Godric's sake! You can't feel it because you're not kin, but Hermione, he's powerful. I mean, really powerful," she underscored.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It means you have some of that power too, you know? The power he carries as an Alpha is in his blood. The same blood that flows through your veins via his pups. Your children are basically guaranteed to be brilliant witches or wizards!"

Hermione rubbed her eyes in frustration. "I don't care about power, Lavender."

Lavender chuckled, disbelieving. "Really? I bet it's why you came to him in the first place. He had something we needed."

Hermione just looked at her.

With a wink, she added slyly, "And maybe he has something you need, too." With that, Lavender stood from the bed. "I'm just saying, what could be the harm in going with it? Especially now that you have nothing to lose."

The mid-October frost did little to stem the heat that steadily built for the remainder of the day. Lavender had left their tent to meet Greyson before the pack's collective shift, leaving Hermione to stew alone with this newest revelation. She was beyond livid. Malfoy was one of the reasons Ron was dead. After speaking with Lavender, Hermione had agreed that Ron played a part in his own demise. But even if they had been on the outs, she would never wish physical harm on Ron.

On top of that, she had to deal with the fact that she could never give another man children. It was either Malfoy, or no one.

The sudden loss of choice, coupled with the death of her friend, had her pacing furiously across the length of her tent. As a cruel reminder, her womb spasmed mid-turn; though it was a familiar sensation of late as the muscle expanded daily to make way for Malfoy's growing children.

Seeking to calm her accelerated heartbeat, as it would do no good to get so physically riled, Hermione chose to lay on her bed rather than pace out her anger. No doubt Malfoy's wolf's blood only added to her fury.

Closing her eyes on the bed, Hermione inhaled and exhaled, visualizing an expansive lake with soothing ripples of water, the grass warm between bare toes as she opened a book, eager to dive into a world hidden between the covers. But the calming scene was interrupted by man, bare chested and silver-eyed standing before her.

There went her calming heartbeat.

Daydream Malfoy glanced at her bare toes as she cradled her book, before lifting a torturous gaze to her knees and further up to the junction of her thighs. Quicker than quick, he was on his knees before her, taking the book from her hands and depositing it to the side.

This Malfoy was hers to command and would not order her about. Smirking to herself, Hermione pushed daydream Malfoy's head down to her stomach. The complicit werewolf quickly did as commanded, eager to please.

Yes, Hermione thought with approval, as she unfastened her fly and slipped her jeans down. This would do.

Reaching a hand into her knickers, she lightly grazed her swollen nub, and grew surprised at the eagerness in which she arched into her hand.

Hermione had not touched herself in a long time, had no need to really, but unexpectedly, manual stimulation seemed the perfect way to relieve the growing tension that had been building all day.

Apparently her body agreed, as she entered one, then two fingers easily. She swore to herself. She was so wet, and ready. Daydream Malfoy eagerly got to work in her dream as he licked and sucked on her clit, but dreams were a poor substitution for reality. Her fingers were a woeful comparison to the real thing. Still she continued, as the knot in her muscles slowly relaxed with her ministrations.

Her breath grew shallow as she pushed in deeper reaching for something…

Eyes closed, she turned her head towards the tent's entry way. She wet her lips before she spoke, "I'll stay here during the full moon," she announced to the air.

She stilled and counted the seconds before a response came.

"That would be best," Malfoy, the real Malfoy, replied from a distance.

She noted the considerable effort to get the words out. His tone betrayed his anger. But what could he possibly be upset about? He'd gotten his way. She'd returned with him, would stay here until the birth. Her reputation was likely slandered among Order members by now.

As she said, he'd won.

Hermione bit her lip, as she slowed her ministrations, thought not ashamed enough to stop. She kept her eyes shut, because if she didn't see him, it would be easier. She swallowed before asking, "Are you going to…?" she trailed off in expectation, unable to bring herself to say the words. However, her body seemed to know, as she soaked her hand in anticipation.

"Come on you, you mean?" From the sound of it, he had to be standing over her now. What a sight she must've presented: sprawled on her bed, jeans pulled down, fingers pumping in and out of herself. It gave her a sick sense of satisfaction as she continued to fuck her own pussy in front of him.

She hoped he was fraught with as much frustration as she was.

"You certainly had no problem taking advantage of the full moon before, if I recall?" she finally answered.

"I also recall you begging me to take you," he growled.

Hermione swallowed the moan that came with the memory. Yes, she had wanted him that night. A small part of her still did.

Eyes still closed, she turned her head in his general direction. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you?" he echoed, indicating why she wasn't at his tent like the previous full moons.

Because she was fuming mad that he could take a life and stand there as if it meant nothing.

Because the two of them had made a life-altering decision, and now the choice to have future children with another had been taken from her.

Because even Lavender had found a like-minded soul to talk to, while she had no one.

She screwed her eyes tight to stop the heat building behind her eyelids. The hand in her knickers came to a pause.

"Because I have no one else," she choked on the emotion. "You killed my best friend. A madman killed the other. And after this is over, who would have me after this? I can never have another man's child." At this, she opened tear-filled eyes to level accusation at his steely-eyed stare.

"I will not apologize for protecting my blood. Your best friend should have known better than to mess with pack," he reminder her, as he drank in her bared legs and the slip of cloth that covered her womanhood. "As to that, I told you, you should have never come here."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she shot back.

"It's not my fault you're ignorant of pack ways."

"So, was it your intention to keep me ignorant?! To breed me whenever the pack needed new life? Was I supposed to forever live among people who struggled between accepting and killing me, without a human connection to keep me grounded?" She edged near hysteria, but it was there before she could reel it back in. Her cleverly constructed compartmentalization was crumbling.

"You assert that the children you carry are not worthy of human connection?" Malfoy growled.

"That's not what I mean," she gave from the bed. "I mean my friends, my family! We are defined by our relationships, Malfoy. Human connection. Anyone else who has feelings would understand!" she cut carelessly, not caring if it offended the werewolf standing over her. She closed her eyes and slid a finger back into her dripping wet cunt, determined to slack this never-ending torment, if but for a moment. He could watch until he shifted for all she cared.

"So, you're implying that a werewolf is not human enough to feel," he grated in a harsh whisper.

Something in her shifted at the accusation in his tone. "No—" she started, but he overrode her.

"Then I suppose I can't feel the desire you're trying and failing to suppress." He must have lowered beside her for his breath tickled the shell of her ear. This had her nipples pebbling in response. "I suppose I couldn't have felt afraid since the first time I battled Fenrir the moment that bastard Apparated you away from my side. I guess that was a lie then!"

This left her in gasping in shock.

Hermione blinked back tears and choked out, "I don't…" she groaned as Malfoy pushed a single finger into her dripping center to join hers. Lust momentarily overshadowed her anger and grief as she moaned in sweet relief. Malfoy curled his finger within desperately seeking something she had denied. She screwed her eyes shut as more fingers ghosted over her stomach. The juxtaposition of the light touches to her middle combined with the harsh strokes within her cunt had her writhing for more.

But she would not let her mouth say the words.

Malfoy continued as his fingers stopped caressing her middle to move lower. "And I couldn't possibly want to take you back to my tent and fuck you until the whole bloody forest knows you're mine."

His words thundered between her ears as she tunneled her frustration and now confusion into the ministrations within her knickers. She was determined to pump and twist this itch away.

Except it wasn't enough.

Eyes closed, she turned her head towards Malfoy, catching the werewolf's scent to her left. He was so close.

A hand stilled her own hurried ministrations. With a plop, he removed her hand as long, slim digits replaced hers. She mewled as Malfoy's digits twisted and rolled against her walls, gently then increasingly harder.

Groaning, she turned her head, reaching to capture something, anything with her mouth. But her arms were lead. She could not move as Malfoy retreated and slowly entered her heat at his maddeningly slow pace.

Her lips parted about beg him for more, but she caught the words before they slipped from her tongue.

A soft chuckle and a promise tickled her ear as he answered her silent plea. "Don't worry. I will take care of you," he promised.

Hermione opened her eyes in surprise to see Malfoy pushing her legs embarrassingly apart, the sweet scent of her arousal permeating the room. Her breath rattled in her chest as a blond head dropped to her aching core to sample her juices. He arched a brow at her as if asking permission.

Her response was quick as she fell back against the bed and arched towards her tongue. Maddeningly, he took his time lapping at her center, as if savoring every pass. She, on the other hand, shivered from an ache that had not abated. Never had she felt so empty.

Malfoy gave her pussy another lick and she answered with a hum of approval. She wanted more, so much more.

"Do you feel that, Granger?" Malfoy whispered into her cunt.

"Do you feel how wet you are for me?" Yes, she wanted to answer him.

She bit her lip to stifle a groan.

Malfoy growled as he buried his head between her legs to drink from her insides; long, slow strokes of his tongue captured every drop of moisture her body had to give. Her knees shook as she fought against what the wolf and man wanted.

Again, with great difficulty, she asked, "Why… are you… here?"

The response was muffled between her thighs, but still rang clear in her ears. "For you."

She could not open her eyes, afraid of what she might see.

Her friend's murderer.

A werewolf ready to claim her.

The father of her children.

Caught unaware, Malfoy had her shattering so beautifully. Her womb fluttered as his tongue and fingers eagerly coaxed precious fluid, plentiful and sweet-smelling, from her.

Blinking open her eyes, she found him red in the face, his breath ragged, as he abruptly tore his mouth from her.

He spoke with considerable difficulty as his fingers retreated from her heat last, her walls still clutching at him. "I have to go," he explained, the struggle evident on his person.

Of course, the full moon had to be moments away. Hermione nodded, afraid of what she might say. "A-alright," she shivered from her bed.

Wet fingers dribbled over her mound and up to the measurable bump that protruded above her hip bone. He purposefully left a wet trail on her stomach, before bringing the fingers to his mouth to lick them clean.

"Stay here, Granger."

As if she would go anywhere else?

Contented fatigue seeped into her bones as Hermione settled into her bed. Too weary to argue, she nodded again, watched him exit the tent, and disappear into twilight.

Later, it wasn't the howling pack in the distance, nor the memory of his hand that kept her awake that night. It was the truth he had hissed in anger and the promises he'd freely given that stole her sleep.

Chapter Text

Sleep would elude Hermione that first night of the October full moon. Something within would not grant her a moment's rest – perhaps the full moon agitated the wolf's blood she carried, or the collective howls in the distance heightened her desire to be somewhere else, or with one person in particular. Whatever it was, it stole her sleep. Not that she could look at her bed without thinking what Malfoy had done to her earlier, or what they had done together. She grew hot just thinking about it.

And so, Hermione paced.

She switched between meandering slowly to take in every aspect of the magically enlarged tent and pacing furiously in effort to grow tired. But even still, sleep would not come.

Time and an idle mind were dangerous, her parents used to say. Rather than fight against them, Hermione used them to pause and evaluate things of late.

She had sorely miscalculated the repercussions of her actions. While she could abide by the fallout from her alliance with Malfoy, she could not explain away the guilt that came with Ron's untimely demise. Ron was inadvertently pulled into this mess because of her.

She paused, and rubbed her stomach to smooth a cramp that had appeared as a result of her pacing. No, she self-corrected her musings. It wasn't because of her; it was because of them.

Looking down, Hermione gaze in awe at how rapidly she had begun to show over the past few weeks. Her stomach peaked through her shirts all the time now. Counting the days, she gathered she was nearly twelve weeks along and almost out of the first trimester come the other side of the full moon. A hand timidly spread across her middle as the realization dawned on her: she hadn't reached this point in pregnancy last time. She could have missed the significant milestone again because of Ron and his impulsive actions at Shell Cottage.

Anger at the thought, fierce and pointed, swept from the root of her spine upward as two hands reverently took ahold of her middle. She had missed the importance of it at the time, for the moments after Malfoy's attack had been blurred by shock, followed by grief and anger. But apparently, Malfoy had not.

Realization struck her again. From the time she had awoken in his tent after their coupling to now, his focus had always been on them. Her by default, but always, always on the new life she carried.

How could she have been so blind? Looking down at her stomach, she wet her lips before parting them to speak. "I haven't been entirely focused of late," she awkwardly began. Hermione closed her eyes, trying to quiet the side of her brain that screamed this was illogical. Fetuses could not hear at this point. What was the point of talking aloud?

But the words needed to be said. So the illogical outweighed the logical as she carried on.

Nerves made her voice quiver as she quietly explained, "I-I've lost a pregnancy before … and I … I convinced myself that it would be easier to pretend you didn't exist. Silly, right?" Something between a laugh and a sob caught in her throat as tears gathered in her eyes. "Because what was the point of getting attached to something I would eventually give away? It … seemed easier at the time not to think of you, all of you, as a part of me."

She looked to the tent's ceiling seeking absolution as she blinked back tears. "But I was wrong," she whispered. "I was so wrong."

"I'm scared," she admitted, as if the darkness could cover the fear she hid from others. "I'm scared if something happens and I lose you, too. I'm strong, but not that strong. Still, I should have done more to protect you. I'm sorry."

Hermione looked down to her middle, her hands firm upon the stomach Malfoy seemed captivated by. And finally, she understood why. Closing her eyes, she admitted her faults, before proclaiming, "I couldn't … before. I was caught in what could have been, instead of what was. But I promise, I will protect you now." She sniffed and nodded her head, affirming the truth to herself. True, she had protected herself that first full moon when things went awry, but that had been for her, as much as it was for the burgeoning pregnancy. Now regardless of the risk to her, she would protect them. At any costs. "Your father did what I couldn't do then, but I will … now," she sniffed.

A watery smile broke through. "Can you forgive me?"

Perhaps the sleep exhaustion played tricks on her addled mind, but Hermione felt the tiniest pricks, like someone had blown a vat of bubbles across her womb. They flitted across her lower abdomen, near her stomach, and on her right side. Tears fell as she laughed, and she lovingly caressed the areas where she had felt the stirrings of movement.

She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and took that as a 'yes'.

The next two days brought about a sense of peace that could not interrupted by grief or anger. She spent the days in comfortable silence, a book in one hand and a mug of herbal tea in the other. She read about a developing pregnancy and the immune system, rested, ate, and then read more about werewolves. Unable to bear the mess any longer, Hermione tidied Lavender's corner of the tent. After more than a year on the run and fighting for her life, the sudden shift in pace should have been a welcome reprieve.

Yet, Hermione was terribly bored. She craved human contact, and emotional intimacy. More than once, she caught herself smiling as she thought over Malfoy's fascination with touching her stomach during those lonesome hours shut up in her tent. She thought about other places Malfoy had touched, too. She thought about it so much so that when dawn broke after the moon had waned, she awoke unashamedly ready to interact with humans again. She would even welcome Malfoy's surly attitude.

As she dressed, she wondered why Lavender hadn't been by the tent yet. After sticking her head out the tent to find no one nearby, she gathered the pack should have returned by now. Surely, they would have wanted to rest and recuperate from the full moon. They should have been back by now.

Stepping out of the tent compounded the worry that began to fester in her thoughts.

Further down the row of tents, the pack, back in human form, were closely huddled together. Hermione's hurried as best she could, but even she had to admit that her expanding middle was starting to affect her normal gait.

None turned towards her as she approached the back of the pack, but she recognized the tent they surrounded ahead. It was Clara's tent.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked to a woman closest to her.

The woman, hair still damp from that morning's shift, did not turn to acknowledge her; her attention squarely ahead.

Frustrated but not deterred, Hermione searched the outer edges seeking a familiar face. Finding none, she excused herself once more before squeezing by the woman. The pack's collective worry was even more prominent the further Hermione pushed her way through.

Finally, she came upon a familiar face.

"Zachary!" Hermione called as she squeezed by a mated pair, unable to keep the frantic worry out of her voice as she kneeled beside the eight-year old werewolf.

The boy lifted his head to her, his eyes far too serious for someone so young. As soon as she neared, Zachary threw his arms around her and wept into her shoulder.

Caught off guard by the troubled boy, Hermione hesitantly pulled him closer. "It's alright," she soothed, though she didn't quite believe it herself. Over his head, Hermione caught the hushed whispers and latched onto the words 'Alpha' and 'attack'. Her worry increased ten-fold.

Hermione pulled away as the boy scrubbed at his eyes. "Zachary, can you tell me what happened? Why is everyone gathered here?" She did not want to press the boy, but she needed answers.

Zachary sniffed. "Alpha was attacked by the Acromantulas," he wailed.

Hermione's heart dropped. "What?!"

Another werewolf who had been standing close-by, filled in for him. "It's You-Know-Who's doing, is what it is. He never liked that Alpha did not take to his side as Fenrir did."

Hermione asked from the ground, "This was done purposefully?"

Two more werewolves nodded in grim agreement with the man's assessment. "The Acromantulas have never bothered us before," he explained. "We stay away from their nest, and they keep away from the pack. It's the way of things."

Another picked up the tale, "They attacked us by surprise last night. Knew who to go for. How would they know without someone telling them?"

"You-Know-Who's trying to take us out for not joining his cause!" one growled in clear anger.

Hermione observed the heated banter as it unfolded before her. Acromantulas were sentient creatures, like werewolves, and she certainly remembered them fighting for Voldemort at the battle in May. Had they been persuaded to undermine a long-standing arrangement with other sentient creatures of the forest at the behest of Voldermort? Maybe the Dark was trying to clear out the forest of non-supporters, now that they had taken control of the castle that bordered it? This posed a serious threat as the pack could field off the Acromantulas in wolf-form, but the other days when they walked as humans?

All of that paled to the one question on her mind. "What happened to Alpha?" She knew enough of pack life to not to refer to Malfoy by his family name.

They stared down at her in equal parts pity and anger. "They effectively cut him off from us, and bit him full of venom. Any other werewolf would have been dead by time we reached him and fought them off. His status saved him. But when we shifted back this morning…" the man trailed off.

Zachary finished in a hollow tone beside her, "The venom is too much for Alpha."

Hermione stood from the ground as she reached the conclusion the pack could not utter aloud. Nausea, thick and heavy, soured in her throat.

Malfoy was dying.

Now wrought with concern, Hermione pushed through the seemingly endless crowd that separated her from him. She may not have been pack, but still, she pushed her way through. She would not be ostracized to the back this time. By time they caught scent of who she was, and of whose blood she carried, they started to clear a path for her.

Then finally, finally she reached the radius they surrounded. As she broke through, Sari found her first.

"Hermione!" Sari greeted the pregnant witch with a firm hand to the shoulder. Sari was covered in angry, red scratches, no doubt from the attack they'd recently fended off.

"Is anyone else hurt?" Hermione couldn't help her concern as she took in the girl's disheveled appearance.

Sari shook her head in the negative. "Their attack was coordinated, but focused on Alpha. Some of us were injured in the rush to his defense, but none too severely."

"Hermione!" Lavender rushed to her roommate's side, bleeding from a fresh scar just above her ear. Quickly, the two embraced. "Oh, it was awful!"

Hermione turned to pierce Sari with pleading eyes and the werewolf nodded.

"Follow me," Sari answered her unspoken request.

But before they could move any further, Greyson blocked their path. "Where are you taking her?" he spat at Hermione, who did not cower under the wolf's menacing stare.

"Greyson," Lavender chided, surprised at the acidity in is tone. "She needs to see Malfoy," Lavender referred to their Alpha by his family name, not completely familiar with pack life.

"Our healer will attend to him," Greyson replied to Lavender dismissively, as he stared at Hermione with contempt. "If none of us are permitted inside…" With his head, he indicated to Clara's tent. "…Then certainly she should be made to wait with the rest of us."

Hermione stared him down as Sari responded. "I am Alpha's second-in-command and I say, stand aside, Greyson."

Greyson slid narrowed eyes to Sari and growled low enough so the others could not hear, "For now." With a final glare, he stalked off to let the women pass.

Lavender frowned, but pushed Hermione forward. "Quickly, go on. I'll find you later." Lavender would not follow as she turned to follow Greyson, who had angrily pushed his way through the crowd.

Sari visibly darkened, but led Hermione through the tent's entry way. There was no time to digest the ominous threat Greyson had posed for Hermione blanched at the putrid aroma that greeted her upon entry. Clara's tent, usually calm from floral aromas, was rotten from the stench of infected blood.

Ahead Clara furiously worked, though visibly exhausted from that morning's shift and her charge's grave condition. Hermione had seen death, and thus was accustomed to its cold grip whenever it settled about her. She had seen it at the Battle of Hogwarts, on the battlefield before then, and recently in Fleur's kitchen. But this was different as an unnatural chill settled about her bones.

As she moved to stand over a bluish-pale Malfoy, limp from the venom methodically shutting down his organs, she swallowed back the numbness that threatened to steal her from the moment. It would be easy to give into it as a way of coping, but she was tired of feeling numb. She had existed in a perpetual state of numbness arguably since the day she'd lost Harry.

She did not know it at the time, but Malfoy gave her the ability to feel once more.

From the bubbles fluttering against her womb, to her body shivering from undue pleasure: all of it had come from Malfoy's touch.

Resolved, Hermione lifted her gaze to Clara who stood across Malfoy's unconscious body. "Do you have any empty vials?"

With a flick of her wand, Clara sent two vials to Hermione who caught them with a shaky hand. She lowered them to the table beside Malfoy. Mentally, she ran through theories and concepts, and if she had time, she would have tested them all with Clara in a relaxed setting.

But there wasn't time for theory now.

Catching her tongue between her teeth, Hermione turned her wand upon her palm and dragged the tip from her thumb across the fleshy underside. The pinch was sharp, but she dismissed it as she replaced her wand for a vial to catch her blood as it ran forth freely. She made a fist to force more of the precious fluid into the vial, lamenting that it would have been better had she eaten before attempting such a feat. Focused on her task, she explained to the room, "I'm not sure, but there may be a way to counteract the poison."

Clara's warning was grave, "Hermione, he doesn't have much time…"

"I know!" she yelled unable to help the intensity. Malfoy gave a rattling breath as his lungs began to shut down. There would be but one time to get this right. She prayed her theory worked. "The risks in working with blood properties are numerous," she breathed, "This may not work, but still, I have to try…"

Sari asked quietly from behind, "Try what?"

With grim determination, she watched the vial fill with her blood, Malfoy's wolf's blood. "I have to save him."

Because he had saved her. Even with his brutish ways and sharp edges, he had given her the ability to feel again.

This was the very least she could do.

Chapter Text

"Greyson, wait!" Lavender called after the brooding werewolf. She cursed to herself as she trailed after the man who pushed his way through the crowd. He apparently had recovered more quickly than she in the shift back, as she forced her protesting joints to move forward.

"Where's the fire?" she asked, catching up to him as he made for his tent. Unlike the others, Greyson did not share his space with another. His tent was located on the outer most ring of the pack, almost as if he did not want to live among his kin. He ignored her as she ducked to enter the tent behind him. "So, you're ignoring me now?" Greyson snarled at her, but she would not be deterred. "I don't understand, what's the problem?"

He threw his head over his shoulder, back towards Clara's tent and to whom she worked on inside. "Ever since she's barged into pack, it seems as if some have forgotten who they are!"

Lavender struggled to keep up with his ire. "Hermione, you mean? What's she got to do with this?"

"Malfoy," he growled. That was the first time Lavender heard a werewolf refer to the former Slytherin by his surname. The shock threw her for a moment. "He's forgotten himself ever since she showed up offering her cunt." Greyson snorted, "As if we needed her help."

She frowned at the unrefined language, and referral to someone she thought was the most far-removed from anything vulgar; but admittedly, she wasn't present the night Hermione arrived in August. She had heard the whispers about the infamous night from the other werewolves. "Whatever arrangement Malfoy made with Hermione is between them," Lavender offered, though it sounded wrong the moment she said it. She could not figure out why.

"It isn't," Greyson argued back. "He bowed the moment she offered her wet cunt without discussing it with the Council. And now, because she carries his seed, we are to defer to her. A human," he sneered.

Lavender wanted to argue that she was a human as well, but caught herself at the last moment. That statement hadn't been truth for months now. "The pack generally leaves her alone, but I don't see anyone deferring to her," she replied instead.

Greyson peered at her, before slowly beginning, "Before you, dove, there was another…"

Automatically, Lavender took a step back. "Another?"

"Laina," he said quietly, as if in prayer. "She wasn't my mate, but we were close."

"Oh, I see. You loved her," she stated without emotion. When he did not respond, she pressed, "What happened to her?" But Lavender had a pretty good idea. The pack was large, but it wasn't that large, and she had not met someone named Laina since her arrival a few weeks back.

"She was killed during the full moon. She was defending pack when she killed her."

Lavender gasped as she put one and one together, "Hermione?!"

Greyson visibly darkened, "And what should have been my blood right was taken from me by Malfoy."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What blood right did Malfoy take away?"

"My right to avenge Laina's death."

"But I'm sure she didn't do it on purpose." Lavender knew Hermione. She might have been nosy, reckless, and a know-it-all, but she was not spiteful enough to kill someone outright. There had to be a reason for it. She voiced as much.

"If there's one thing you learn quickly here, dove, is that pack always sides with pack. No matter what. Laina was pack. She was mine. And Malfoy changed pack rules just because she carries his seed,"

"But isn't new life also important to the pack? From what Sari's told me, everyone thinks so. Sure, Hermione's nosy and sticks her nose into everything, but I don't think she would have done something such as this without absolutely needing to at the time." She thought back to their Hogwarts' years. Well, but still.

Lavender reached out to take Greyson's hand. She rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand, unexplainedly seeking physical contact with the irritated werewolf. How could she tell him that if Laina was still around, she wouldn't have met him? She had not felt this content in a long time, and it was because of him. Hesitantly, she smiled up at him, "Besides, good can come from the most unexpected places, right?"

The anger was still there, but suddenly it lifted as he lifted a finger to stroke her cheek. Greyson smirked down at her as he lowered his heads to hers. "You do have a point, little dove. But I don't?" he asked back.

Lavender smiled. Seeing her in, she leaned forward and closed her eyes. "Maybe, a tiny one."

"Shall I convince you?' He leaned in to kiss her.

Lavender could taste the tease on his lips, but she would not stop. Not when there was a wolf to tame. "Hmm. Doubt it."

The pack was on edge in the days that followed the shift back to their human form, but life continued. It was eerie. Although each returned to their assigned duties and roles, it was easy to spot the anxiety they all carried. With the fate of their Alpha's life in the balance, it seemed as if the soul of his pack teetered as well.

For three days, Clara, Sari, and Hermione seldom emerged from Clara's tent. If they did, it was to quickly gather herbs or a book before rushing back into the tent and to whom lay in wait inside.

Lavender was too scared to enter, as was anyone else it seemed. She drew comfort that if no news had come forth thus far, then Malfoy had to be alive at least.

The pack was superstitious as hell, Lavender quickly learned, as she floated amongst their conversations. She had no formal role among them yet, choosing to spend most of the intervening time drifting amongst women who loved to gossip as much as she.

"They have mated," a portly woman with black and blond braids swore as she flicked her wand to sort the dusty pile of garments in front of her.

Lavender had found her way to a group of women who minded the pack's young and elderly.

"Alpha and his witch," the woman clarified as she nodded her head, firmly believing her theory.

Two women half-shrugged before offering vaguely, "It is a possibility."

Lavender blinked, "How can they mate? Malfoy was half-dead three days ago." The woman swatted Lavender's arm. "Oi! Watch it!"

"Watch how you refer to Alpha, youngling!" The woman's braids swung around as she pointed a steely finger in Lavender's face, reminding her sharply of her mother. "You get a pass for ignorance, but once."

"Geez, alright. No need to assault me," Lavender relented, but continued, "But like I said, how can Alpha mate with someone when he's unconscious? Doesn't it take a bit of consciousness to … you know," she used her hands to outrageously gesture around her groin region, "mate?"

The woman smiled cryptically as she sorted her pile into separate stacks before moving on to another. "There is much you still don't know about the ways of the werewolf, youngling."

Though the stench of death had long left Clara's tent, Hermione was still sick with worry. Not physically as she had been recently, but in a way that seemed to eat away at her confidence. Self-doubt was a trifle thing, and she had little time for it. But as she placed a hand to the side of her ever-thickening waist, another moment of uncertainty festered about her.

What if she was wrong?

Her eyes fell away from the book she was valiantly trying to read, once again to drift to the prone figure lying in the bed beside her. She had been doing that quite a bit as of late.

Color had returned to his skin, marking a signal in the right direction, but Malfoy was as still as ever. Every now and again, his chest would rise and fall, his hand would twitch, but after three days, he had not awakened.

Clara's entrance into the tent jostled Hermione's jumbled thoughts.

"Have you made it past the first page?" Clara joked in effort to lighten the mood.

Hermione glanced down to the book still in her hands. She had barely turned the page since Clara had left hours ago. Hermione insisted the Healer needed to lay down for a few hours; seeing as Clara had more valuable knowledge than she, it was imperative that the werewolf recover properly from the full moon.

Hermione gave Clara a worn smile. "I'm afraid not." She watched the Healer work as the question, though annoying, burned her tongue.

However, Clara beat her to it. "He's slowly improving, Hermione." Clara smiled at the witch. "I'll say it again. That was quick thinking on your part."

The quick flush of pride was tempered by the storm she knew to be coming. Reckless actions always had dire consequences. "He will be upset when he finds out," she noted carefully. She set the book aside to stand beside the Healer, mindful not to interrupt as Clara checked Malfoy's vitals.

"Will he?" Clara answered with a lift of her brow. "You do know what it means that he's here with us now? That his body even accepted your 'transfusion' in the first place?"

"The fact that this pregnancy," Hermione gestured to the bump beneath her shirt, "exists in the first place previously alluded to the fact that Malfoy and I were well-suited to the other long before the attack. I know that now. But still… this removes the choice from him entirely. That alone makes me uncomfortable."

Clara moved to offer her a comforting hug. Pulling back, she implored Hermione to see beyond the negative, "He is alive because of you, Hermione. Frankly, I find it fascinating. His wolf has started the mating process, thanks to your direct injection of your blood into his vein. Even if he's unconscious, it's as if 'like' recognizes 'like'. As his wolf recognized its mate, his lifeforce has stitched itself to yours. Extraordinary, really."

"But clearly it wasn't enough to lift him from unconsciousness," Hermione noted as she bit her lip.

Clara regarded the witch carefully. "Exchanging of blood is but one part of the mating process," she offered hesitantly.

Hermione ran a hand through her curls. "I know."

"I won't force you, Hermione, whatever your decision, but …"

"But what?"

The struggle was palpable as she tried to interpret her worry into words. "The pack is waiting for their Alpha to return. Before long, his claim begins to weaken. Do you know what happens next?"

Hermione frowned. "I can wager a guess."

She knew Malfoy's claim over the pack would be challenged, and rightfully so. Without an Alpha, the pack was susceptible to challenges not only from within, but from outside as well. And there was still the Acromantula threat to be dealt with now that they had been brazen enough to encroach on pack territory. The window to solidify the pack's collective safety was shrinking.

The weight of leadership pressing upon Hermione's shoulders was no different than when she fought for the Order. Everyone from the youngest werewolf to the old crone, depended on the stability Malfoy provided. To give him back to them was the least she could do in return.

Staring at Malfoy's still form, Hermione requested, "Clara, can you give me a moment?"

Nodding in understanding, Clara asked, "Do you want me to send in Sari?"

"Yes, please."

A few moments later, Sari found Hermione standing by Malfoy's bed, her hands clasped in a tight fist beside his. They were close, but did not touch. "Clara said you wanted to see me."

Hermione looked up as Sari neared. "Yes, I had some questions. But seeing as Clara isn't mated, I thought it best to ask someone who was."

Sari could not stop the smirk that lifted a corner of her mouth, but nodded as she joined Hermione in her vigil. "He looks better than yesterday," Sari observed.

Hermione agreed, "He does, though Clara says he may be some ways from fully regaining consciousness. Tell me, how are the others?"

"The pack, you mean?" At Hermione's nod of confirmation, Sari continued, "They are hesitant to speak on Alpha's condition. They believe it means him ill-will. But they are hopeful that he will make a full recovery."

"Can you tell me, because I'm not really sure myself, but…. what do …. How do they see me? The pack, I mean?"

Sari's eyes widened at the question, but answered nonetheless, "Truly? They see you as an outsider, as they would any witch or wizard," she answered honestly. "But they make an exception for you. You will give this pack new life and thus, new hope. They both begrudge and yet, respect you for it. But you've never seemed to care what they've thought before. Why ask now?"

Hermione sighed. "I've been an outsider to some ever since I've began at Hogwarts some years back. I supposed I've grown used to the feeling. But I'm mindful of what Malfoy's established in the years since he's arrived here. I don't want to upset the balance. That unfortunate incident a few months back brought things to a precipice, I'm sure…" she trailed off uncomfortably.

"Yes, that was unfortunate," Sari quietly held her peace.

"And I know the others haven't forgotten that it was some 'outsider' who killed one of their own. Had I been any other, Malfoy would have had me killed."

"That is in the past, Hermione," Sari quietly assured the witch beside her. Sari covered Hermione's clenched fist with her hand. "Alpha has moved on, and so have others."

"Right. But I need to remember the past, especially, if this…" Hermione placed a hand on her stomach. "…is my future."

Sari's eyes narrowed, reading acutely between the lines. "Why did you need to speak to someone who is mated, Hermione?"

"According to Clara, Malfoy's temporarily starved off death because I've injected my blood into his, as sort of a faux-marking. Unconscious or not, Malfoy's body has begun the mating process. It's why he's still alive. I've purposefully attached his lifeforce to mine."

"And you mean to complete the ritual?" Sari finished for her.

Taking a breath for courage, Hermione nodded. "If it brings fully brings him back, then yes. The fact that this pregnancy exists means something. Maybe it always did, and I chose not to see it. But if there is a chance to bring Malfoy back, then I will do it. But I don't know what the ritual entails."

Sari nodded and explained to the older witch. "The exchange of blood is usually done concurrently, or shortly after one another. The mark represents the final act of acceptance." Sari swung her thick braid off her shoulder. Pulling at the loose neckline, she revealed a small bite mark at the junction of her throat and shoulder. "My mate gave me this right before the full moon. His is similarly located."

"Did it hurt?" Hermione asked, genuinely intrigued as she peered closer at the mark.

Sari smiled as she turned her head away, clearly remembering the moment in question, but not entirely ready to share the intimate moment. "What constitutes pain or pleasure is always subjective, Hermione. I cannot adequately describe it."

Hermione blushed fiercely as she, too, understood the juxtaposition between pain and pleasure. "And just like that, at sixteen, you are bound indefinitely to another?" Hermione perched a brow at her.

Sari looked her in the eye with dead seriousness. "For life. He is mine and I am his. But it is the way of the werewolf," she finished simply. "Though, is it really no different than sharing blood and offspring indefinitely with another?" she referenced Hermione's current predicament.

"Touché," Hermione agreed. "So then, how do I complete the ritual?"

Sari smirked as her eyes flashed. "In the same manner you began this journey with Alpha."

Chapter Text

Hermione's hand shook as the tips of her fingers ran along Malfoy's prone arm. She grazed along his wrist, flitted over his Dark Mark, and up the expanse of his biceps, taunt even in repose. Even in an unguarded state, he seemed anxious as facial muscles twitched and a frown appeared between his eyes.

Was he thinking of her then? Was he fighting against whatever was holding him from this side of consciousness just so he could get to her?

Hermione swallowed as she allowed herself to imagine that he was. Her hand, shivering less now, spread as it skimmed over the scarred flesh of his shoulder. She ghosted over the new wound from the Acromantula's attack to cup the side of his face closest to her. Her thumb traced the faded scar that ran from his brow to his cheek. It did not mar him in her eyes. Even in sleep he was beautiful.

Hermione sighed, "Can you hear me?" Her eyes tracked over his form once more, expecting a response, anything. But like before, nothing happened. "I'm going to mate you, Malfoy." She waited a beat before continuing, "Though I suppose I already have somewhat. Are you alright with that?"

Because she could never take the choice from another, no matter the circumstances. Especially one as final as this. Even though Malfoy was unconscious, she wanted him to be awake and fully aware of what was about to occur.

There was no response as she took Malfoy's still hand in hers. "I need your help here. I can't do it alone." She did not miss the heavy implication from that statement alone. There were many things she could do alone, had taken on alone, but this and what was to come … the children they were going to have, the war they needed to win: that she could not face on her own. "Please…"

She turned the hand over, surprised to find that even after the battles he must've faced, the skin of his palm was as soft as ever. Biting her lip, she apologized unsure if he could hear her or not, "I'm sorry."

Taking her wand from the nearby table, she turned the tip onto Malfoy's palm and whispered a spell until a small bloom of blood pooled in the center. She lay the wand aside, taking his palm into both of her hands.

Clinically, she was slightly intrigued at the new sensation she was about to sample. She had only tasted blood once before after accidentally biting her tongue. It would be another thing all together to taste someone else's – willingly.

Lowering her head to his hand, she closed her eyes and licked his blood into her mouth. She did not see Malfoy flinching beneath her.

She did not expect her nipples to pebble, her womb to clench, or her knickers to dampened the moment she swallowed the first taste, but it did all the same. She licked his hand cleaned, unaware of the remnants smeared on her chin.

By time her eyes fluttered opened, she straightened to find Malfoy's silver-grey eyes piercing her own. She was about to set his hand down, but his wrist turned to grab her hand. He was much quicker than a man who had been near-death should have been.

As if in a trance, she allowed Malfoy to pull her closer as he carefully sat up, his eyes flashing with awareness. Both stared at the other, the weight of things left unsaid between them.

"Come here," he whispered. He tugged her closer until there was no space between them.

Her body responded of its own accord, as she carefully lifted a leg over his waist and moved to sit on his lap. He pulled her until her belly pressed into his.

Looking down into his flashing eyes, Hermione felt the blood she had swallowed burning every inch of her insides until it buried its way into her bloodstream. The effect was immediate. She flushed with need, heat, and anticipation as Malfoy's wolf's blood intermingled with her own.

Her vision blurred as she something within her died, burned forever away only to be reborn with fire. She grimaced as Malfoy began to destroy her from the inside… even though nothing had physically happened yet.

A hand came to rest behind her neck as he massaged the tendons in her neck. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice rough from non-use.

Hermione stared at his lips, suppressing the need to moan. His voice did queer things to her insides. She shook her head as much as she could manage. Malfoy's touch was cool against her heated skin. She wanted more. She voiced as much, "Need more…"

In a span of a few seconds, Hermione had been reduced from logical thought to raw feeling and necessity. Suddenly, she needed air, water, and … him, she thought as her eyelids drooped.

Take it. He's yours now... Something within her whispered. She would not argue.

Fingers grasped platinum locks as she yanked his head back, the fire fully consuming her. "Need you," she pleaded before she swooped to meet his lips. His sweet, cool lips. The moment they met, he came alive.

One hand surged up into her hair as the other snaked around her waist. She grinded into him by way of a response.

"You …okay?" she asked between a torrent of kisses as she lifted her arms to shimmy out of her shirt. As soon as her upper half was bared to him, he attacked her skin like a man possessed. Licks and bites and squeezes had Hermione throwing her head back in elation. Every touch cooled the fire within, but it was still not enough.

It could never be enough.

He wasted no time in freeing her from clothes, understanding her need completely.

She wasted no time settling herself upon him once she was free. She slid onto him with a completely satisfied sigh. Gods, he filled her up so nicely. He stretched and pushed against her womb just so that she couldn't help but sigh again. She lifted and adjusted until she found a position that suited her.

The last time they had joined intimately, it was for the Order and the greater good. This time, she decided, would be for her. It would be for him, too, but mostly, it would be for her.

Malfoy seemingly agreed. "Yes," he groaned as he gave up control to allow her the moment.

As she rocked to her satisfaction, he placed a hand between her breasts. "Do you feel me in here?"

She nodded as the fire burned anew from her heart down to her toes wiggling between his sheets.

His hand drifted lower to rest near her stomach. His hips bucked upward, causing her to rock forward into him. "And here?"

Yes, there was an insatiable hunger growing there. It called for the man beneath her and always would, she realized. The notion did not bother her. She nodded again as she raked her fingers through his hair, messy and loose from its typical bun.

His hand lowered to rest on the bulge that had grown since he'd seen her last. He looked up to her meet her eyes and whispered, "And do you feel me in here?"

She could not stop her lips from trembling as she met his questioning eyes. "Yes," she answered honestly. She ground her hips down at the same time he lifted to meet hers. She gasped as a rush of fluid drenched Malfoy's cock and the bed beneath her.

"My sweet, sweet mate," he worshipped into her neck. "Do you know how good you smell?" he growled as if the admission pained him.

Hermione panted breathlessly, "Do it, Draco," she urged. "Do it now."

He needed no further prodding. The moment his teeth broke the skin of her neck, fire seared her soul and burned a path from her fingers to straight to her womb. Every suck and lave at the mark he created had her womb fluttering in time with his ministrations. This man was a part of her being and always would be. Wave after tantalizing, slow wave had her babbling nonsense until she fell forward trembling in his arms.

He rolled them over still sheathed inside her pulsating heat. She lay beneath him, still shaking from the mark's physical and emotional effect upon her person. Her womb pulsed in thick waves as vats of bubbles fluttered and tickled her from within.

The bed beneath her was not there. Clara's tent and the pack beyond were no longer there.

The world did not exist beyond Draco Malfoy's arms.

She watched him through new eyes as he retreated slowly from her.

"I've hurt you," he whispered as he gathered her into his arms.

"Once," she admitted into his neck, her face hidden by curls. Yes, a lifetime ago he had. But the man above her was different.

He pushed curls from her face as he stared into her soul. "But never again," he swore.

"Mmm," she lazily agreed as his cock twitch between her legs begging for attention. But instead of moving like she thought, he stilled above her. She blinked her eyes open, curious at his inaction.

Malfoy stared down at her, his nostrils flaring from restraint, his arms shaking … in fear?

"Hermione," he struggled above her. The use of her first name set her on edge. "I remember …"

Her mouth dropped open. "What?"

"I've hurt you… before." The uncertainty was palpable. Ever since she had arrived, Hermione had witnessed the quiet confidence, the strength as he moved about his pack. But here in her arms, the uncharacteristic fear was difficult to comprehend. "I remember everything," he quietly admitted as searching eyes tracked over her face. "I remember you. I've hurt you before and you… you've mated me."

Hermione took a hold of his shoulders as her knees interlocked with his legs. "Draco, that was then," she assured through lowered lids.

But Malfoy was hesitant. He shook his head. "I remember you, Hogwarts, my Aunt…" he trailed off, not able to say anything further.

She sighed as she wiggled her hips beneath him, indicating her desire to continue forward and leave the past in the past. The wolf overtook the man, unable to deny a willing female, his mate any further. "Hmmm," she sighed in satisfaction as he pushed backed into her easing them into a steady pace. "Do you truly?" she wiggled her hips eagerly, unsuccessfully trying to get him to increase the tempo. She was so desperately wet and ready for him.

He shifted on top of her, ever careful not to place his full weight on her middle. "Every…" he interrupted himself with a curse. "Every stubborn inch of you," he said with great difficulty.

Something told her that he would not be able to hold back much longer.

"Every inch of me…." She met his eyes and her hips against his. "…Is yours, Draco."

Malfoy growled as the confidence returned, "You weren't satisfied until you've had your way, then. Even more so now..." He wrapped a firm arm around her bum and shifted her.

She screwed her eyes shut preparing herself for deeper penetration. "I've declared myself yours," she reminded him. "Will you leave me so unsatisfied?"

Above her, Malfoy gave his solemn vow, "This body is yours to command." He pushed her legs apart and sank into her searing heat over and over until her arousal coated their thighs. He spoke above the sound of slapping flesh, "For as long as you wish…" Thrust.

"These hands are yours." Thrust.

"This mouth is yours." He dropped a sweet kiss to her lips. "You saved my life, Hermione. My life is yours."

She caressed his arms, down his chest and lower until she reached where they were intimately joined, "And this?" she asked breathlessly. "Is this mine?" The question was innocent enough, though her eyes were anything but.

He sat back on ankles, smirking at her in such a way that took her back to Hogwarts. Her heart quickened in anticipation as he pulled her closer. He took his time pushing himself within, forcing her to take every inch he had. Her voracious wolf replaced the sweet declarations from before. "This cock you mean?" he teased above her.

She placed her hands behind her head to steady herself as Malfoy started them on a dance as old as time.

It was exactly what she wanted.

And Malfoy was content to oblige. "Then let me begin my repayment."

"Did I hurt you?"

Hermione shook her head as she settled into Draco's arms tracing the newly-given mark she had placed on the underside of his wrist. She traced the outline of the teeth marks that sat below his Dark Mark.

After their coupling, Draco had been overly concerned about her well-being. She found it endearing. "No, far from it actually."

The past hour had been extraordinary as the newly mated pair acclimated to the other within the confines of Clara's tent. Other than their physical connection, it seemed as if the sharing of blood had restored Draco's repressed memories.

Physically, she felt no different, but there was this other presence just outside herself. She couldn't see it, but she could sense it just the same. It was content, at peace, and incredibly horny. As if reading her thoughts, an insatiable part of Draco's anatomy ground into her from behind. Her womb spasmed intermittently, as if ready for another go as well. The sensation was strange as she adjusted to lay more on her side and off the heaviness that sat low in her pelvis. The juxtaposition of Draco's soft caresses to her middle and the clenching of her womb made her sigh contently as she settled on Draco's arm.

"Not like when you broke your wrist when you were younger," Draco chuckled behind her ear, as he pressed more into her from behind.

Hermione groaned into the arm she rested on, "You got that?"

Draco nuzzled her ear. "Everything. It's amazing. Like a picture book running behind my eyes. Is it the same for you?"

She nodded, a bit perplexed. "I wasn't aware that sharing memories was a side-effect of mating?"

Draco shrugged behind her. "The bond manifests differently for each mated pair. The bond recognizes we already share blood, and will have children soon." He unabashedly ground into her rear, as his semi-erect cock pressed against her bum. "Our magic must've determined this ability would suit us best."

Hermione quietly pondered his words. "I thought it would be like a really strong love potion, and I would fall instantly in love with you." She turned in his arms to find a smirk and a pair of gleaming silver-greys.

Draco arched a brow. "You mean you're not madly in love with me?"

"As if." She looked down his person as she chose her next words carefully. Her finger traced his forearm hesitating at his Dark Mark and the new mark he would sport for life. "I care for your well-being. I have a powerful desire to protect our children, and…" she blushed fiercely before quieting.

He gave her brilliant smile that instantly made her heart flutter. "And what?" he chuckled.

"Well, to be completely honest… to give you more," she demurred, not wanting to meet his eyes as he laughed above her head. "As if three weren't plenty enough." After the laughter quieted, she continued, "Lavender told me what it means to carry your children," she mentioned carefully. "She told me that I would never be able to have another man's child."

Draco quieted above her. "I'm not sorry for telling you before, if that's what you're after."

"I'm not looking for an apology," she said tersely, as she propped herself up on one elbow. "But you could have mentioned it afterwards. I had initially thought that I could leave after the delivery. What if you had died just now? You would have let me go through life without ever having told me?"

He laid his arm behind his head. "Witch, I've would've never let you go," he said matter-of-factly.

"Draco, I'm serious."

"You weren't pack and it was none of your business. You made an offer and I accepted. End of." Both were quiet for a moment. "Do you regret it?" he asked her for the truth, though both knew he didn't need a verbal admission.

He could read the truth from their bond.

Hermione lowered along her elbow to lay down. "It's not how I imagined things would turn out for me, but it's the start of something new." Both looked down to her thickening waist. "It's exciting and scary and completely overwhelming." She smiled to herself as she recalled Fleur saying something similar at Shell Cottage. "But I don't regret it. I'm sorry for the events that followed, but don't regret it."

Draco looked her in the eyes. "I don't either."

They were quiet for a few moments more.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?" he replied above her head.

"Did you remember anything about me before I came to the pack in August? About anything from before? Was there any recognition on your end?"

He did not reply for a bit. She could feel the uneasiness as if it were her own, but she patiently waited for him to continue. He would not lie to her.

"Honestly, I felt a stirring of emotion when you first approached with your offer. I wasn't intrigued just because of the sex." He lifted to stare in wonder at her, "Who was this insane witch throwing herself to death? When you mentioned your name the day after, I was confused. Like something was scratching at the back of my mind, but I couldn't figure it out."

Her fingers ran through his hair. She couldn't help it. "Why did you shut it out?"

Draco leaned down to kiss the mark on her neck. His mark. "Hurt too much," the words were muffled by her neck.

"And now?" she asked as her heartbeat quickened. She smiled as a hand settled in her lower thatch of curls, parting her lower lips to find her wet and plenty ready.

"Clearing…" He kissed his way to her breast, before taking the sensitive nip into his mouth, "But this is much better."

Hermione moaned. "Trying to distract …"

"Can't resist." The nipple popped from his mouth. "You're so bloody responsive to my touch, you know. It's intoxicating." The hand in her nether regions swiped against her slit. "You're fucking wet from me suckling your breast?"

Hermione closed her eyes as Draco continued to place kisses along her breast and then lower to her middle. He placed the sweetest set of three kisses to her waist.

"I can't wait to see you swollen with my pups, Hermione." His head disappeared between the legs she'd opened for him. "After, would you give me more if I asked?"

"Depends on how nicely you asked," she teased. Her eyes fluttered closed in bliss as a tongue, hot and pressing lapped at her center. "Ohhhh!"

Muffled, he asked, "Is that a yes?"

Hermione bit her lip to keep from crying out, though her eager wolf would not be satisfied until she did. Bloody, greedy bastard.

"Clara will need her tent back," Hermione offered drowsily. They had been shagging most ardently for hours, as Draco's refractory period reduced to nil. But she would need food soon as she yawned from her place on Draco's chest. "I'm sure she doesn't appreciate having been put out."

"She can wait."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she lifted to rest on her chin. "She said your pack will need to be assured of your returned health. That challenges can arise if you don't," she pointed out, though she suspected he already knew.

"Your pack," Draco corrected as he gently shrugged her off and rolled her to her side. She allowed him to lift her leg, as her strength has waned at this point. He entered her in one thrust that had her shivering.

Though she may have been tired, apparently her body could never tire of its mate. She sighed as she leaned against his chest, "What?"

He looked down at her as he continued to lazily thrust up and into her. "If I am yours, then the pack is yours."

She found she liked this slow pace. Every languid movement was purposeful and exaggerated. It was different from the fevered fucking they had engaged in earlier, but was as potent as ever. "But I'm not a werewolf," she argued weakly, the stirrings of a small orgasm approaching. "How can they possibly accept me?"

He caressed her breast with the free hand not holding her leg. "You carry my blood, saved my life, and started the mating process on your own volition. The pack is yours as much as it is mine. That is if you want it."

Hermione couldn't answer that. She cared for Draco, for the children they would share, but to extend that to two hundred others; the thought was daunting.

"Will they accept me?"

"If I accept you, then they will, too." He stroked her middle as lovingly as he stroked her from within.

She turned to greet him with a kiss. "Let's get adjusted to this first, yeah? Not to mention we need to deal with the Acromantula threat, You-Know-Who's retaking of Hogwarts, and … ahhh!" she broke apart as he gifted her with yet another la petite mort.

Draco could only smirk at his handiwork. "Has anyone told you, you talk too much?"

Chapter Text

It was amazing how perfect his mate fit against him, like the gods themselves stitched together a sweet vessel that would complement only him and none other. His mate, Hermione Granger, suited him perfectly from her stubborn, bushy head all the way down to the toes curled into his flesh.

"Witch, do you know how good you feel?" he panted into her ear. Like magic, his sheathed cock was a washed in fluid. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out. Fuck, she was coming again.

He had taken her at some point in the middle of the night, nearly half a day after she had bound herself to him and, him to her. Even after satisfying their newly-fashioned bond, Draco found himself craving more of her. Sleeping on her back, it had been easy enough to push her legs apart and bury himself inside the closest thing that felt like home in years.

Luckily for him, pregnancy made her body ever receptive. Pregnancy suited her, he determined, as he stared at her form rousing from slumber. Her eyes fluttered open in drowsy awareness, her back arched to push creamy globes aching to be touched against his chest, her waist stretching to make way for the children he had placed inside her… and for the ones he would give her in the future.

At the thought of impregnating her again, the wolf within sprung to attention, also keen to the thought of his mate baring their pups for the rest of his life.

The way Draco saw it, the world had stopped being fair to him somewhere around his seventeenth birthday when the Dark Lord tossed him to Fenrir to do with as he pleased. Those were dark times as he was forced to endure the daily horrors of life under the imposing rule of Fenrir Greyback. To endure, his fractured psyche pushed away all thoughts of his past life, parents, and friends because above all, he needed to survive.

Subconsciously, he began to rut roughly against his mate as he focused on an unseen point just above her head; a flood of emotion took him back to the dark place he had dwelled in for so long as he began to abuse her willing body.

Fenrir had promised to break him, to make him more man than beast. He had almost succeeded, too. Draco pulled out to quickly push back into the safety of his mate's warmth. Below he barely caught her whimper even as another coating of her juices dribbled between their legs.

He blinked twice before registering soft hands on his stubble-laced cheeks. He stared down, momentarily bewildered at where and when he was. He was no longer a scared boy, desperate to survive, though he trembled within her arms just the same.

Hermione lifted to kiss away the fear that still clung to him. She saved him in more ways than one as he pulled out of her heat holding eye contact with her. She ground him to the here and now.

Draco smirked with satisfaction as her walls clung to him and caressed him on his exit and re-entry. Apparently, she did not want to let go of him as much as he did not want to leave the warmth of her. He sank into her four more times, tilting her hips just enough to send her tumbling off the ledge. More than anything, he loved the little sounds she made when she broke apart, as if she hadn't been expecting the force of her orgasm to sweep her away. She threw her head back, singing his name as her lower lips wept over his cock.

His sweet, sweet mate.

Slowing his pace, he pushed between their sweaty limbs to massage her clit, drawing the sensation out for her a bit longer. She had saved him. This was the very least he could do for her.

He stilled his ministrations, before pulling out to slowly start their dance again.

"Dr' co," she beseeched through half-lidded eyes, "Please … I can't ... anymore."

He lowered along her body to lay atop of her, though he bore most of his weight on his arms. Chin to the top of her head, he encouraged, "You can." He rocked into her slowly, taking more of her sweet offering a few centimeters at a time. His wolf wanted to rut her into the day, though it warred horribly with the man who wanted nothing more than take her in his arms. "Just a bit more, mate," he ground through his teeth as his knot, though not as strong as it would have been before the full moon, begin to take hold.

Grinding her hips into the mattress, he fought to push himself inside. He groaned when he brushed against the womb full of his children, the sensation jarring enough to send him to the stars. He howled his gratefulness to the gods as he came. With a final push, he was finally seated within the very core of her. She looked so very lovely full of his children and cock.

His cock hummed as his seed drenched her battered channel in thick waves. "I could get used to this, you know?" Damp curls tickled his nose, but he was too weary to do anything about it.

She sighed, shifting her hips to accommodate the swollen organ pressing against the seat of her womb. He imagined it must have been uncomfortable as he stretched her beyond the realm of comfort.

He lowered his head to kiss her deeply for the effort. After, he placed a small kiss to her forehead, and smoothed the curls away from her eyes to take in the rosy flush left in his wake. "Are you hungry?" He wasn't sure where the question came from, but there it was all the same.

His mate laughed. "I'm uncomfortably full," she wiggled her hips to indicate their connected lower halves. "I don't think I can stomach eating anything for a bit. Maybe later."

Draco rolled them to their side, carefully taking the weight of her leg onto his own so it would not land on her middle. She said he hadn't hurt her before, but he grew paranoid that their activities could damage his developing children. She seemed alright, in the interim; tired, but alright.

"But what I could use, is a bath," she supplied as she snuggled against him.

Gathering her to him, he buried his nose in her neck, replying, "I like the way you smell now. My blood growing inside you, my seed dried on your thighs. It suits you."

"We both reek of sex, Draco, and we've imposed on Clara's tent for much too long."

Draco thrust into her and was rewarded when her walls spasmed against him. His knot would recede in thirty minutes or so, but she trembled slightly from over-exertion. Even if he wanted to take her again, he would not push her any further.

An hour later found the mated pair moving through the pack in the dead of night, finally free from Clara's tent. The waning moon was their only company as Draco carried the witch in his arms. She gave protest that she could walk fine on her own, but one wobble off the bed and he quickly scooped her into his arms. He would not hear further arguments from the stubborn witch. She may have carried his blood, but she was not a werewolf. Her recovery would always lag behind his as he carried her through the tents that dotted the clearing. Except for the muted sounds of mates coupling, or easy conversation between friends, none moved to greet their resurrected Alpha or the witch who saved them.

Truthfully, he preferred it that way as he walked through to the river bank that backed to their clearing. Draco set her wand and his on the muddy banks, before walking them into the river. Once far enough in, he deposited her into its soothing waters. She lowered into the calm river with a heavenly sigh. The water felt comfortable against their heated skin, though it was nearing November. Any other human would have shivered upon entering its frigid banks, but they did not.

As they moved further from the shore, Draco kept her close so that her back fit snugly against his chest. The two drifted in the current together, their feet seldom touching the rocky floor.

He nuzzled the mark on her neck through wet hair as he tightened his hold about her. She sighed and leaned against him, as she broke the easy air. "We need to do something about the Acromantulas. It's highly unlikely they would attack the pack on their own. There's no precedent for it."

Draco hugged her closer to him. "What do you suggest we do?" The shift was minor, but noticeable, as he actively sought her opinion on the matter.

Ever the clever one, his mate did not miss it. She leaned against him for a moment as he caressed her middle and the shared blood between them. "Meeting them in battle now wouldn't be wise," she surmised aloud. "Why risk losing any members of the pack? We should find out why they attacked in the first place, possibly before the next full moon. Until then..."

"… we move the pack?" he finished for her.

Hermione turned in his arms, sending tiny splashes onto his chest. She reached to secure her arms around his neck. "I think we should. Putting distance between us, the Acromantulas, and You-Know-Who buys us time and protection. It's unnerving that he's setting up operations in what used to be our former home." She pinched her brows together, no doubt remembering what used to be and what could never be any more.

"We make our own home now," Draco replied forcefully enough to driver her from her reverie. He dipped his chin to capture her lips and she responded in kind.

She gave a weak smile, grateful for the distraction. "He's not likely to forget that you did not back him when he needed you most. And he knows you're close. He will seek to destroy you and ..."

"Are you nervous?" he smirked.

She did not smile back. "Who wouldn't be? The further we move into the Forest, the more isolated we are from the Order and back-up, should the need arrive."

Draco read in-between her worry. "I will protect you. Do you know that? Our children, too."

"There's that …" she trailed off, unsure.

He waited silently, knowing she would continue when she was ready.

He imagined it was hard for her, as it was for him, to process their newly-found shared connection and all that it entailed. Like leafing through a picture book, he was brought to the awful night she miscarried her first pregnancy. He watched in his mind's eye as his mate, scared and alone, doubled over in pain by a tent surrounded by snow-covered trees.

It made Draco hold her tighter, if it were possible. He pressed his lips firmly together in effort not to frown. He did not want to startle her, but the wave of protectiveness that washed over him was all-consuming and instantaneous. As he tracked the anxiety across her sweet features, he swore to himself then and there that he would die before she was subjected to such pain again.

She gripped his shoulders to steady herself as she floated against the current. "You can't guarantee their protection, Draco." She continued despite his growl of obvious disagreement, "Not completely, anyway. The last full moon proved the pack is vulnerable to attack. That I'm vulnerable to attack. I can hold my own well enough, but not to such a degree."

"I can protect you. Clara said as the pregnancy grows, you would be protected from my wolf and the others. And you bear my mark," he countered.

She took a breath for purchase before continuing, "Right, but what if You-Know-Who tried to attack during the full moon? What then? What if, in addition to the Acromantulas, he attacks with his forces and decimates us? As far as I know, he isn't aware of our alliance with the Order, but in one fell swoop, he could destroy our only chance to win this war."

His eyes narrowed as he picked up her stuttering heartbeat. Her fragile nerves accelerated his own in return. "What are you saying?" he asked as his heart thundered in his ears.

And in an instant, she changed their collective course, "What I'm saying is, why wait five to six months to bring children into a world consumed by war? I-I don't want that for them, and I think, neither do you."

"Hermione…" he warned lowly, as he guessed where she was going.

"I'm yours, Draco." Beneath the river's surface, she took the hand that sat on her hip to place it on her expanding middle. "We're not going anywhere. Fight with the Order now. We can end this war and give our children a proper future. I don't want to give birth afraid they may not see tomorrow." She pleaded with eyes full of emotion, enough so, he had to swallow from its intensity.

"I thought you wanted to wait until the delivery. I thought you wanted to fight," he reminded her of their earlier agreement, though it was a moot point now.

He would take on the entire world if she asked him.

"What I've wanted has never changed." His mate's eyes narrowed, tinged with a glint of danger, as she corrected, "I want to win."

an: I'm sorry for the delayed update. I've been busy with children's birthday parties, and travelling for work. I continue to be thankful for each and every one of you who are enjoying this story. Til next time! ~L

Chapter Text

"Why should we be the ones to leave? Some of us have been here for years!" Frustration and skepticism met Draco first thing in the morning, instantly souring his mood. He rubbed the bite mark on the inside of his wrist to keep from lashing out in anger.

"And just where would we go? You told us we could make this our home and we have. Now you want us to leave it?" A werewolf Draco recruited after Fenrir's defeat questioned sharply. Draco frowned, but let members of his Council register their concerns.

Draco's Council comprised of the strongest among them, regardless of gender or seniority. Some had been with the pack prior to Draco's arrival, such as Greyson, though all deferred to him as Alpha after his victory over Fenrir. The young werewolf recruited or brought back the others after his travels about the island.

Draco stood amongst them all as they debated the proposition he had raised come day break. His eyes flitted up the embankment to the lone tent sitting high among the tree root, where his mate slept after their rendezvous in the river last night. He longed to settle in to the furs beside her warmth, but after seeing her off to sleep, he quickly left to gather his Council.

He chose to forego sleep in favor of speaking with key figures before the impromptu meeting, even though he was not yet one hundred percent. His body had physically mended, but he was mentally drained. However, he waited patiently as every member voiced their concerns or agreement on the proposal his mate has suggested the night before.

"Perhaps we need to leave because one among us can't protect herself?" The accusation, full of vitriol, climbed above the rest. Members turned to the staunchest dissenter among them: Greyson. The man had been a constant thorn in Draco's side since he defeated Fenrir, and even more so after Hermione killed Laina. Sari told him what transpired the morning after when Hermione rushed to be at his side following the attack. Draco had been watching the man before, but now, he would be double his efforts. Protective instincts went into overdrive as his ire rose at the innuendo directed towards his pregnant mate.

Sari quickly rushed to defend her Alpha and new friend. "She has nothing to do with it. You saw what the Acromantulas did to us!"

"Bullshit," Greyson challenged.

"Would you prefer to wait for them to attack again? Because they will, Greyson. And this time, we won't have the advantage of the full moon on our side," Sari asked to him, and the circle at large. "All of us can't fight." At this, other Council members nodded, surely thinking of the young and weak among them. They had a duty to protect the weakest among them. They may have been proficient in magic, but when it came to fighting and dueling, werewolves preferred to attack with claws and teeth. They may have possessed enhanced abilities outside of the full moon, but it did not compare against a nest of Acromantulas.

"Then we stay and fight for those who cannot!" Greyson countered just as passionately. With fiery eyes, he turned to Draco, "Tell us, was this her idea? Last I thought the pack took orders from you, and from a mere human."

Sari started again to Hermione's defense in her absence, but Draco raised a hand, indicating he would respond. "Does my mate bother you, Greyson?"

Others around them bristled at the question, low and unassuming on its face, but no less dangerous. This was the first Draco made mention of being mated, though they all knew the lone witch among them carried his seed. He crossed his arms and none had missed the mark on the inside of his wrist marking him as claimed. They certainly did not miss the aura that settled over them as their Alpha silently warned them. As Alpha, Draco already possessed an inherent power bolstered from the collective magic of the pack, but as a mated Alpha, he drew even more power from his mate sleeping across the clearing. He did not hesitate in informing the others of that fact as the ground rumbled beneath their feet.

Sari smirked and crossed her arms as she looked to Greyson.

None came to the lone werewolf's defense after that.

Still, the truth was clear across Greyson's face. His lips curled in effort to reply frankly, but wisely, he pressed them shut.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Because if you have a problem with her, you have a problem with me." Draco pierced them with gleaming silver eyes as he drove the point home with a raised brow. "Do I make myself clear?" Greyson was last to begrudgingly lower his head before Draco. "Good. Now, disregarding where the idea came from, have we reached a decision?"

The Council quickly found agreement after that.

It had been three days since Lavender watched Hermione disappear into Clara's tent. Lavender saw it as a sign that things were going well. The first morning after Draco's attack, Lavender awoke to rumors that her former classmates had mated each other. Those who bordered Clara's tent were spreading the most ridiculous rumors of extraordinary feats they'd claimed to overhear. By the second morning, the rumors spoke of how the newly-mated pair had retreated to Malfoy's tent with strict orders not to be disturbed. Lavender had seen neither hide nor hair of her roommate, and seeing as civil war had not broken out, she began to believe the rumors carried merit.

Well, bully for them.

It had to be the reason the pack did not descend into chaos in the hours following Malfoy's attack. They all accepted Malfoy was too busy 'cementing' his bond to deal with pack business, and so, the pack continued on without him.

Until the morning of the third day.

Lavender had barely dressed before Greyson stormed into her tent, his hair wild and face red. She jumped, startled at how quietly he had appeared, even though he was clearly in a state. "What's wrong?" she asked, immediately set on edge. Her sensitive ears picked up his wild heartbeat.

"We're moving. The entire pack's moving deeper into the forest."

"Is it because of the attack?"

Greyson nodded tersely.

Lavender sighed, not catching the true reason for his ire. "And I'd just settle in, too," she lamented. "Oh well. I guess I can have this stuff taken down in a few. Hermione needs to come get her shit though," she huffed, taking stock of the witch's stacks of books, journals, and neatly organized piles of clothing. "I should find Clara, too," she muttered beneath her breath at the thought of packing up this tent alone.

"Why?" Greyson asked.

Lavender was interrupted from her mental list of preparations. "Oh. I've been shadowing her recently. I imagine she'll need help with her stores and readying the children. Why?"

Greyson nodded as he absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair. "That's good. She could use the extra help with the other younglings."

Lavender took note of the abrupt change in mood, but allowed him to accompany her on her walk to Clara's tent. As they walked amongst the clearing she called home for the past month, she gathered word about the move had spread. Nearly everyone move this way and that to magically shrink and pack their tents and belongings.

"So what are you really angry about but don't see fit to tell me?" Lavender asked easily enough as the two walked together.

She caught the tendon in Greyson's neck bulging with obvious anger. "It isn't for you to worry about, dove," he said in between his teeth.

Lavender rolled her eyes, frustration taking root. "I share my worries with you! I thought this meant something." She indicated to herself, then to him. "I mean, just what am I to you? Unless, it's just sex."

Greyson sneered, "Lower your voice."

"Why?" Lavender crossed her arms, unashamed. "Everyone here knows we're shagging. Is that all this is you, Greyson? Shagging?" She sucked in through her teeth, "Even that's not all that great."

A new voice interrupted the pair. "Is something the matter?"

Both turned to find Clara eyeing them with concern. Lavender turned away from Greyson, hurt at his indifference. Maybe he didn't share her enthusiasm like she thought he did. Addressing the medi-wolf, Lavender answered, "We're moving. I can get my stuff squared away pretty easily, but thought you might need help getting stuff together, and this one..." She threw her head to man beside her and finished, "…wanted to tag along."

Clara lifted a brow, surprised to see Greyson there. "Did he?" The two shared a steely glanced before she inclined her head, in effort to get him to leave. "Best be moving then. You know how Alpha is when he makes a decision."

Lavender rolled her eyes, automatically thinking the same could apply to Hermione. "Tell me about it."

The late October sun hung low in the sky though it was only midday; daylight increasingly dwindled by the minute. It was why the pack was so keen to pack at first light.

Normally, Hermione would have dressed in her heavy sweaters, complete with scarf and hat when travelling during this part of the year. Now the idea of wearing such garments made her frown in distaste. Even in a light, long-sleeved blouse that hung loose over her hips, Hermione grew hot. The more she walked, the more sweat gathered in unseemly places. She wiped her brow as she kept a comfortably moderate pace with the youngest and oldest among them.

Her gait had recently shifted due to her expanding womb, which grew heavier on her small hips by the day. As her uterus started to push her organs up, she found herself winded often. So she had been assigned to travel with the crone, Zachary, and the other children as they began the slow march deeper into the Forest away the nest of Acromantulas. Each person walked with their life magically minimized into a single shoulder bag.

"Why are leaving the clearing again?" Zachary asked after they had been walking for nearly an hour. Now, boredom had set in.

"It's safer for us to move," Hermione readily answered. "Alpha and I don't want the pack in harm's way. The further we move from the clearing, and the school, the safer we'll be."

Zachary nodded, partially satisfied, before proudly announcing, "Alpha told me to watch over you!"

At this, Hermione gave a brilliant smile. So, that explained why the young boy sought her out earlier that morning. He had remained glued to her side ever since.

On the other side of her, the old crone laughed, clearly amused. Though she was old, the crone moved well enough on her own with the aid of a walking stick. "What can you do to protect her if danger comes, little wolf? Not even old enough to have a wand yet. No, no, best let Alpha and the Elders protect his mate and pups."

Zachary frowned as he reached up to take Hermione's hand. He barely reached her waist, and he had to glance over Hermione's growing middle to face the crone. "There's plenty, I can do," he cried defensively. "Besides, why would he ask me to watch her if he didn't think I couldn't?" he asked, put out.

The crone clucked before replying back, "We're all watching her, silly wolf. Why do you think she walks in the midst of us all?"

She had been enjoying the exchange until that point. Frowning, she was about to firmly announce that she could take care of herself, when she turned to observe the slow-moving crowd surrounding her. Some ways ahead of her, Draco headed the pack to their as-of-yet, unknown destination.

Had Draco left her to walk in the middle of their pack purposefully?

There was little time to think on the question when a foreign sensation startled her enough to gasp. She thought a muscle had stitched, but as soon as she straightened, the queer sensation returned. Something, strong enough to tickle her insides, pressed against her lower pelvis. Could it be? She swore she was imagining things, but then the sensation was followed by another, low and close to her hip, followed by another near her ribcage. Amazed, she rubbed the underside of her belly and marveled at the life moving within her.

Beside her the crone chuckled in amusement, seemingly aware why Hermione had quieted and adopted a wistful smile. "Come to realize she carries something greater than us all, then?" the crone squeaked as she hobbled along on her cane.

Hermione, again, searched for her mate's head among the pack, needing to share this moment with him, when quicker than expected, a hand full of thin bone and skin reached forward to grab Hermione by the wrist. The crone quieted the nearby group with a fierce hiss.

Beside her, Zachary stopped as several others froze mid-stride. One-by-one, they slowly pulled out their wands, their heads cocked sideways as if listening for something. Around her, the pack backed slowly into a tight circle.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

She didn't have to be a werewolf to know the others had caught the scent of something unfamiliar. Her arm tightened about her stomach as she, too, took out her wand just before the howling began.

Chapter Text

"Zachary, stay by me, okay?" Hermione pleaded as she pulled the boy behind her. Too young to have a wand, the young werewolf whipped around frantically as he watched his pack members huddle in attack formation.

Hermione strained to hear what everyone around her could, but all she could hear was the howls as they inched closer.

The solider within had truly never been buried, and loathed as she was to revert to old habits, the situation demanded it. She readied her wand and shouted to those around her.

"Those without wands get behind someone who has one!" she shouted sternly, as Zachary clung to her shirt. "The Council and Elders will strike first, but we will give them cover."

"In formation now," another yelled. "We have incoming!"

That was the only warning they had before a jet of green sailed through their ranks and snapped the branch of a tree behind them. Out of time, the pack rushed forward or crouched down behind what cover they could find.

Hermione saw the masks of bone and ivory as they materialized from the undergrowth and knew Voldemort's forces had found them. They were too late.

Howls morphed into cackles and taunts as the pack split into smaller units and went on the offensive.

"On your right!" Hermione shouted in warning before she fired over the shoulder of a young werewolf, who clearly not seen battle before. But she would not reprimand the young girl as she turned to fire at a man who charged with a terrible scream. But neither the first, nor the second strike brought him down. She had to shout Stupefy once more before the burly man fell forward, skidding close to her trainers.

Pushing Zachary behind her, Hermione threw up a shield to stop another jet of black ink from hitting them.

"These are werewolves," the crone yelled from beside.

It was no wonder the man did not go down with the first hit. Looking around, Hermione saw how the pack paired against the attackers. Backed by Death Eaters on their side, it seemed as if they were unevenly matched. She cursed as she looked around desperately for her friends, for her mate.

"I'd suggest the slicing curse," the crone advised, as she took her walking stick in both hands and shoved the stick into the earthen floor.

The earth bubbled beneath its point as the crone's magic caused the ground to swell and grow. The earth fanned out like a mighty tidal wave and spread outwards. The magical wave did nothing to her pack, but the attacking werewolves and Death Eaters were thrown off their feet as the wave of earth and rock barreled them over, growing the further away it travelled away from its epicenter.

The crone met Hermione's stare of amazement with a toothless grin. "Get to the trees, dear." She pointed the old, large trees that stood almost as tall as Hogwarts' itself. "That boy of yours would hate to see you hurt."

Though Hermione countered, "I can't leave you, any of you!" She knew in her heart of hearts that she had to get to safety. Further up the line, some of her pack, though strong, had fallen to the Avada. Tears blurred her vision as the white-hot shame of retreat stung the back of her mind.

The crone snapped at her indecision. "We can't afford to lose you or the pups you carry. Now go!"

Conflicted, Hermione watched as the young werewolves around her disarmed and bound the fallen in the resulting chaos of the crone's magic. She belonged with them on the field, but the babes shifting in-utero she carried demanded she flee.

Dodging a volley that sailed over her shoulder, Hermione fired the slicing curse as the crone suggested, her aim precise and calculated. Then brushing off the sting of cowardice, she fled the battle for the tree line. She clung to Zachary's hand the entire way. The young and innocent had to come first. They ducked around the base of a large tree just as a wayward spell rained chips of tree bark into her hair.

From her vantage point, she watched as Sari tore down Death Eaters and werewolves alike. Just where had the other werewolves come from? Lavender provided backup to Sari, but the strain and fear was plain to see, even from a distance. Hermione's heart rent in two as she watched those she cared for fight for their lives while she cowered and hid.

Further down the line, she spotted Draco and her heart stitched as one of the babes in her womb rolled. Her mate masterfully dueled two Death Eaters who eagerly sought to personally deliver the Dark Lord's retribution. But he avoided their aim as supernatural instincts gave him the distinct advantage. She held her breath as the duel heightened. Slowly, the two Death Eaters closed in.

Something tickled her hand as her wand flew from her grip. In a heartbeat, the distraction turned into a costly mistake.

Beside her, Zachary slumped to the ground unconscious as an invading presence slid up her spine and across her mind. There was a cold moment of dread before she drowned under the invader's will.

Back away from the tree, Hermione. Nice and easy there. Do not make a sound.

Her stomach rolled with nausea as she struggled to break free of the curse. The only part of her that moved of its own volition were the babes she carried as she followed her captor's commands. Her children rolled, flipped, and pushed against her womb as she was forcefully led away from the battle, the pack, and mate.

That's it, carefully over the tree root. Continue walking.

Hermione struggled to break free until the sounds of battle were nothing but din in the background. Whoever controlled the Imperious walked behind her as they guided her through the thick of the forest. Their magic was strong as she helplessly watched her limbs move of their own accord.

She fought to pry open her mouth, but her vocal cords betrayed her will.

Quiet, dear. Step lightly, we're almost there.

Magic settled in the hollow of her throat and she knew had been Silenced. The invasion into the sanctity of her mind was absolutely revolting as tears of anger began to fall. She had started the morning in the warmth of Draco's tent, and now, it had come to this.

After what seemed like hours, Hermione and her captor emerged from the forest close to Hogsmeade. The village was nearly deserted. If anyone remained, they chose to shut themselves inside shuttered homes rather than investigate the pregnant witch mechanically walking along High Street. Hermione scanned the village for any sign of the Order, but distantly remembered they had abandoned the village after Alberforth's demise earlier that year. With Voldemort's re-taking of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade was as good as enemy territory.

Open the door to your left, the voice within her mind ordered. Wait inside. Do not move.

Though winded from the journey, she did as commanded. Shaking hands twisted the door handle to reveal the filthy interior of the decrepit Hog's Head Inn.

Greyson, smirking at her entry, sat on a barstool as if he had been expecting her.

"Masterful use of the Imperious, Clara," Greyson complimented her captor.

Rolling nausea made her pause in the doorway as the Imperious curse lifted. She nearly sagged at the revelation, as Clara, the woman she thought a friend, caught her from behind.

"Uh-uh. None of that, dear," Clara cautioned as she steadied her. Magic warmed her wrists as binds ensnared her wrists. "Don't worry, the binds aren't tight enough to constrict blood flow, not that you're escaping anytime soon. Now settle down, or I'll be forced to put you under again."

Hermione's automatic instinct was to fight, but the symbolic and physical weight she carried forced her to comply … that is, until she could think of a way to escape.

Greyson laughed as he walked forward to tuck a curl behind her ear. Hermione pulled away in disgust. He chuckled before pulling her forward. "Can't keep our distinguished guest waiting, now can we?"

"Mss. Granger." A polite whisper had her eyes widening in fear. In midnight floor-length robes, the Dark Lord emerged from the shadows to greet her. Red eyes swept the length of her, lingering briefly on her middle. "My, you've been a busy thing, haven't you? Greyson and Clara have been so kind to keep me abreast your plans, feeble as they were."

Hermione struggled against her bonds as she was pushed to her knees before the Dark Lord. Voldemort gave her a pleased grin when she lifted her chin proudly, terrified, but ready to accept whatever they had in store for her.

Voldemort's lips lifted in something akin to a smile. "But as always, I remain several steps ahead of your pathetic resistance." He stalked around her, not caring if his robes brushed her face. She flinched from the stench of ozone that clung to his robes, a tell-tale sign of dark magic. "Tell me, if I killed her now, what would happen to Mr. Malfoy?" he asked from somewhere behind her.

She swallowed deeply, but held her head forward. She wanted to curse him where he stood, but she would not give him the satisfaction. Focus, she bade herself. Think.

Meanwhile, Greyson answered with supreme satisfaction, "He would fade and die."

Hesitantly, Clara spoke from behind her, "But there is the matter of our repayment, my Lord?"

Hermione struggled against her bonds, sick at what was to come.

"Yes, yes. You have been most faithful." Voldemort appeared in her vision to stand before her again. "You see, what you failed to calculate, Mss. Granger, is that Clara resentss the very world you are so eager to protect. Fenrir, while his crude in his methods, brought our Healer here to our way of thinking after your world cast her aside long ago. Long before Mr. Malfoy came and killed her Alpha, she, along with Fenrir, pledged their loyalty to me. She brought Greyson to me after Fenrir had been killed. They remain, and always will remain, my most loyal soldiers."

He paused to consider the Yew wand twisting between his fingers. "Honestly, I want to strike you down now and be done with it. It would give me great pleasure to do so. Malfoy would pay for his betrayal and your Order will lose his alliance. Fenrir'sss pack once again becomes mine and slowly, but surely, your side will fall. The offer is tempting, I must admit. But I am if anything, true to my word." His eyes lowered to her protruding stomach and she looked away, disgusted.

"Apparently, you carry something of importance to their kind."

Hermione screwed her eyes shut, unwilling to hear any further.

However, Voldemort continued, "Werewolves and their lore," he chuckled, amused, as if discussing mere objects and not her flesh and blood. Draco's flesh and blood. "I find it fascinating, admittedly. But what are the lives of … what did you say, Greyson, three was it … three werewolf pups in the scheme of things?"

The fire behind her eyes forced them to open. Promise dripped from every word, "I will kill you if you touch …"

With a wave of his wand, Voldemort silenced her the rest of her threat. "That is enough." Gesturing to the werewolves behind her, he ordered, "You may take her." Rough hands lifted her from the floor, as Voldemort outlined her fate, "You will live long enough to deliver the pups to Greyson and Clara, and then you will die." Voldemort stepped around her as she was pushed towards a fireplace that whirled to life with green flame.

"They will be soldiers in your army, my Lord," Greyson promised. "If nothing, her offspring with Malfoy will be powerful." He met her scowl and intimately conveyed his own promise as he lowered his lips to her ear. "After I rip them from your arms, maybe then you will know what it feels like to lose someone you love. Then I will kill you myself," he growled.

"Let's go, Greyson!" Clara called as she shouted an unknown location in French into the flames. "Malfoy and the pack will have caught wind that she's gone by now. We have to move her, now."

"Tell me, Hermione," Greyson asked, though she remained silenced. "Have you ever met the loup garou? You fought some earlier in the forest, you know. Nevertheless, they are ever eager to meet you." With a shove, he propelled her into the fireplace that transported her away from Hogsmeade.

Chapter Text

Remarkably, Hermione spun out of the fireplace right side up, and with little nausea to boot. Small victories.

Her hands remained bound as she moved out of the fireplace and into a small bedroom outfitted with only a desk and chair. A quick whirl of flame announced someone had followed behind her. Hermione sneered at one of her captors in a move eerily similar to her mate.

Clara smirked at her tenacity, even in the face of captivity. "Careful there. I was considering releasing the Silencio on you," the Healer admitted. The werewolf and witch contemplated the other before Clara lifted her wand to Hermione's magically muted throat.

Warmth settled there and as quickly as the ability to speak returned, Hermione asked, "What did you do to Zachary?"

Instead of answering, Clara pushed her forward as another whoosh indicated Greyson's arrival.

Growling in frustration, Hermione pressed her heels in until Clara gave in.

"He's alright," the Healer answered, annoyed. "Just stunned him into unconsciousness, is all. Did you really think I would hurt him?" Clara asked as they made their way into a hallway that reminded Hermione of the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione did not meet the woman's gaze and growled lowly, "I don't what you'd do anymore. Why?" she voiced the obvious because logically it did not make sense. Why would Clara betray her pack and leave them to vulnerable to attack? Hermione fashioned herself a decent reader of people, and while she was not surprised at Greyson's ability to betray pack, she was genuinely wounded when she learned that Clara had been the one to steal her away. "Is it because Draco killed Fenrir?"

They came upon locked door at the end of the hallway. With a flick of her wand, Clara unlocked the door and pushed her inside. Greyson, ever the sentry, remained out in the hallway.

"Nothing personally against you," Clara replied from the doorway. "You see, Fenrir wasn't the only one who accepted the Dark Lord's cause as their own. When Malfoy defeated Fenrir, his beliefs did not die with him. The world will soon learn that we, those with werewolf blood, maintain more power than they ever could hope to have. Your pups with Malfoy are evidence of that. Now, I would have let you go after the delivery, but this one here," she threw her head over her shoulder to Greyson who waited outside. "…wants you dead. You should have never left the tent that night, Hermione."

Hermione struggled within the confines of her binds. "So, you'll keep me tied up here for five months, then?"

Clara smiled tightly from the doorway as she regarded the witch. "You'll have three square meals a day, access to proper attention, though suffice it to say, I'd doubt you'll make it five months."

"What do you mean?"

Clara shrugged. "I'd wager you'll deliver in three to four months. You didn't start this pregnancy in the best physical condition, and multiple pregnancies rarely go full term. Those two variables combined virtually guarantee an early delivery. But I'll be around to make sure your pups gestate as long as possible."

Hermione remained quiet as she placed her hands across her stomach, subconsciously protecting herself from Clara's intentions, even if the werewolf was a Healer. With unfiltered honesty, she stated simply, "Draco will kill you, you know? That is, if I don't first."

Though simple on its face, the declaration made Clara laugh. "You been hanging around the pack too long, Hermione," she chided, as if a werewolf could ever fear a witch. "Well, I'll leave you to get situated." Another swish of the wand saw Hermione's binds loosen and drop to the floor. "This pub, and several row houses down, belong to the Lou Garou, Greyson's pack prior to joining Fenrir," she said by way of explanation. "But I think you figured that one out by now."

Hermione rubbed tender wrists as she prodded for more information. "I thought his old pack had deserted him, hence why he joined Fenrir?"

Clara winked at her. "Maybe if you ask him nicely, he'll tell you the truth someday."

Hermione snorted as Clara made to close the door, though she could not help pressing again. "Why, Clara? Regardless what you think, they were your pack, too. Do you really think Voldemort is going to elevate werewolves to a place of power in his new world order? He detests magical creatures as much as he does my kind. Surely, you can't…"

"You think we'd be better off in your world, then?" she sneered in disdain. "Please, we'd be regaled as second-class citizens and barred from contributing to society for the rest of our natural days even though we are infinitely more powerful than the strongest among them! Don't insult me." Clara smirked as turned to close the door. "Dinner will be in the mess hall one hour."

Astonished, Hermione asked, "You're leaving me here alone?" She figured they would lock her in and keep her under heavy guard. Instead, they were giving her instructions as if she could move freely about?

With enough exasperation to remind her of her mother, Clara replied, "Hermione, I'd doubt you get far. This entire street belongs to the Lou Garou, along with the small number of witches and wizards who do business with them. And in all honesty, pregnancy has slowed you down considerably. Without a wand, you couldn't possibly hope to best us physically, though you're welcome to try if you'd like." With that, Clara shut the door leaving Hermione to her thoughts.

After Clara left, the first thing Hermione did was to check the bedroom's windows. However, the old window panes had been magically sealed some time ago. The glass, thick and aged, could be broken, but would draw attention quickly in a building full of werewolves. Not to mention, she risked severe injury to herself trying to escape without a wand.

Peering outside, Hermione found the sun seemingly stationed in the same corner of the sky as it was in Scotland, indicating she was still within the Greenwich Mean Time zone. Outside her first-floor window, passersby spoke in heavily-accented English or French as they tightened their cloaks about them in the chilly November air. She was certain she was in a wizarding village from the look of their attire and the magic a few performed openly. Hermione guessed Clara had transported her a village in France or somewhere close to its borders.

Her room presented very little else to go on.

Stocked with only a bed and a window, there was little else to inspect in the room that could have doubled as a water closet.

Chatter built beyond the bedroom door as wafts of a savory meal permeated the air. For a bit, Hermione resisted leaving the room before stomach growls gave way to pain. Normally she'd starve in protest, but she wouldn't dare let her children suffer because of her stubbornness. When some of the chatter had lessened, she turned the doorknob to find no resistance, nor did she find a guard stationed outside her door.

Such freedoms did not set her at ease, however. She inched along the corridor, her nose leading the way, until she came upon a large mess hall. The dilapidated hall outfitted with five rows of wooden tables contained the remnants of dinner recently served.

A few werewolves who lagged behind turned at her entrance, intrigued. She could see their nostrils flaring as they took in the unfamiliar sight. They had to know she was not a werewolf, that she bore a werewolf's mark, and carried werewolf's blood for they remained in their seats as she walked up to the serving table.

Men and women whispered amongst themselves making her long for the ability to pick up their muted conversations. Quietly, she helped herself to a ladle of the leftover stew and sat at the table farthest away from them. Every so often she would catch the men leering, or the women narrowing their eyes, but she bravely met each glance before lowering to her bowl.

If she had learned anything during her time with Draco's pack, she knew not to show herself weak before anyone.

"So, you're the prize Greyson promised us?" A accented brogue made the words difficult to comprehend.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione lifted her gaze to the stocky woman who stood before her.

Roughly shorn red hair stuck out in odd directions as the woman chuckled. " 'The witch who carries a werewolf's seed,' they tell me," she answered. "And three to boot. Surely, you've noticed the stares. You've given my youngest wolves something to strive for now."

Hermione's bottom lip curled in disgust. "Yes, I've caught their lewd glares. It was rather hard to miss." She stirred her soup endlessly, her appetite suddenly dwindling though her babes kicked in protest.

"Not their fault, of course," the woman continued as she smirked down at her, setting Hermione immediately on edge. "You do smell alluring. However, they smell the mark of your mate on you. He's an Alpha," she remarked impressively with a lifted red brow. "With your mark, and my order not to rut you, they're reduced to just eyes and noses." She turned around to observe the remaining werewolves in the hall.

Hermione swallowed before returning, "Not that I'm grateful, but why would they follow an order from you?"

The woman shrugged. "Shrewd business decision. Clara tells me your pregnancy, while viable, carries a risk. Forced rutting, no matter how much my wolves want it, does little to help if you're forced into a premature delivery because of it. And we can't have that."

Hermione blinked away the horrible imagery conjured by the woman's words and focused on the new information at hand. "Your wolves."

The woman looked her up and down, keenly noting the curiosity. "Name's Francine. I'm Greyson's and this pack's Lupa."

Her eyes widened a hair. "Hermione Granger. Can't say it's a pleasure."

Francine sat down opposite of Hermione and crossed her arms before the witch. "Yeah, Greyson's shared with me your fate. Pity for you. A boon for us."

Hermione pushed aside her bowl. "If you don't mind me asking, what is a Lupa?"

Francine gave a toothy grin. "Come now, dearie. You didn't think packs could only be led by males?"

"Forgive me, but I thought werewolves were patriarchal by nature."

"Aye, there are very few Lupas among us, and its hell trying to convince a bunch of cocks to follow a woman. Yet here I am."

"And where is here?" Hermione replied with a question.

At this, Francine shook her head. "Clara told me you were a clever one. You'll not get much information out of me or my pack, though you'll free to try. Until the birth, feel free to enjoy the hospitality." Francine winked at her.

Hermione's eyes widened at the suggested implication. "I can't assure you, I will." She pushed her bowl aside and stood from the table. "Excuse me, I think I'll return to my room now."

Francine stood as well. "Let me walk you back to your room."

Hermione was in no place to tell the Lupa no, so together, the two made their way out of the mess hall towards the hallway that led to the back rooms. "Greyson and Clara follow Voldemort," Hermione began once they were out of earshot, or as much as one could be. "So, it's safe to say that the Lou Garou do as well," Hermione surmised aloud.

Francine laughed, but did not respond as Hermione imagined. "I follow power. And right now, the Dark Lord has the lion's share, tis true. But the pups you carry will be powerful, too." She gave her a side-long glance.

"And you see my children as some kind of reward?" Hermione ventured, hoping Francine would take the bait. She was not disappointed.

"I'm sure you know we cannot procreate on our own. Our curse does not allow a female to gestate beyond the first full moon. However, the children you carry will not be bound by the limitations that restrict us. They'll possess the cunningness, strength and speed of a werewolf, but also the magical prowess of their witch mother. From birth, they are not ailed by the approaching full moon as we are. Instead, they are empowered by it. They will be natural leaders of their pack or any pack they form, regardless if they carry the Lycanthropic strain or not. There are very few records of werewolf pups as the pregnancy is not guaranteed to take. It is why children are made into werewolves, since they cannot be sired. A pack containing werewolf pups are said to be much stronger than one without. The fact that you carry an Alpha's seed guarantees your progeny will be powerful."

"You talk about them as if they are objects," Hermione whispered as she reached her door, one hand protectively on her middle.

Here, Francine seemed to soften though the lust in her eyes did not dampen. Hermione could not tell if she was attracted to the thought of more power, or to her physically. Perhaps both. Either way, Hermione shrunk against the door as the Lupa stepped closer to her. Reaching forward, Francine stole a lock of her curls and lazily wrapped it around her finger. She let go and watched as the curl sprung back into place.

"In another life, were you not mated, I would have allowed you yo live after the delivery to nurse and wean the pups. But even I wouldn't be as foolish to give up a prize such as this," Francine nodded to her protruding middle between them. "Though I must admit, I am anxious for you to deliver. Every day you are here, is another day my pack is in danger."

Hermione gave a small, calculating grin as she turned the doorknob and backed into her room. "You act as if my mate is the one you should fear."

Francine continued, missing her meaning, "Everyone knows it's unwise to cross an Alpha, even under normal circumstances. The Alpha of Hogwarts Forbidden Forest is spoken of fearfully amongst our kind. He is powerful for one so young." Francine nodded at the pregnant witch. "Goodnight, dearie."

Hermione closed the door and leaned against the wood as once again, dark whispers started to formulate a plan in her mind's eye. She would not dare say it aloud since Francine lingered outside her door, but she was grimly determined to see it through.

Chapter Text

Lavender was absolute shit at war. She had been a decent student at Hogwarts, but Merlin, if she hadn't been made a werewolf she would have surely died during this surprise attack. The sixth sense her wolf afforded saved her life more than once during the harrowing, but short-lived battle.

As quickly as the attack started, it ended, and the small contingent of Death Eaters and werewolves had been defeated or retreated into the Forest from which they came.

But it didn't make any sense. Why would Voldemort send such a small group to deal with Malfoy's pack, when they knew it to be in the hundreds?

Lavender pushed sticky, wayward strands of hair off her forehead as she whipped around, paranoia making her movements wild. Apparently, she wasn't the only one with similar thoughts as others nearby shifted their aim expecting another attack to materialize from the shadows.

It wasn't until the screams began behind her that she began to realize the Death Eaters' true purpose.

They only meant to convey a message.

Lavender took in the carnage left in their wake, momentarily not caring about the slicing curse burning her back. The inevitable scar would join the others she had accumulated recently.

Sari, and several of the pack's strongest fighters, had been killed. She briefly glanced over the girl's body, not wanting to linger on the dead that would surely haunt her sleep that night, to the closest man still alive.

"Where's Malfoy?" Lavender hissed to the man tending to a wounded woman on the ground as she wiped away angry tears. He hissed at her and she hissed back, "Alpha?" she growled, the animal within snapping close to the surface. "Where is he?" she asked, her frustration clear.

Sari, along with Greyson and Hermione, had been the only she'd grown close to during her time with Malfoy's pack. Now the young werewolf was dead and she couldn't find Greyson anywhere. In fact, she hadn't seen him since before they left the clearing earlier that morning.

Alone, the panic and fear began to creep in.

But the man was too busy tending to the injured to answer her. She was about to ask again when a terrible roar gave her the answer she sought.

She never figured the lanky, former Slytherin as one who needed three grown men to hold him back, but like a horrifying vision, there he was fighting off three of his own.

The rage was apparent from Lavender's vantage point. Part of her wanted to go to him, to know what had driven him to such a state, while another part of her froze in dread …. because there could only be one reason for Malfoy's rage. She had seen it before at Shell Cottage and the reason, she wagered, was the same then as it was now.

Something had happened to Hermione.

Her heartbeat escalated to match hurried footsteps as she raced towards Malfoy, afraid what he might to do those who tried to restrain him.

She pulled up short as he threw down the last who held him back. Immediately, she held out her hands as if the gesture alone could stop him.

"I-is it Hermione?" she asked with a nervous swallow.

Silver eyes slid in her direction as she took a hesitant step backwards, not mistakenly wanting to challenge him. She had no doubt he would tear her to shreds before she could blink. Undulating waves of power radiated from him so strongly, she wanted to drop to her knees before him. She ground her teeth in effort not to.

"I can't smell her," he growled desperately as he walked past her. His voice was deeper, and did funny things to her insides, even though she was bat-shit afraid of him at the moment.

The moment he brushed past her as if she were insignificant, she blamed her inner Gryffindor for the stupid thing she was about to do. She reached out and took ahold of his elbow.

He whirled around to growl at the contact so fiercely that she cowered before him. But still, she held onto his elbow.

"You can't leave. Not like this," she whimpered as his power pushed her into forced submission. She chanced a look at silver eyes as she dropped to her knees in the mud. "The pack's been decimated. We have to get out of here!"

He snatched his elbow away from her. "They took my mate!"

She could feel his rage as if it were her own. She wanted to hunt, kill, and tear into flesh with her teeth, but she shook those thoughts away. "And I can't find Greyson!" she trembled as she shouted from the ground. "But dammit, what are we to do? Sit here exposed while you leave us?"

He snarled at her, but remained quiet. She took it as a sign to continue as she pressed her luck.

"Take what remains of the pack to Shell Cottage," she quickly offered. The land surrounding the beach cottage was unplottable and large enough to hold their remnants of their pack. "We need to be elsewhere, otherwise we're vulnerable to further attack." She was sure he knew this in the back of his mind, but the safety of his mate took precedence.

Hesitation flickered briefly in silver eyes. His status as Alpha and protector of the pack demanded he see to their safety first. His need would always come second.

"She carries the pack's future! My future!" he argued to the wind.

"The pack will have no future if you do nothing!" Lavender countered just as adamantly from the ground. She hung her head to finally submit to him and lowered her voice, "Shell Cottage provides us cover for the time being. Once we move the pack there, we can look for her after."

She wasn't exactly sure if she convinced Malfoy to take what remained of their pack to Shell Cottage. It didn't take much to convince her that they needed to move elsewhere. They had been wide open to attack the longer they sat here and to her, it was an easy decision to leave the Forbidden Forest for good.

But she gathered it was a difficult decision for him. The war between leaving to find Hermione and staying to lead those he protected played across his darkened features. In the end, it was the correct decision to make, even if it hurt, as he left her kneeling in the mud to shout orders at those still alive.

After they collected their dead, the pack prepared to journey to the river that emptied into Hogwarts' Great Lake. It was the only part of the Forbidden Forest that allowed Apparition.

"We need to leave," she explained to the scared children she gathered to begin the journey to the river on foot. All the while, she kept her eye on Malfoy who stalked the area around them, his nose lifting and searching for something. She didn't have to guess who it could be.

Whispers among the pack that Greyson and Clara were missing along with Hermione eventually reached her as she walked with the children to the river's edge. She blinked back tears at the revelation that news brought.

Once they reached the river, they quickly decided Malfoy and she would take the strongest among them first, as they were the only two who had been to Shell Cottage. Once they landed, all would jump to the riverside and take more back with them. This pattern would continue until all had been transported to the seaside.

While she could Apparate two, maybe three at a time to the lonely beach, Lavender was shocked to see Malfoy transport a group of seven across the distance. His anger increased his power it seemed, but it gave them the added advantage to transport more of their pack to safety faster.

The sun began to set after her second arrival to the beach. Lavender watched as the cottage just aheadd lit from within as pops of Apparition sounded around her. Resting hands on her knees from the magical exertion, she watched as Bill Weasley, followed by a heavily pregnant Fleur, ran out of the cottage, their wands lit in the growing darkness.

Lavender stood and jogged to meet them as more of Malfoy's pack appeared on the sandy dunes. As the occupants of Shell Cottage approached her, they slowed as they took in her disheveled appearance. "It's alright," she placated their impending questions. Being a werewolf had its perks. What might have felled her as an ordinary witch, now slowed her temporarily. Her back had healed on its own before her first jump here.

Now, she was physically worn from expending magical energy on the jump across the island. Mentally, she was reeling from betrayal and loss. "I'm alright," she assured Bill and Fleur in the twilight. "You-Know-Who attacked us as we tried to move deeper into the forest. There wasn't time to contact you beforehand, but we had to leave. I suggested here since it's still under the Order's protection."

Fleur's eyes widened in surprise. "Is everyone alright?" She looked to the small group of werewolves appearing on the sandy shore, just steps from her home.

"We've suffered some casualties," she replied, her voice automatic and stiff. Lavender paused and looked to the ground. "Hermione's missing."

"What?!" Fleur gasped, looking around Lavender as if to confirm the information for herself. "What happened?"

Lavender soured as betrayal snaked around her heart. "Trust's been mistakenly placed into the wrong people. I suggested to Malfoy that we bring the pack here in the interim." She caught Bill's wary glance about. "They won't hurt anyone," she assured the wizard.

"They're werewolves," Bill countered obviously.

"Yeah, and so am I," Lavender returned hotly. "Look, give us a bit. We'll regroup and go from there. Besides, I doubt Malfoy will want to stay long, anyway."

Fleur nodded in understanding beside her husband. "I'll contact the Order and let them know what's 'appened." She placed a soft hand on her husband's arm as she turned to leave. "They are our allies, my love. We cannot turn them away in their moment of need." The pregnant witch turned back for the cottage.

Once Fleur was out of earshot, Bill broached the subject carefully, "Last time something happened to Hermione, Malfoy wasn't exactly pleasant to deal with. How do I know we won't have the same problem now?"

Lavender sighed and ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "He's mated her, Bill. It's different."

Bill whistled lowly and gave sardonically, "Even better."

"Look, I'll deal with him. We'll stay out of your hair… Just give us a moment, yeah?"

Bill nodded as he gave her a once-over. "And you? How are you holding up?"

Chuckling sourly, she replied, "Bloody fantastic."

It was nearing midnight when the last of their pack arrived and settled beside the sea. Fleur and Bill did their best to offer aid to their newest neighbors. With their current Healer gone, Fleur and Lavender treated the wounded the best they could, while Bill offered what little food rations they could spare.

With a flourish of her wand, Lavender secured the bandage around the leg of her last patient when a blond blur caught her eye. "Malfoy!" Lavender hissed as she followed the blond into the dead of night. She chased down the Alpha as he stalked away from the beach with nothing but a light satchel on his person. "Malfoy? Where are you going?" she asked, though she had an inkling.

"I need to find her," he said simply, not turning to face her. "I'll pick up her scent from where we left in the forest and go from there."

Lavender knew this moment was coming, but she wasn't prepared for how quickly it did. "You're leaving now?! But… but Sari's dead. Who will the others look to while you're gone?"

"I don't care," he muttered beneath his breath. She gathered he didn't mean for her to hear it, but she did.

"You don't mean that." She fell in step beside him as he broached the cottage's protective wards.

But he was a werewolf determined as his signature acerbic bite returned. "I'm sorry, Brown, were you going to stop me?"

Lavender snorted, "Like I possibly could. It's just … there are people here who need you, too."

He lifted a chilly brow as he prepared to Apparate and leave the pack for Merlin knew how long. "My mate, and my children, need me. I have to find her."

Lavender frowned. She didn't want to say it, but they had to face the possibility, "Draco, do you really think Greyson and Clara would keep her alive?"

Silver eyes flared in anger. "As long as I'm alive, there is a chance. Besides, I need to have a word with Greyson and Clara." With that, he Apparated into the night and left them alone.

"How long has he been gone?"

The question had become a daily ritual. Today, it was being discussed with members of the Order. Lavender sighed as she took a sip from the mug Fleur offered.

It was funny. Drinking tea in a warm kitchen seemed so refined and far removed from living among the pack in open air. She fidgeted as she leaned against the counter, unsure how to act in the company of witches and wizards. "Three weeks, now," she answered. "The full moon's in a few days and the pack is starting to ask me questions. As if I know when he'll be back? But they're granting him grace because they know he is mated and cannot blame him."

Her former Transfiguration Professor crisply asked from her seat at the table, "What does this mean for the Order's alliance? It was because of Hermione that we secured it in the first place. Does her absence mean we've lost it as well?"

Bill, Fleur, and Arthur Weasley looked to Lavender, who looked back at them, surprised. "What?"

"You're a part of Malfoy's pack now. Without Hermione to liaise with, you're all we got," Bill informed her.

Lavender set the mug on the counter and shook her head. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly. You saw what he was like on a good day, and then what happened with Ron." She apologized briefly to Arthur who darkened at the mention of his deceased son. "You can't possibly want me to speak to him now."

"What else are we to do, Ms. Brown," Minerva questioned shrewdly. "There's still a war to be fought. We don't have the advantage of time on our side, especially since we've lost our hold on the Forest and Hogwarts."

As if summoned from their discussion of him, Malfoy suddenly materialized at the kitchen's screen door. He was ragged from his long journey. His hair hung in dirty strands down his back and blond scruff started to line his chin and cheeks. He quickly sized up the room, his gaze falling on the distrustful Arthur Weasley as he hovered near the outside of their circle.

"If the Order cared so much, they would send aid to help me find my mate." Non-use made his voice rough and scratchy as he spoke quietly to the room.

Several in the small group brows rose at that new piece of information. But it was Minerva who replied for them all, "Believe me, no one cares more than me about Hermione's safety. Had I known she'd be at risk with your pack, I would have strongly cautioned against her returning with you, Mr. Malfoy. Though I recall certain assurances that there was no need for such precaution. It seems I was mistaken." Her days as a Professor were behind her, but her ability to reprimand had not been lost.

Draco sneered, but did nothing because she was right. In the end, he could not protect his mate, and now, the tentative alliance between the Order and a werewolf teetered on a precipice.

Arthur put forth quietly as a lull settled over the room, "I want Hermione to be alright. If not anything, then for Ron." Here, he met Malfoy's gaze. "I don't agree with what you did here some months ago, but I can understand it. Molly and Ginny will come to grips in time, but I don't want him to have died in vain." He dipped his head to Malfoy before turning to Minerva. "We're still ready to fight, whenever you are."

Minerva pursed her lips before addressing the Alpha werewolf. "Bill tells me, the fact that you have not faded assures us that Hermione is alive for the time being. Whoever has taken her is keeping her alive for a purpose. To what end, I cannot say."

Beside her, Fleur rested a hand on her distended stomach as she murmured sadly, "If I am due next month, she 'as to be almost five months along by now."

Lavender gulped as she came to the awful realization. "Wait a second. You don't mean…the pups?" She looked to Malfoy before frowning. Being his only kin in the kitchen, Lavender shuddered as the werewolf's quiet fury physically caused her pain.

"Greyson," he growled, "would like nothing more than to strike at her, and me, for what happened this past August." He met Fleur's horror-filled eyes as the part-Veela grasped her stomach with protective hands. "And what is crueler than taking our pups from her? From me? So yes, she is still alive, but the longer we wait, the closer we get to…" he swallowed, unable to finish the thought. Just as quickly, he reverted to his previous mantra, "Which is why I need to be back out there."

Lavender couldn't argue with that, but had to remind him, "The full moon's in a few days, though."

Minerva also reminded him of another calling, "You need to see to our agreement, Mr. Malfoy. As far as I can tell, you've still agreed to come to our aid. You can't do that if you're gallivanting across the island."

Malfoy's fists curled at his sides. "I don't think you understand. I need to find her."

Minerva's gaze softened a fracture, but she gently pressed, "There would be no point if we fall to You-Know-Who's forces. Our safe houses are dwindling. Shell Cottage and your contingent here are the last of our strongholds on this island. If we lose Shell Cottage, then this island is lost."

"I could care less about your bloody war!" Malfoy roared, causing the room to physically jump back.

Lavender was the first to recover from the magical onslaught. "But Hermione does! It's why she wanted to move the pack, right? It's why the crone fought to give her cover, so she could remain safe. Because we need to see this war end, Malfoy," Lavender stressed. "And I get it, you're beyond pissed. Believe me, no one wants to tear Greyson's throat out more than me, but sulking and leaving for weeks at a time does little when there's a war breathing down our collective necks."

Malfoy shook his head at them before backtracking the way he came. "Fight your war, if you must. I'm going to find her." He exited through the kitchen door, and again, Lavender gave chase after him.

"At least wait until after the full moon," Lavender offered to his back, though she could read the determination in the set of his shoulders. "The pack is…"

"The pack will understand, Brown. Look after the younglings until I return."

She stopped following him at that, knowing a lost cause when she saw it. When he first left, she had hoped Malfoy could home in on Hermione though their mate bond and this terrible ordeal would be over in short order.

But she had learned from the crone that their bond had been too new, too fragile. Perhaps if they had been mated for longer, then Malfoy would be able to pinpoint her exact location, know exactly what she was feeling or thinking, but as it stood, they had only been mated for a few days before she had been taken.

That left them in terrible spot.

Lavender was left to explain to the disheartened pack that Malfoy had left once again, though she believed he would return before December's full moon. Amazingly the pack believed her, as they knew Malfoy had been speaking with her recently. Amazed, she realized their confidence in her grew when she wasn't looking. That act of confidence did a great deal to heal her broken heart. So, in return, she helped the pack prepare for the coming full moon in the best way she knew how; all the while, she kept a constant vigil beside the sandy shores for Malfoy's return because regardless of their newly-placed confidence in her, she could not do this alone.

She may have looked like she had everything together, but the truth was she was struggling.

Belatedly, she realized the full moon fell on Christmas Day. It was late after a somber celebration with the pack that Malfoy finally returned. Lavender saw the hopelessness etched into his bones as he Apparated from wherever he had been; the dirty blond scruff on his chin unkempt and wild as his hair.

She watched as he sank to his knees where the ocean met the land, uncaring of the tide washing over him. Lavender hesitated to approach as an overwhelming sadness punctured her heart.

Malfoy's broken heart spilled past the barriers of his own to reverberate throughout his pack. She surmised without asking that Hermione could very well be lost to them. When Malfoy howled at the rising moon, Lavender and the pack could not help but join in his somber call.

Chapter Text

"The closest Healer is a village over, Hermione, and we both know you're not able to leave," Clara stated as she crossed her arms, wand threateningly in hand as she addressed her stubborn patient from the doorway. "I can put you under, or we can do this like civilized adults." The threat of the Imperius hung in the air.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the woman. "There's constant movement. I'm sure everything is fine," she emphasized, simultaneously trying to project strength. But a slight inflection betrayed the doubt that lingered because what mother-to-be could not constantly worry about her pregnancy's prognosis?

Clara smirked, reading the worry in between the words. "Hermione, I want to make sure the pregnancy's progressing as it should be. You're twenty-six weeks or nearly seven months along, and no matter your feelings towards me, we both want the pups to be fine. I think we can agree on that much."

Hermione bit her lip in frustration, because blast it all, Clara was right. She made a show of uncrossing her arms and sitting on the bed, reluctantly granting the Healer permission to proceed. As she situated herself to be examined, disgust settled in. Even though she gave permission, it didn't stop every intimate prod and poke from feeling like a betrayal. Hormones made her teary-eyed at the unfairness of it all. Clara methodically checked her and the fetuses' vitals before noting something in the journal she carried.

"Any particular discomfort?" Clara asked, not looking up from her journal.

Hermione glared at the woman and visualized snapping her neck. Of course, her back ached as the day was long, she constantly bumped into things from losing her center of gravity, and her ankles were beginning to swell. "I'm fine," she spat, wanting the ordeal to be over.

Clara raised a brow and smirked to herself. "My, the wolf's blood's made you feisty alright. Well, your vitals look good. Your insulin levels haven't changed, which is good. The pups are active and all three heartbeats are within the normal range. You're still a bit on the skinny side, which makes me skittish about a premature delivery. Have you've been minding your meals and your potion regimen?"

Hermione hated that she had to interact with the woman, but resolved to answer her questions quickly be rid of her. "I am. I eat when I'm hungry," she clipped in short sentences. "Between the stress and the physical discomfort, it's hard to maintain a regular appetite."

Here, Clara gave an understanding smile. "That, I can understand. I'm sure you know this, but it's important to remain active for as long as you can, and to eat properly. It's why Francine wanted to give you free run of the place. No use being cooped up in this room when there's fresh air outside."

"How kind of you."

Clara snapped her journal shut and sat at the foot of Hermione's bed, well out of arm's length.

Smart woman.

Both paused and watched as one of the triplets shifted in-utero as space to move became increasingly restricted. The angular bump travelled along the length of Hermione's waist before settling. Clara exhaled, exasperated, "Look, I get it. It's a raw deal. But if the Dark Lord had his way, you would have died back in Hogsmeade. End of."

Hermione sat against the wooden headboard, not caring in the slightest. "So, I should be thankful that I'm allowed to bond with my children before they're ripped from me at birth?"

Clara glared back. "I'm saying if it has to be you or your pups, I don't know what mum wouldn't choose her pups' lives over her own. Be grateful they'll be protected by the pack after the delivery."

Hermione scoffed as she looked to the window and the January snowfall whirling beyond. "Forget what I said about Draco killing you, Clara. I'll do it myself."

Clara smiled at that. "I've always liked your feistiness." With that, she stood to take her leave. "I'll miss that about you. Oh, by the way. You're nearly one centimeter dilated. If things continue to progress as is, we may be looking at a late February or March delivery."

That left her with little under two months to find a way out of this situation and back to Draco. A cornered wolf, though cut off from the pack, was still a dangerous thing.

Oddly, she developed a sort of pride that despite their collective captivity, her pregnancy was flourishing. Week by week, she marveled as her lower half began to grow up, then out. She took solace in constantly whispering to her children that soon they would be reunited with their father. She lovingly caressed her stomach, comforting the riotous pups within, and promised, "It won't be long now." She received a reassuring kick to the hand at that statement.

The snowfall would not let up for two weeks. One morning after awaking from a fevered dream about silver eyes that left her wanting, Hermione decided to venture out of her room: her focus clear.

She found Lou Garou's Lupa preparing for her daily walkabout the wizarding village. Hermione usually joined her, thoroughly intrigued by the powerful woman, but recently declined due to the snow accumulating outside as of late. Today, however, the sky was clear. She found Francine lacing her winter boots by the tavern's front door.

"Bored, dearie?" The woman asked in greeting.

"Trying to starve off cabin fever is more likely," Hermione easily replied. "Do you mind if I join you today?"

Francine glanced around, looking for someone, most likely Clara or Greyson. "You don't fancy hanging around here with the others?"

"Not if I can help it. If you're looking for Clara, she's says I'm alright to move about. Besides, you don't you want us together for long. I'd strangle her if I could maneuver properly."

Francine watched as the younger witch rubbed her aching back before sympathetically offering, "The pups giving you trouble?"

Hermione gave a half-smile. "With each passing week, they grow restless while my organs become more of a playground." She allowed the rare admission to slip by unfiltered, "I wish Draco were here to experience it."

Francine took pity on the younger witch. "I notice you didn't come out of your room during the full moon last week. Didn't want to come out to play with the rest of us?" she teased.

Hermione grimaced as she rubbed another spot on her back. "No need to. I rather like spending time in my room." Hermione didn't tell Francine about the uncanny notion to bay at the moon in overwhelming sadness as her babes kicked and flipped most enthusiastically during the lead up to the full moon. Apparently, she wasn't the only one missing Draco as of late. She shook her head free and returned her attention to Francine, "So, where are you off to today?"

The Lupa eyed her warily before answering, "Making my rounds to the local shops. The snow's let up a bit. Care to join me?"

Hermione glanced around to catch Greyson eyeing her from a table in the mess hall. "Gladly."

Following her line of sight, Francine chuckled before offering a cloak. "It's January in northern France, dear. You'll need a cloak."

Hermione demurred, storing away the piece of information Francine so carelessly admitted. "No need. I'm constantly hot these days. I suppose the winter air will feel good."

Francine gave her a once over in her long-sleeved cotton shift and shrugged her acquiescence. "Then, let's go."

As they walked along the narrow cobbled street, the two women struck an odd sight: one, stocky and tall; the other, petite and … well, wide. When they entered one shop after another, Hermione fervently studied everything she could about the village outside her bedroom.

The shops were old and traditional, similar to the ones that lined Diagon Alley.

"Hey, Francine! Got a new lover there," a man chortled as he took in Francine's travelling companion.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the man who reeked of fermented fruit. Her eyes widened at the insinuation as Francine laughed heartedly beside her, "You're a hoot, Faison." The Lupa leaned on the counter, as if to block Hermione from the man.

"Just trying to keep my best customer happy," the drunk laughed. After some small talk, Francine and the man exchanged coins and goods.

Hermione turned over the situation in her mind. Could this present the opening she was looking for? Once they left the man's shop, Hermione quietly remarked, "I noticed you didn't correct him. The man back there…"

Francine gave her a sideways glance. "Aye. Neither did you."

"I'm cautious of overplaying my hand these days," she placed a hand on her ever-growing middle, feigning motherly caution. "I'm not sure what is allowed or not, and I'd rather not find out mistakenly."

Francine snorted, "You sure are a clever one. More than most of my pack."

So, she'd been told.

Pushing slightly, Hermione admitted easily, "I'm quite fascinated by the role you've established here. Had it been another time and place, I would have loved to study how you rose to the status of Lupa. If anything, it presents an interesting case study."

"Nothing to write about. I bested my former Alpha and took the pack over by force. The Lou Garou, though crude, follow power. Always have. Always will." Suddenly, she switched topics. "So, how has your stay with the Lou Garou been so far? Everyone treating you alright?"

Hermione nodded beside her. "Your wolves are loyal to your word. No one has bothered me. But I find it odd to see werewolves shift so freely to their lupine form outside of the full moon. It's like being an animagus, but not quite. I wish there was something I can read to learn more about you." Hesitantly, she asked, "I gather you wouldn't be keen to me recording my observations?"

Francine shook her head, bemused by the witch's roundabout request. "No, I wouldn't. But I'm glad to hear none have troubled you so far. Though you make it hard to, even if they wanted to. We barely see you, except at meal times or now, when you accompany me on my morning walkabout. I figured you must be lonely."

Hermione remained quiet and let Francine continue the train of thought, her sixth sense making the hair on her neck stand on end.

"A wolf without a pack is a pitiful existence," Francine lamented.

"Yes, but I'm not a werewolf," Hermione replied evenly.

"Aye, but you've the spirit of one. You smell of new earth, and spring. You're a wild one, growing wilder by the month. Some call it stubbornness, but it's a lupine trait. You can blame it on the pups and the wolf's blood all you want, but it's there all the same. I can smell it."

Treading very carefully, Hermione admitted after Francine's response, "I am lonely. Being so far removed from Draco and the pack … it's been more disconcerting than I care to admit." She did not have to fake the accelerated heartbeat as she thought about Draco and her longing to see him again. She missed him so very much.

Francine could not miss the way her eyes lost themselves to remembrance, or the way a rosy splatter dotted her nose and cheeks at the memory of her mate's touch.

It had been too long since she had been touched intimately by someone.

Hermione sighed as she grew aroused, which undeniably did not take much at seven months' gone. She was constantly battling bouts of arousal at the oddest of times. In her mind's eye, she caught a flash of silver eyes, platinum hair, and a back moving in a familiar dance before… Merlin, she'd ruined another pair of knickers again.

Francine inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring at the unique scent of arousal. "I never want to see one of my own suffer, sweet girl. And better or worse, in these past few months, I've come to see you as one of mine. The nature of a Lupa is to collect power, and there's no denying you've plenty of it. Your pups will have it, too," she slyly gave the offer.

Hermione shrugged a shoulder as they turned down an alleyway. "And here, I thought only my children mattered."

Predictably, Hermione found herself trapped against an alley wall. She struggled not to let the repulsion churning in her gut show through as Francine leaned in close to sniff the crook of her neck.

"I can hardly smell him on you anymore," Francine hummed in satisfaction, "Though what I do smell is just as sweet."

Hermione swallowed uncomfortably as Francine pressed against her belly. A very foreign hand danced along her arm as the repulsion in her gut climbed to her throat. Compartmentalize, she bade herself. For a wolf was a wolf no matter the sex, and such a temptation, Hermione guessed, would be too great to pass up. She saw it in the way the others, including Francine, stared at her during meal times. So for now, she allowed the hand the skim up her forearm and into her hair.

Francine sighed as she lifted the weight of her curls in one hand. "I've dreamed of you, you know."

"Can't have that," Hermione turned her head as Francine pressed her nose further into her neck. She could sense the Lupa's desire to taste her. "I'm a dead witch in a month or so," she reminded her instead.

Here, Francine paused, though she did not move away. "See, that's a real shame." A finger slid along her jaw to rest on her bottom lip. "Maybe … maybe we can do something about that. There's no need for you to … suffer... needlessly. Perhaps, we can come to an agreement."

She met Francine's searching gaze. "There's only one agreement I'll accept." The challenge hung in the short space between them. She really wanted to push Francine away as the uncomfortableness was becoming too great.

But Francine let up first, finally giving her room to breathe. "Stubborn girl, there's no taming you, is there? I'd see now why he'd want to claim you so." Hermione narrowed her eyes as Francine backed away, with a final offer, "Come to my room tonight. I'm sure we can strike a bargain that will satisfy both of our needs."

As the hours dwindled, Hermione ran through every likelihood twice-over. When the moment came, she spent nearly a minute outside of Francine's door, fluctuating between raising her hand and knocking, or doubling back down the hallway. A violent torrent of emotions lodged in her throat as she prayed for forgiveness from her unborn children, but she would find a way back to Draco. And if that meant going through with this...

She would do this and more to get back to her mate's arms. Grim decision defined her features as she wrapped twice on the wooden door.

When the door creaked opened, Francine greeted her with a smug smile and invited her in. Hermione was not surprised when Francine ordered her to sit on the bed and take off her shirt. Hermione rolled her shoulders, irritated at having to show submission, but begrudgingly played along for the moment.

She pulled the garment over her head and dropped the shift on the nightstand, just over Francine's wand, though the Lupa was too enraptured by the sight before her to notice.

Francine murmured promises that would never happen into her bare skin. She promised how she would protect her after the delivery, how she would protect the pups as if they were her own, and how Hermione would come to forget her old pack and accept the Lou Garou as her own.

Unfortunately, only one of those promises would come to pass.

Too enchanted by the heavy breasts now in hand, Francine did not notice Hermione grabbing the nightstand in faux-support. Only when she tried to close her mouth around a pert nipple, did she freeze, the fear brief and immediate. Eyes opened in shocked regret as the tip of her own wand pinched her jaw.

Hermione's eyes, before darkened in faux-lust, were now obsidian in rage. "You should have never opened that door."

A flash of green illuminated Francine's room before all grew quiet.

Chapter Text

Hermione's heart raced as the ability to once again conduct magic flowed undeterred. It was a special kind of torture to keep a witch from her wand, and as soon as she wrapped her hands around the piece of cherry wood, a strange sort of magic enveloped her. But rather than use the wand to dispose of Francine, she pushed the stocky woman to the floor. Sure, she could have used magic to levitate Francine's lifeless body out of the room and down the hallway, but something told her that it was imperative to do this with her two hands.

So, she did.

It was difficult to maneuver with the extra girth her belly presented, so much so, that she ended up dragging the former Lupa at odd angle. Fortunately for her, rigor hadn't set in, so the woman's body was pliable enough for the moment.

Hermione's lower back protested in agony as she struggled to drag the woman down the hall; all the while, she kept her grip on her newly acquired wand. She would not lose it so easily this time. As she emerged into the mess hall where the Loup Garou took their meals, stunned pack members stumbled into view.

They watched as Hermione dragged Francine's remains into view before dropping the lifeless body to the floor. She lifted her to wand eye-level as she observed a wary werewolf close to her, and another who appeared beyond him. "You!" She lifted her chin at the young man, no older than her.

The young man began to growl as he took in his former Lupa, dead on the ground beside Hermione's trainers. "You've killed Francine."

Hermione did not budge, as her wand remained trained on the man. She arched a brow and replied, "You know what this means?"

More werewolves poured into the hall. Hermione quickly scanned the room as they filed in, one after another, no doubt drawn from the magical shift they felt earlier.

Betrayal marked the young man's face as he lowered to his knees, preparing to shift. "I'll die before I'll serve a bloody witch!" As he finished, the man shifted seamlessly into a wolf and charged at her.

There was no time for indecision. One protective hand on her stomach, Hermione twisted Francine's wand as the incantation flew forth effortlessly. All watched as the charging wolf fell forward into a lifeless heap, his large head barely attached to its neck as muscle and blood sprayed at her feet.

She growled at the man's insolence as her children shifted in-utero. "Listen!" she shouted to them all, her voice amplified by a Sonorous charm she did not cast. She spun to face off with the growing crowd that appeared on the balcony above her. They poured out of the back rooms, and from outside and the winter air.

Her hair, wild with the magic, crackled as the fire of wolf's blood burned her veins. As if testing out her mettle, the power of a Lupa swirled about her feet, her waist, up to her heart and down her arms. She struggled against the uncomfortable feeling as she addressed the Loup Garou surrounding her. "I do not want to, but I will kill you if I must. Threaten me and my children, and you will lose every single time," she swore the truth of the matter.

For a moment, they did not move. Perhaps they were waiting to strike, or something more sinister. Encouraged by their collective pause, Hermione raised her voice and continued, "I offer you what Francine could not –"

"What could a witch possibly offer us?" someone shouted from the balcony above.

The wild magic circled tighter about her. It was thick enough to stuff her ears with cotton, yet it caressed her arms as if she were a long-lost lover. In a raised voice, she began, "True power isn't found by following a man who'd rather see our kind eradicated from the world." Her audience was intrigued, so she continued, though she held her wand high, ever on the defensive. "It's found in blood. Blood, we share." She placed her hand on the underside of her belly, swollen with Draco's children. "My children are your children. They represent the boundless possibilities for our kind." Being a witch did not stop her from using the possessive. She saw them as kin, for they were her mate, her friends, and her soon, her children. They were a part of her.

At this, a few nodded, though some still regarded her cautiously.

She swallowed and pressed on, "Francine saw it and I know you see it. And yet, there are some who would rather cater to a mad-man, a half-blood, who would end those possibilities." There were grumbles of agreement at this declaration. "Who would rather see us beneath their feet as if we were nothing more than a domesticated dog!" Here, some openly shouted in agreement with her. Her voice cracked from the extensive shouting, but she soldiered on, "I swear, on the life of my children, our children, that I will never hesitate to defend each and every one of you, to make sure such possibility is never taken from you!" Her eyes darkened to obsidian as she warned them all, "But cross me, openly or behind closed door, and I swear, I will end you." She lowered into a dueling stance as best she could as she tested the room, "Now, what say you?"

The smell of blood filled her nostrils as the magic of the Lupa settled to bury deep beneath her skin. Her womb tightened as the magicks intermixed to form a new kind of power. She grimaced in discomfort as her magical core shifted and expanded deep within the seat of her, but through it all, she remained resolved. She would make them heel, one way or another.

She could not see the metallic amber that replaced her former honey-colored irises, marking the shift as complete; but the Loup Garou did. Like recognized like as they accepted the call of their Lupa and one by one, they lifted their fists to cover their heart. Slowly, she lowered her wand.

Hermione gave a smirk and growled darkly to her pack, "Good. Now bring me Clara and Greyson."

Draco's mind was slipping again.

He usually did not mind the lead up to the full moon; now, it was similar to the months after he'd been initially turned. Blinding pain would overtake him in random intervals. His heart would stitch, or worse, a hollowness would cleave at what was left of his soul. Without his mate beside him, his mark physically pained him in the days leading to the pack's collective shift. Without her, his hold on the animal that lingered beneath the surface loosened and often snapped. He lashed out, like an angry whip, to whichever unfortunate soul happened to be close-by. He fought hard and often. He hadn't been in this many fights since Fenrir first made him a werewolf, but there was no other outlet for the anger within.

As winter's daylight shortened, the encroaching darkness that stole the sun and his sanity seemed like a welcome escape. By the close of January, the pain was near constant. Draco traced the small mate mark on the inside of his wrist as his heart broke a little more.

Brown tried talking to him about it. She tried to develop a strategy to move forward, but he had de-evolved from a wizard on a mission to an animal gravelly wounded.

The concept of time had evaporated like his mate. Everything filtered to before, when she was here and after, when she wasn't.

And she hadn't been by his side for quite some time now.

He was lost.

True, his pack still depended on him for their safety, but he had little to give of himself. A youngling had been foolish enough to challenge him in the days after the January full moon thinking his broken heart equated weakness. The challenger was dead on the ground within two minutes. His pack learned that even in his weakness, Draco Malfoy was still a powerful Alpha.

Broken, but still powerful.

He found little solace on the shoreline of Shell Cottage, a few meters from the final resting place of Harry Potter. He watched as the tide swept in beneath the crescent moon.

"Malfoy. There's a meeting with the Order in a bit. Are you coming?" Brown called as she approached, her footfalls quiet on the wet sand.

"What's the point?"

"So, we're not fighting with the Order, then?" Brown pressed as she neared, the annoyance clear. "You know, she would've wanted you to fight." His pack was careful not to utter his mate's name within earshot of him. They all had learned that lesson by now.

Draco mentally folded into himself as the werewolf approached. He did not want to do this.

Brown sighed as the silence stretched. "Because we both know she would have, right? You're still here, Malfoy. That must mean something." He continued to stare out into the ocean, his mind whispering to forget it all. He had done it before, perhaps he could do it again.

"It's pointless if she isn't here," he admitted to himself, though the other werewolf overheard him.

"It isn't and you know it. Hell, I could give up, too, after what Greyson put me through…" she argued, as Draco growled at the mention of the werewolf's name. "But I'm not sulking around. Damn it, there's still a war to win."

"So, go fight." He was so very tired of it all: the fight, the will to continue, the desperation in which he vigorously sought his mate. He had searched high and low for her, beginning in Hogsmeade following the aftermath of the attack. Clutching her beaded bag, he travelled to Voldemort's former strongholds hoping to catch a whiff of her. But she eluded him as the weeks wore into months, until he was forced to replace the touch and smell of her with a memory.

But memory paled woefully when it came to the real thing. Sometimes, he wondered how far along she was? He imagined she would be waddling along, as their children pushed against her back, stretching her into the height of discomfort. Could she feel them kicking by now? Were they still alive?

His mind slipped into static as raw pain clawed at his heart.

Brown continued, unaware of how close he teetered to the edge. "Believe me, I would if I could." She crossed her arms before sitting beside him in the cold surf. She yelped, not that the frigid water affected them, but because the muddy surf ruined her jeans. "The pack won't listen to me," she complained. "They need you. And I get it, you need her, but if I know Hermione," she took his glare in stride and continued, "then she's fighting as we speak to get back to you. Now, are you going to get off your arse and do the same?"

It would be so much easier to give in. The temptation was still there. He fingered his mate mark once more as Brown's words pierced the fog. Unbidden, a smirk lifted the side of his mouth as a memory came to him. "You sound like her," he admitted lowly.

Brown snorted as she stood to her feet, dusting off her jeans free of sand. "Well, you don't live together for years without picking up some habits, I suppose."

Draco stood with her as the two walked towards Shell Cottage in silence. As always, he and Brown entered through the patio door to find remnants of the Order already deep in conversation. The traditional group of Weasleys, Shacklebolt, McGonagall and a few from Dumbledore's Army paused mid-conversation as the werewolves joined the fray.

It was McGonagall who spoke first, her face pinched at the sight of him. "So good of you to join us."

Brown spoke for them both, "Was trying to convince this one to shave," she teased, tossing her head to the growth on his chin he'd left unattended. He glared at her in warning as she backtracked, "Clearly, I lost."

"Well, I'm afraid the time for personal grooming is behind us. You-Know-Who is on the move."

A hush settled over the room as Draco spoke up, a first in months. "Where?" he grated, his voice rough.

McGonagall regarded him slowly before replying, "We're not sure. He is pulling his forces from across the island. I fear an attack of great magnitude is coming."

"Similar to the Battle of Hogwarts, you mean?" Bill Weasley surmised as he hugged Fleur close. "Fleur is too close to delivery. She'll have to stay behind."

"Where do you need us?" Arthur Weasley asked, resolved, even though he had already given much to the cause.

Shacklebolt answered instead, "We're moving our people from what remains of our safe houses. If you don't mind, we will momentarily give them quarter here. Until we get a better track on You-Know-Who's whereabouts, I don't want to leave our people vulnerable to attack."

"But the villages we protect? We're just going to give them up?" The shock across the room was plain to see.

Shacklebolt and McGonagall remained firm, as the former Professor replied, "You-Know-Who is strategic. He's isn't seeking to kill all of wizarding kind. He will need someone to lord over once the fighting's done. Ever since Harry fell, he's been meticulous in taking out our strongholds. No, this is our best bet. The villages will be safe, but the longer members of the Light are out there, the more they will be at risk."

McGonagall turned to the expectant parents and current occupants of Shell Cottage. Draco couldn't block the bout of jealously as he watched Bill draw his pregnant wife closer to him. "Bill, Fleur, I know it is much to ask, but can we?"

"We are already 'osting a pack of werewolves. What is a few more?" Fleur nodded their permission. "We will provide what we can."

McGonagall nodded her thanks before turning to Draco. "And what about you, Mr. Malfoy? Can the Order count on you and yours to fight when the moment comes?"

Before he could respond, a brilliant ball of white light illuminated the small kitchen as it painted the room's occupants in a myriad of color. Draco hesitantly stepped forward as the ball of light took the form of a silver wolf, its tail long and shabby. The wolf padded about the kitchen before it stopped before him to sit on its hind legs.

Then like a song for the ages, his sweet, sweet mate's voice spoke through the wolf's snout, "I've missed you terribly. It's been much too long, but I am coming home. We are safe. And we are coming home."

Chapter Text

After his mate's reassurances dissolved into mist, frantic whoops of jubilee and hurried planning began. Draco stood frozen amidst it all. McGonagall left the room to floo-call someone or the other. Lavender immediately sent her Patronus to trail the wolf's point of origination.

Plans to re-organize their offensive strengthened as Hermione's Patronus spurned them into action.

Draco left them to it and opted to leave the cottage for his pack, though a plucky Gryffindor followed behind him. Lavender Brown had stepped into his de-facto Beta position following Sari's demise. She had been the voice of optimism for his pack while he left to traverse the isle. He respected her for stepping up, and begrudgingly tolerated her presence as of late. Both walked in silence to their makeshift camp on the borders the Cottage's wards.

Still, the pair couldn't be farther from another in terms of disposition. Where he quietly carried his elation within, she was the complete opposite. She bounced every other step and grinned wickedly.

"Can you believe it!? This is bloody amazing!" Lavender whooped loud enough to offend his sensitive hearing.

He leaned away from her, annoyed, but similarly pleased about his mate's impending return. "You've sent her a message back?" he confirmed. "Has she replied?"

The blonde werewolf shook her head. "Not yet, but I'll let you know as soon as I hear from her." She reached out to grab his elbow in enthusiasm. "Hey?" Immediately, she released his arm when he pierced her with a sharp brow. She gave a sheepish smile instead. "She's coming back. You can smile now."

Draco nodded his head to the tents illuminated in the distance. "Go on and tell the others, then. I know you're itching to spread the good news."

Lavender stuck her tongue out at him, but backed away to do so. He watched as she took off, eager to spread the news to their pack. He imagined Zachary and the other younglings would be ecstatic.

Later, he learned from Brown that his mate had been taken to a small village in Northern France, but was gearing to return to Shell Cottage. When he pressed why she couldn't immediately return, Brown shrugged and replied that she'd received a cryptic answer in return. Only after repeated assurances of Hermione's safety and immediate return, did he finally drop it.

The pack's excitement carried throughout the next two days. Even he was not immune from it.

Too restless to sit still, he spent the intervening time walking from tent to tent to check on his pack; ashamedly, he'd been negligent in his responsibility lately. But the restlessness did not abate. The sensation morphed into paranoia as he arose well before daybreak one quiet morning. The ocean skies brightened with the coming sunrise as they usually did... but, his ear caught something.

Where were the seagulls that called in the early morning hours?

Emerging from his tent, Draco peered to the lands, beyond the shore, to the borders of Shell Cottage's wards. The air around the boundary shimmered, once, then again.

"Brown!" Draco called in alarm as the boundary's magic shimmered again. That was no trick of the eye. Someone was trying to dismantle the wards. Draco back-paddled through the tents as his pack slumbered. "Wake up!" he rose the alarm.

Visibly upset from being awakened so early, Lavender jogged to Draco's side. She was about to lay into him when she paused, taking in magical disturbance. Chest heaving with dread, she swore, "Shit! I'll wake the others."

Draco nodded and started yelling for his Council and the strongest among them. "Get them into the Cottage!" he shouted behind her.

Lavender nodded, "I will!" And as quickly as she had arrived, she'd left.

Members of the Order, bleary-eyed from late night meetings, poured out of the Cottage. They grasped the bleakness of the situation as he had and quickly readied themselves for war. Instead of leaving to pursue the enemy, the enemy had found them.

"We've called for aid. They may not make it in time," Shacklebolt informed the group of wizards and werewolves alike.

"How did they find us?!" Arthur gasped in shock.

"It doesn't matter. We'll meet them head-on!" Shacklebolt looked down the line to Draco and his wolves. "Are you ready?"

Draco dipped his head in the affirmative as Bill Weasley ran to the front lines, wand at the ready. "Lavender's gathered the younger ones into the house." Bill looked up as the wards started to show signs of wear. "These are Weasley family blood wards. Strong, but not invincible. They should hold a bit longer."

"After backup arrives, we'll take the first wave. Give you a bit of cover, yeah?" Draco rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension as heads nodded in agreement.

They would not wait long for backup. Witches and wizards arrived via the Cottage's Floo not long after the call went out. Ginny and Molly Weasley moved to stand beside their father and brothers. Hardened remnants of Dumbledore's Army dug their heels in as the family wards shuddered and finally gave away.

They had not been expecting an army waiting on the other side. At the helm, almost gleefully, was the Dark Lord.

Taking his wand out of his chest holster, Draco sneered to his werewolves and those nearby, "Spare none, because they will not return the favor." Others fell in line behind him as he led the first wave into the thick of battle. Supernatural instincts aided his werewolves in dodging the first offensive; what did land, only slowed but did not maim. The first volley he could handle. It was always the drawn out battles that gave him pause.

The Order cast anti-Apparition wards to seal both Dark and Light forces within the confined area, ensuring only one side would leave the field victorious.

The move gave Draco the incentive to open the door to the wolf in his subconscious. A man fought for a cause, or to protect those who could not protect themselves. It was generally accepted that what was done on the battlefield was best left in the dark recesses of the mind.

For a wolf, there was no greater pleasure than the unrestrained hunt.

Draco gave no quarter as he bit, cut down, and slashed any unfortunate soul who got in his way. Blood and flesh stained his face and hair as the blood-lust fueled his inner wolf.

He did not see the fear in his opponents' eyes as his pack collectively cut down their lines. He gave a feral grin as they took the advantage, his sight focused squarely on Voldemort.

Voldemort, however, stood back, as pawns advanced in his name. He gave a sinful smile and nod to where Draco dueled masterfully, as if to concede the werewolf's innate skill on the battlefield. It was why Voldemort had courted them, after all.

But then, Draco was taken aback by an oddly familiar sound. The patter of feet, too large to be a man, scurried towards them. The mysterious sound broke through the line of fallen Death Eaters, as someone screamed, "ACROMANTULAS!"

The Dark Lord's laugh reverberated across the field as the poisonous creatures crawled over the piles of bodies, eager for fresh meat.

"Fall back!" Draco called wildly to those who could hear him.

The dangerous creatures screamed as they faced off against their enemy, easily overtaking any who dared to get in their way.

Draco growled in frustration. Under the light of the full moon, they could have taken them, but as humans, they stood little chance against the magical creatures pumped full of venom. They tried severing spells, charms to ignite and burn, but the creatures steadily advanced, backing the Light closer to the Cottage and the ocean beyond.

Around him, a stench of defeat marked its way through the Light's forces. The Order saw it before when Harry fell at Hogwarts. Shoulders sagged in grief as the Acromantulas tore through their fighters. As it did then, defeat seemed assured now.

Draco closed his eyes in frustration, his soul calling through time and space for the one person he wished to see.

Then, as if Morgana, herself, had heard his plea, Draco's eyes snapped open as a foreign scent invaded his nostrils. Through layers of ozone, smoke, and death, warmth bathed them in good fortune as sunlight broke the clouds.

Wolves of all shapes and colors rushed in from the sidelines. They ran up and in between their lines to launch themselves onto the Acromantulas. Groups of two or three wolves jumped onto the large beasts and methodically took them down, granting the Light the necessary time to regroup.

Then, the sweetest aroma disrupted the salty, sea air and turning to place the scent, Draco nearly crumbled to his knees. Through the smoke and sun, he saw her.

Hermione Granger stood on the edge of battle, dwarfed in an over-sized military jacket that covered her frame. One hand tightly gripped a wand, as the other held her swollen middle. She shouted something he couldn't hear to the men and women who surrounded her, her wand pointed in Voldemort's general direction.

Overcoming the shock, Draco Avada'ed an incoming Death Eater and the fight raged on. The new wolves took down the Acromantulas systematically, as Draco re-grouped his pack and the Order. In tandem, all pushed to where Voldemort waited.

Renewed, he fought harder. Phoenixes, werewolves, and wolves pushed their way forward to finally, finally enact justice.

For the fallen.

For those who would follow behind them.

For the future.

The Order of the Phoenix backed by Draco's pack and the new werewolves turned the tide. The giant snake took on three wolves, but it was quickly overcome. Because of anti-Apparition wards, wolves viciously tore Voldemort's remaining supporters to pieces. If they ran, they found themselves at the wrong end of a Phoenix's wand.

In the end, Draco wasn't sure exactly who finished the Dark Lord off for good. The ground gave a great shake when the powerful wizard was finally extinguished.

He did not see the final blow because Draco had been too busy pushing past the rag-tag throng of celebrants to the only one he had eyes for. It took three strides before he broke out into an all-out run across the battlefield, deathly afraid the vision would fade, as if an evil trick of his mind's eye.

But his mate was walking towards him, one hand awkwardly holding her stomach for balance, as she tried to jog and meet him halfway.

On the edge of the battlefield, he ran to her, a man determined.

Hermione approached with the air of a commander. She was a soldier, no more. His brows lowered in question as he noted the new scent she now carried. "Lavender sent her Patronus," she gave a breathy explanation. "I knew I had to come –"

Rather than letting her finish, he grabbed a hold of luscious curls that had grown in his absence to yank her head back, interrupting the explanation he truthfully did not care for.

She was here.

If he pulled her hair harder than intended, she did not voice offense, as he slanted her head to claim her lips.

Nothing tasted as sweet.

Not the hunt. Not the kill. All paled to match the decadent taste of his mate's lips. Desire bloomed between them as she fell into him, and he to her.

Neither noticed the curious glances from wolves and werewolves alike as hands clutched desperately to the other. It had been too long. Hermione sighed against his mouth, reluctantly pulling back for air.

He pulled away, dazed from the smoky battlefield ... and maybe, something some more. "You're real," he whispered as fingers traced over her face, jaw, and neck, no longer having to rely on memory.

"You do realize I'd come? No matter the circumstance, nothing could keep me away."

With her declaration, he began to worship her: first with a kiss to the forehead, then another to the cheek. He ignored the growing audience and the death littered about them. For she represented the very life he was fighting for. She was his reward for a battle fought since sixteen.

His thumb ran over her cheek, but words would not come. Emotion had rendered him speechless.

"I will always return to you," she swore, lifting his wrist to her mouth. She kissed her mate mark as her eyes fluttered closed in indulgence.

"Lupa," a battle-worn woman approached the pair, wary of him, but respectful of their personal space. "We have vanquished the enemy as you've commanded." The woman eyed Draco wearily, but kept her focus on Hermione.

Hermione smiled from within his protective embrace. "It's alright, Draco," she soothed before replying to the woman, "You were magnificent. Thank you, Sian. Move the injured inside the Cottage. See to the gravest first."

The woman, Sian, placed her fist over her heart, before backing away.

"Lupa?" He tasted the title on his tongue.

Her eyes darkened, as she recalled her earlier vow, "I meant it when I said nothing would keep me from you."

Draco stared at the witch within his arms. "But you are not a werewolf…" Then he felt it. A flare of magic, warm and strong, pulsed from her very skin. It briefly changed the honey color of her irises to a brilliant amber. She smiled as the cinnamon color returned.

Her lips quirked as she explained, "The Loup Garou are picky about who they choose to follow. It took …" she searched for the right word, "convincing for them to follow a witch. But in the end, they found I can be very persuasive. I do not shift as they do, but they are mine all the same."

Smirking, Draco marveled, "In our moment of need, you turn the tide by bringing a pack of your own to battle?" He stared in wonder at his mate, a Lupa, in her own right.

The witch who'd approached him last summer was a gritty, but determined thing. Now, she hummed, content with a quiet power, as she relaxed into his arms. His wolf felt it deep within the seat of his soul. Something within her called to the wolf in him.

In a startling realization, he realized she could command him and his pack, if she so chose.

For she already commanded his heart.

A strong kick to his lower groin stole his thoughts. Brows knitted together, he looked to her burgeoning stomach pressed between them. He did not care if anyone saw him dropping to his knees as he caressed her stomach lovingly. "I did not forget about you either, little ones," he pressed a reverent kiss through the fabric of her shirt.

She raked her nails through his hair as she recited her earlier vow, "I promised you long ago, I would keep them safe. I keep my word."

He looked at her, eyes filled with adoration and pride. His witch, his mate, his Lupa was bloody brilliant. And soon, she would make a brilliant mother to his children. "I can never thank you enough." The words were woefully inadequate. This woman had saved his life. But more that, she had restored his soul. She brought peace by her sheer presence as she pulled him from the ground.

But fate would not grant them a reprieve just yet.

"Victory is ours, my friends!" Shacklebolt whooped as he approached the duo in excitement. "A few Death Eaters have escaped on foot, but if we give chase now, we should be able to track them down. We are close to ending this, once and for all!"

Hermione moved away, though still within earshot, to regroup the Loup Garou. He watched as she came alive, all fire and passion, as she spoke with Sian, the woman from before. She returned, before breathlessly offering, "Sian will lead the pack behind yours. If you leave now, you can find the remaining Death Eaters-"

He waved a hand to cut her off.

Confused, she explained, "I cannot travel with you, but …"

"They can wait, mate," Draco assured as he took in her form. She looked tired, but given as advanced as the pregnancy was, she looked none too worse for wear.

"But the Loup Garou…"

Draco dismissed Shacklebolt without turning. "Ready your party after the injured are situated. We will leave then." For now, he only had eyes for his mate. "There are things we need to discuss first."

Hermione smirked in agreement.

If the fates had seen fit to return her to him, then who was he to let such an opportunity pass? War could wait. For the remainder day, and all days to come, she was his.

Chapter Text

Draco's hand covered her's perfectly, as she led them from the remnants of the smoky battlefield.

"Before we settle other matters…" Here, Hermione flushed thoroughly in anticipation. "…There is somewhere I need to take you." She tugged on his hand to follow, though she wagered he would trail her no matter where she went now.

He raised a questioning brow, but followed her dutifully.

During their first few weeks together, one would begrudgingly follow the other. Now, he trusted her enough to follow without argument. Her heart beamed at the transition.

They made it to the entrance of Shell Cottage, just as Lavender ran forward to her to give her a hug. Hermione awkwardly hugged the werewolf with one arm, her hand still firmly ensconced within Draco's.

"Hermione, it's so good to see you!" Unexplainably, Lavender had tears in her eyes as she glanced between Hermione and Draco. "You were bloody brilliant out there!"

Lavender's enthusiasm was contagious as Hermione smiled in return. "It's good to see you too, Lavender. And thanks for opening access to the Floo so quickly. It would have been terribly hard to move the Loup Garou here otherwise."

"Of course." Lavender gave the woman a brilliant smile before somberly turning to Draco. "The elderly are watching the younger ones. They're out back, playing some kind of game on the beach. Inside, they're treating the gravest injured. I figured with that taken care of, I can help the others." She looked beyond to the battlefield dowsed in smoke, though the rising sun had begun to break the thick of it.

Draco nodded in agreement. With a parting glance, the bubbly werewolf left to join the others in the aftermath.

The witch and the werewolf made their way inside the cottage bustling with activity. Careful not to disturb the makeshift infirmary, Hermione snatched a handful of Floo powder from the mantle and called for the village that had been her unwilling home for four months.

Very quickly, the mated pair left the shores of Shell Cottage and stepped into an empty bedroom. Draco immediately went on guard, she noted, from the tense set of his shoulders, to the way his wand dropped into his hand.

He inhaled, no doubt picking up her scent that lingered about the air. "This is where they brought you," he growled low in his chest.

Smiling tightly, she once again took ahold of his hand and led him into a small corridor. "After I arrived, I found out the whole town deferred to the former Lupa." Hermione twisted the cherrywood wand in her free hand. She had come to learn that its core was dragon heart-string. She knew this core, hence why the wand yielded so easily to her command. "This used to be hers," she stated calmly as she observed the thin piece of wood.

The implication behind the words was not lost on her mate. Very quietly, Draco asked, "Did she hurt you?"

Hermione squeezed his hand in reassurance. "No, she did not." Hermione twisted the wand in memory, and simply offered, "Her mistake." One day, she would tell him about it, but for now, Hermione led them into an empty mess hall save for two sentries in the corner.

Draco smelled them before he saw them. Releasing her hand, he rushed forward, a man possessed. With a nod, Hermione ordered the guards to stand aside as her mate approached the gift she'd saved just for him.

The guards lowered their wands and parted to reveal Clara and Greyson, both on their knees, and bound in silver collars and shackles. Their neck and wrists were scorched terribly, evidenced by the red blisters and inflamed skin. Both had been magically silenced and bound by Hermione after her ascension to Lupa of the Loup Garou.

From the profuse sweat running down their faces, both had to have been in constant pain. Other than the meals offered, she kept the two under silver chain. Her pack itched to off the pair and satisfy their Lupa, and though something within wanted to spill their blood, Hermione bade herself to wait.

She would not deny him this moment, and spoke as much as he approached the pair, "I thought it important that you be here."

The pair of betrayers looked upon those they had betrayed. To their credit, both lifted their chin as they stared at the young man they'd formerly called Alpha.

"Your master is dead," Hermione bluntly informed the doomed pair. "You followed him in life. You can follow him in death."

Clara had the gall to show fear. From his place on the ground, Greyson slaughtered both she and Draco with his eyes.

Hermione stepped back as Draco stepped forward to deliver the werewolf's justice.

One never betrayed pack.

True, Hermione had foresworn to kill Clara when the moment came, but there was greater satisfaction in watching the Healer's eyes widen as Draco reached forward to grab a weakened Greyson by the throat.

The pressure in the room abruptly dropped as Draco centered his power into his fingertips. As he squeezed, Greyson's eyes screamed in a way his magically-silenced throat could not. His eyes bulged as Draco ripped into the tender flesh. With a sharp yank, he pulled back, taking the man's throat, larynx, and flesh with it.

Greyson remained on his knees as he drowned in his own blood. His air passage way obstructed, he slumped forward, eyes still bulging, until he hit the ground dead.

Another wave of magical energy pulsed outward from her mate. In response to his magic, her womb tightened upon itself. She lifted a hand to soothe her pups as they protested the sudden discomfort.

She returned her attention to find Clara silently pleading for mercy as Draco fastened his hand about her throat.

The pressure in the room plummeted again, but Hermione did not break eye contact with the woman. She admittedly took joy as she watched the werewolf's justice be dispensed at Clara's feet, and belatedly wondered when the door to Hermione's own wolf had been opened. She rubbed her protruding stomach, the source of the wolf's blood currently surging through her veins, and knew exactly when it had.

Thoughts interrupted, she grimaced as her womb tightened again on itself.

With a great growl, Draco ripped Clara's throat from her spine with enough force to fling the woman forward. Her struggling ceased immediately as she bled out on the floor.

Hermione shifted on her feet as the discomfort grew, though the room's pressure had returned to normal.

As if he'd heard something, Draco looked over his shoulder towards her. That's when she felt it.

A rush of warmth dampened her knickers. The stream of wetness continued as it bled through her leggings and immediately, she knew this was not ordinary vaginal secretion.

Bloody hell, her waters had broken.

With bloody hands, Draco wasted no time in picking her up and taking her back to Shell Cottage. She wanted to reiterate that she could walk, but knew whatever protectiveness there might had been at her return would double now that labor had begun.

So, she let Draco carry her through the Floo, bark orders for the Healers once they arrived at Shell Cottage, and carry her upstairs to a room that had hastily been prepared for the delivery.

Multiple pregnancies rarely went full term, though she secretly wanted to reach eight months of gestation, six and a half months would have to do.

Draco remained by her side as a team of two Healers worked in tandem to monitor both her and the pups' health.

"It's too early," she whispered to herself, as tears formed in her eyes. She blamed herself; she'd failed them before they even arrived.

Draco took a hold of her hand as the Healers prepped her for the surgical operation. "They are strong like their mother. They will be alright." He kissed his vow into her forehead as she laid down, allowing the process to unfold whether she was ready or not.

The Healers did not want to prolong her labor as there was no need to wait. She would not have a vaginal delivery. Pain potions were administered and when they made the first incision, Draco gripped her hand even harder.

In the late afternoon hours of February 2nd, Hermione was safely delivered of two girls and one boy, all screaming and red in the face. They were premature, but healthy. Removed from the womb, their werewolf blood kept them warm and immune from dangerous infections that would plague other premature newborns, though they had quite a bit of growing to do.

Other than the Healers who attended her, Draco prohibited anyone for entering the room. In her post-birth haze, she joked lightly that she and the children weren't going anywhere, but it did little to soothe his frayed nerves. So, she rested as much as she could while Draco handled well-wishers rather rudely at the door.

From her bed, she learned that Fleur had gone into labor a bit after her; she silently wished the part-Veela luck.

Over the coming days, there was a child constantly at her breast. Even as she dozed, Draco was ever careful to take one infant while she nursed one, followed by the other, then the other. They played this exhaustive game for the better part of a week before the adrenaline from the war, execution, and labor quickly started to wane.

But Draco was ever attentive to her needs: he brought her meals, assisted her to the loo, and did the best he could with the newborns.

By time the second week arrived, the Healers' careful skill had countered most of the lingering pain, though her middle remained sore from her incision. Hermione could now sit and walk with assistance, to the three bassinets, lined neatly in a row.

Oftentimes, both she and Draco would stand and stare in wonder at the three souls they'd created.

"They will never know how they came to be," she promised softly one February afternoon as the new parents watched them sleep. "I don't want them to know," she proclaimed, careful not to wake them.

His arm carefully encircled her tender waist, as Draco replied, "Because of you, they can grow up in a world free of hate. There is no shame in that."

Still, she would keep her secret, a mother's secret, close to her heart.

Perhaps it was the hormones, but Hermione was completely smitten by the sight of Draco as a father. The Alpha, she knew to be there, was momentarily tucked away as he gingerly picked up Lyra Granger-Malfoy, completely terrified as if he would break her. Her heart rent in two when he sang Saria Granger-Malfoy to sleep. When Draco beamed in wondrous pride at Leo Granger-Malfoy, she knew then that her heart was forever lost to the man.

He often caught her staring, and would smile as if he has discerned her secret.

After four weeks shut within Fleur's upstairs bedroom, Hermione could walk without assistance. After landing in one of those rare times, when all three were fast asleep, she magically cushioned her feet and left the bedroom for a breather. Just for five minutes, she promised herself as she trotted lightly down the stairs.

The cottage had emptied in the weeks following the Battle. Only Bill, Fleur, and their new daughter, Victoire, remained … alongside the three hundred werewolves waiting for their Alpha and Lupa's return.

Hermione quietly exited the cottage, in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that smelled of milk and Draco, as her feet found themselves on a familiar path. She walked up a sharp embankment, brushing away the memory from when she had last visited this spot.

So much had happened since she'd last visited Harry's final resting place. Where the death of two friends left gaping holes in heart, three new lives had since mended and expanded it.

Her arms wrapped around herself as she looked at gravestone, visualizing bright green eyes. "Hello, Harry." She closed her eyes in remembrance, trying and failing to remember how she had arrived from there to here.

She blamed her foggy memory on birth and its post-partum haze.

"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" She paused, allowing the awkwardness of speaking at a grave site to pass. "We've won, but I suspect you knew that by now. In the end, it was Neville who finished You-Know … Voldemort. I found out later because … well, you know…" she trailed off, as her eyes automatically sought the second-floor bedroom window. She could make out Draco inside, watching her. She swallowed and tasted the words for the first time aloud, "I'm a mum, now. Can you believe it? I'm bloody tired, I feel like an over-used udder, I leak constantly from every orifice and … I really miss you."

Tears blurred her vision, but she braved onward, "As soon as I can, I'm going to move you to Godric's Hollow, okay? I keep my promises." She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and found her resolve. "Apparently, I cry at the drop of a hat, too."

Imagining Harry laughing made her smile as she carefully lowered to sit in the cold sand before the gravestone. She plucked a bit of grass and twirled it between her fingers. "I never thought I'd end up here, but now that I have, I can't imagine it any other way." Hermione grinned with sudden ease. "Lyra is Draco, personified. She has this way of peering at me whenever she's nursing that immediately takes me back to Hogwarts." She snorted, "Saria seems to have my riotous curls, though the coloring may change. And Leo is smallest of the three. You can tell his sisters will run roughshod over him when he older. He almost never cries. Draco is … he's an amazing father, Harry," she spoke with sincerity.

"I've talked to him about re-opening his vault at Gringotts. I want to connect him back to our world, because it's his, too. He wants to officially register the children as his heirs. They will face hardship, I'm sure, as the children of a werewolf, but we'll be there to help them." She nodded, determined. "Isn't that why we did this in the first place? So people like me, and Lyra, and Saria, and Leo wouldn't have to worry about their future simply because of their blood status?"

Hermione sighed, recognizing no answer would come. She dusted off her jeans and gingerly stood, mindful of her healing incision. "Besides the pups, Draco and I have others to attend to now." She looked to the field beyond the dunes to where his pack, and hers, waited patiently for their return. "We're taking the packs back to the Forbidden Forest. There is unrest between the two, but they understand that Draco and I are mated, and while we remain committed to each other, we are even more committed to integrating the two. It will be a difficult undertaking, but I'm determined to see it through."

She began to leave when she swore she heard Harry's voice as clear as a bell in her head.

Do you love him, Hermione?

She paused as she pondered the question. A slow smile graced worn features as her heart stuttered in time.

"Yes, Harry, I do."

She dusted the bottoms of her jeans once more before heading back inside.

Exactly one year ago this month, his witch had approached him determined with an offer that would forever change his life. In terms of significance, the moment ranked alongside the night he became a werewolf, the night he killed Fenrir, and more recently, the day his pups had been born.

Draco would be forever indebted to her for that.

The height of summer brought an ease to his bones as he sat on a large tree root watching their pack co-mingle in the large clearing below. They'd return to the Forbidden Forest sometime in May, after the Healers gave the pups clearance to make the journey from Shell Cottage to Scotland.

It was perfect timing, too.

There was growing distrust and territorial challenges between the Loup Garou and his pack. But again, it had been his mate who stepped up to speak to them all. She spoke of the victories they'd won, and what it would mean for them moving forward. The moment she introduced them to their children, all three swaddled and innocent, the lot of them quickly sobered and quashed any disagreements. For who could stay angry in the face of new life?

She was their Lupa, indeed. They'd left Shell Cottage shortly after that.

When they'd finally returned to the Forbidden Forest, there had been matters that called her away for days at a time. He accompanied her when he could, though both struggled in those early days to strike the right balance between matters in the wizarding world and matters among their own kin.

Months later, he was bloody exhausted, but content. His pups were thriving and settling in quite nicely to the expanded tent his mate had erected before her latest venture back to the wizarding world. The pack helped immensely in child-rearing and were ever protective of the now six-month old triplets.

The Acromantulas had been decimated, and the Centaurs left them to their corner of the forest in peace.

From his vantage point, Draco smirked as he watched Lavender carry Saria, while others coddled Leo and Lyra; all took turns making the infants laugh and smile.

The now enlarged pack was finally settling into a rhythm. Some of the Loup Garou worked in Hogsmeade and had successfully opened a line of trade between the village and the Forest. They opened a successful potion ingredients shop, run entirely by werewolves, comprised of rare ingredients found in the dangerous forest. Business was booming He had also learned that Hogwarts would be re-opening in September, so there were regular trips to Hogsmeade to prepare the younglings among them for the coming school year. Hermione was adamant that any student continue their education and was in constant talks with Minerva to ensure the werewolves permission to visit the forest during the full moon.

On alert, Draco turned as he caught a scent on the wind. His mate had returned.

He tempered the flash of heightened protectiveness, which had been growing of late. The longer she stayed in the wizarding world, the more antsy he became. Her escort, Sian, parted ways with her as they reached the tree roots they called home.

Hermione greeted him eagerly as she approached, her shoulder bag full of draft legislation and proposals she steadily pushed as their world sought to right itself after Voldemort's brief reign.

He pushed his nose into the crook of her neck, which she readily granted him access to. He inhaled deeply as he picked up her scent: the sweetness of the milk she produced for their pups mixed with the richness of the earth around them. He licked her mate mark and pulled back. Smirking down at her, he teased, "And who have you pestered this time?"

She smirked back at him. "Kingsley's set up some ignoramus over the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," she spat the name as if it offended her. "Can you believe the simple man had the audacity to try to cancel our scheduled meeting? I refused to leave until he saw me. Honestly, you should have saw him. You thought I'd bit him!"

Draco led her inside their tent and watched as she marched about the space, removing her shoulder bag, before dropping onto the magically enlarged bed, full of furs, on a huff.

"The man hasn't the foggiest what he's doing. With the new school year upon us, it's imperative that the Ministry set the right tone of inclusion! We can't rely on the past if we're to move forward."

"You'll set them straight, mate." He lowered to his haunches until he was eye-level with her. "How are you doing otherwise?"

She sighed and laid down. "Honestly, I'm exhausted. I feel like I should be doing more, but I have responsibility here. It's difficult to manage." He followed behind her and tucked her close to him. An alluring scent tickled his nose. "I don't know how you do balance it all," she admitted.

"The added responsibility of you and three children to care for does shift one's priorities," he teased.

"I can take care of myself, you know," she warned lowly.

Before he leaned down to capture her lips, he freely admitted, "I'm quite aware, my Lupa."

Right then, he decided to be particularly deliberate about her pleasure. He had initially thought of rutting her as soon as she returned. He was most eager for release and wanted to re-assert his dominance over his feisty mate's decision to leave, even if it was just for a few days.

But something had changed. Sensing her exhaustion from her combined efforts, Draco slowly took his time in disrobing her. As he tuned his ears to the cues she gave, Draco adjusted the eagerness of his tongue as he licked and kissed his way down her middle. He made sure to pay proper respects to the incision scar he knew she was insecure about. He held her hands back from covering the scar he so loved to kiss.

As he reached her weeping center, he found her pliant and exceptionally receptive to his efforts. His tongue lightly sampled her offerings, and she nearly quivered in ecstasy right then and there.

Hmm, interesting.

He gave a wolfish grin as he set about the feast before him. Pushing his nose into her soaked thatch of curls, Draco suckled and swiped and licked and nipped until she was forced to give up her sweet offerings. His chin glistened from her drippings as he languidly lifted up along the length of her body to find her eyes hooded in desire.

He pushed into her with one soul-completing thrust.

Gods, he would never tire of her hot sheathe gripping at him. "Want to … make this last for you…" he panted, desperately holding back the wolf that steered him to rut his female.

A feather light touch ran through his hair, centering his gaze on her.

As if reading his thoughts, she encouraged him, "It's okay, Draco." She knew his wolf would seek to dominate her, but she accepted him all the same: the wolf and the man.

He needed no further permission.

Sitting back on his knees, he angled willing hips and sank into bliss. Over and over again, he sank into the heat of her as he stuffed himself to the hilt. Below him, Hermione murmured nonsense. Hell, he did, too.

How does one thank a woman who saved one's life, soul, and future? How does one ever repay such a sacrifice?

He will spend a lifetime searching for the answer, but for now, he's content to repay her in the only way he knows how.

He slowed to a still as her walls fluttered and pulsed around him. Eyes closed in ecstasy, Draco's hearing narrowed and focused …

He hears his mate's fluctuating heartbeat as the throes of pleasure swept her away, and there just below her heart … he hears a second new heartbeat that flutters in double time. It is faint, but it is there.

Now, when he picks up her hips to continue, his strokes are much more deliberate and slow, ever careful not to brush against her womb.

He will tell her when they're done.

Chapter Text

Ten years later…

Lavender was alone, but only when she took the time to really think about it. More often than not, her time was filled to the brim with work and pack business. So much so, that it was easy to forget that the second wizarding war had ended well over ten years ago. To her, though, it still felt like it was yesterday. So easily had the last decade swept by: she'd watched as Zachary begun and graduated from Hogwarts, one of the first werewolves to do so after the war. Now at eighteen, the young man served, alongside her, on Draco's council.

She'd watched as the "wolf pack three" were soon joined by their, now, nine-year old brother, Scorpius. Their five year-old sister, Cassie, rounded out the group of spirited younglings who constantly kept the pack on its toes. The younglings called the forest home. Though they often trotted to the village with their parents, they'd never journeyed beyond the protection of the forest, per Draco and Hermione's request. The pack was equally as protective of them, and would be until death. Their presence injected purpose into the pack like never before.

She saw it in the way Hermione carefully, yet passionately, negotiated with the Ministry, working tirelessly for equal rights for werewolves, and other magical creatures.

She saw it in the way Draco meticulously strengthened their pack enough to quietly, yet powerfully, lobby with the Ministry.

Lavender observed his mastery of diplomacy first-hand because, somehow, Draco saw fit to name her second-in-command. It was a position she did not want at first, but later found it well-suited for her. The position consisted of travelling and talking with others, something she liked to do naturally. Now, ten years later, the position fit like a worn glove. The responsibility helped to keep her mind off things …

Many times, Hermione would accompany them on their diplomacy missions. It was always amusing to see "the witch who walked among the werewolves," as Lavender's kin were fond of calling her.

Apparently, myth and rumor spread as quickly through werewolf packs as it did among students at Hogwarts. Outside of their enclave in Scotland, her Alpha and Lupa were the witch and werewolf of legend. There were countless times when other werewolves would approach her and ask if the rumors were true.

She may have fueled the fires once or twice, herself.

They had been treating in Wales, when annoyed and tired, Lavender had let slip to a wolf who pestered her relentlessly, "Of course, it's bloody true! On the full moon, Lupa and the pups sit amongst the wolves and read stories the whole night through. They rub our ears and we turn the pages with our noses." Rolling her eyes, she'd walked away leaving the wolf wide-eyed and bewildered.

Nearby, Hermione gave her a look, to which Lavender returned with a satisfied smirk.

The former Housemates had settled into a relaxed routine, one clearly set on hierarchy, but also on mutual respect. Hermione did not accompany the envoy as Draco's lover, though they were a mated pair above all else. She accompanied them as his equal and when she did, they were a sight to behold. When they spoke to others, abroad and at home, they were the epitome of partnership defined.

Lavender could not temper the smile as she watched the pair interact with their children, just as she could not stop the pinch in her heart as Draco professed his love for the pack to see. To her knowledge, Lavender had never heard him say the actual words, but one could see it: it was in the way he touched Hermione's waist, or the way his thumb caressed her cheek when he thought no one was looking. He gave his love and gratitude for all the pack to see, and for a moment, jealousy colored her those first few years. Years later, her heart ached in longing.

"Lavender?" Hermione's call interrupted wayward thoughts.

"Yeah," she returned from her bed, not bothering to mask her annoyance with the witch who had entered her tent. Though her tent was crowded between the crone and others, Lavender lived alone.

Hermione was used to the good-natured ribbing, though, and asked, "Draco and I are taking the triplets and a few others to Hogsmeade. Scorpius wants to go hunting with Zachary, but Cassie wants to stay here. Would you mind watching her while we're gone?"

"Sure thing."

"Oh and after, Sian and Draco want to discuss the Loup Garou's suggestion on outreach to Spain. Could you gather the Council to meet after dinner?"

"On it."

Hermione politely thanked her before leaving. Swinging her feet from the bed to floor, Lavender tied up her hair and magically summoned her boots.

She was alone, but only when she paused to really think about it.

She had over three hundred brothers and sisters, and five children to tend to. Loneliness would have to wait.

The End