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Legend of the Wolf	By : Dazzlious Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Fenrir Views: 31881 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from JK Rowling’s fantastic books or films, I’m just borrowing and playing with them for a little while and get no monetary reward for doing so.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-Nine
- 10-Ten
- 11-Epilogue
- 9
- 10
- 11
Hermione was surprised at the relief she felt once she had told Ginny everything that had happened since Lucius abducted her. She left nothing out, however difficult or embarrassing it was to tell, and she even tried to describe the sensation of the dull ache, after admitting to Ginny’s astonishment how she had tried to seduce Professor Snape.
She wasn’t sure she had succeeded in that, even though the pain had once again become a never-ending part of her life. Currently, she was still able to keep it under control, the need for sex a desire that could be overcome rather than an imperative she had to satisfy, but Hermione was aware that the urge was growing and eventually she would have to take steps to curb the need.
Ginny turned out to be far more understanding than Hermione had ever expected. Once she had listened to the ordeal Lucius had put Hermione through and the surprise outcome of her mating with Fenrir, she began to understand that her view of the werewolf was more than slightly tainted by what had happened to her brother.
Hearing about Fenrir through Hermione’s eyes, while clearly biased in the other direction, gave Ginny a more reasoned idea of what the werewolf was actually like and her automatic hatred of him began to wane. It was true that she would never be able to forgive him for what he had done to Bill, but it no longer completely defined her feeling for him which made it easier for her to comprehend what Hermione was going through.
Eventually, Ginny managed to persuade Hermione to talk to others: at first to Harry and Ron, her best friends for so many years. She sat with them as Hermione explained about how her life had changed so much because of Lucius Malfoy and had gone on to apologise to Ron for what she had put him through in the Chamber of Secrets.
She was there, too, when Hermione explained to Mr and Mrs Weasley, knowing that her presence would help to bridge the obvious gap between them. Her mother was upset and angry at first, just as Ginny had been, unable to understand why Hermione would choose to align herself with an enemy of the family. But her father remained curiously silent on the matter, listening carefully to everything that was said.
Later, once Hermione had left the Burrow, Ginny asked him why he had never said anything and he told her that he felt Hermione had enough to be coping with without him adding his thoughts to the mix. What his thoughts were Ginny had never discovered as he refused to talk about it any further.
He was right about Hermione having enough to cope with, though. It was almost another three months before she had finally admitted to Ginny that she thought she was pregnant. She had been unsure, as her periods had never been particularly regular anyway and the stress of everything she had lived through over the previous year obviously wasn’t going to contribute to making them any more so.
But eventually, she came to the conclusion that she couldn’t leave it any longer. When she confided in her friend, Ginny insisted that she do a pregnancy test. Ginny held Hermione while she cried for over an hour when the result came back positive, assuring her friend that she was more than able to cope with having a baby, even a part-werewolf one, if that was what she decided to do.
Hermione fretted about the situation, not sure she could cope without Fenrir there to help and support her. How could she do this alone? She still dreamt of him regularly — such realistic dreams that she was almost convinced he had come back to her — so as far as she was concerned he knew all about the baby, but at the same time, she had never felt more alone.
She so desperately wanted this physical reminder of her love for the werewolf to come to fruition but at the same time, she was terrified that she was too young or that she was too frail to carry and care for the child inside her.
Although the Weasleys had been magnificent in accepting her condition and were more than happy for her to stay with them so they could help her both during and after the pregnancy, Hermione knew she had to leave the Burrow and try to find the werewolves once more. And she needed to do it quickly. As that inexorable ache increased within her core and the baby grew inside her, her body began to weaken as it had when she was with Fenrir.
Hermione’s sleep patterns had been erratic ever since she had been taken prisoner by Lucius, but now she was lucky to manage three hours a night and it was beginning to affect her health. She was pale and drawn, her skin hanging greyly over her face, her eyes dark sockets containing reddened bloodshot eyes, and she lacked energy.
It didn’t seem to matter how well Mrs Weasley fed Hermione or what potions and vitamins she took. She knew she was slowly dying again, and it was her baby and the enchantment that she had never managed to get rid of that were causing it.
Hermione had a feeling that only the werewolves could help her. She knew her friends would be upset at her leaving, but she also knew that they wouldn’t stop her doing what she knew to be right.

Hermione shivered and zipped up her jacket as she gazed unhappily into the distance. She had to admit she was lost. For days, she had been trekking around this forest trying to find any sign of the werewolf village that she was sure was in the vicinity but so far she’d had no luck. The problem, she knew, was that they didn’t want to be found so they had obviously put some sort of repelling charm on the place to deter outsiders. Although they were werewolves most of them had at one time or another been wizards and witches and they all still had their wands even if they didn’t use them very often.
With a massive sigh, she fought to release the backpack she was wearing, needing to rest the heavy weight of it for a moment. Hermione was tired from the incessant walking, her swollen legs were aching and heavy, her body in pain from the baby that was restless within her belly. As her little wolfling kicked once again she moaned out loud, dropping the bag to the ground and bending forward to wrap her arms around her stomach.
‘Rest, little one,’ she whispered desperately, her fingers stroking over her stomach in the hope that it would soothe the fractious child within, although she aware that it was unlikely to work for long.
It seemed that her pregnancy had been somewhat speeded up by the inclusion of lycanthrope blood in the mix. It wasn’t long after she left the Burrow, having assured the Weasleys that she would be perfectly fine and would let them know immediately as soon as she was settled, that Hermione had started to swell. Suddenly, uncomfortably aware that she had less time before the birth than she had originally anticipated, she had spent the best part of a week holed up in the Hogwarts Library, even though the school was still closed, researching the werewolves in an attempt to discover where they lived.
Hermione whimpered again, the pain growing as the baby continued to move about. He had been this way for the last few hours and she was convinced that it was because he could detect other werewolves in the area even if she couldn’t. She was obviously closer than at any time since she had begun looking for them and as she sank to the ground and leant her sore back against a tall tree, she couldn’t help but hope they would pick up on the child and come to investigate. Fenrir’s ache was still there, too, still eating away at her core, but for once the pain from the baby was masking it and her need for sex was at the lowest level it had ever been.
She knew she was rapidly getting weaker, her baby was killing her just as surely as Fenrir had been, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get back to the werewolves, needed to leave her baby in the care of those who would look after him and cherish him, not treat him as sub-human as the Ministry of Magic would do had she stayed with the Weasleys. She hadn’t even been able to contemplate returning to the Muggle world. It would have been difficult enough to explain to her disappointed parents why she was pregnant at eighteen without having to explain her child’s lineage, and they would never have been able to remain there even if her parents wanted her to.
Hermione slowly pulled the heavy backpack towards her, unzipping it to retrieve a bottle of water. She peered into the depths to see what food she still had left. There wasn’t much; a chunk of now stale bread and half a slice of ham, wrapped in the waxy paper it had been bought in. There was also a rather wrinkly apple and a blackened and squashed banana. If she didn’t find the werewolves tonight she was going to have to leave the forest to go shopping. With the baby to feed as well, she couldn’t go without food for long.
She rubbed the apple on her jogging pants then took a bite of it as she stroked her stomach once again, silently soothing the dweller within as she closed her eyes. She was so tired, she desperately needed to rest — to sleep. But every time she dropped off something would wake her: a soft sound like a voice in her ear, the babe kicking her in the kidneys, or the quiet susurration of the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees.
Efficient as ever, Hermione had a tent packed in her bag, but this evening she was too exhausted to put it up. She rummaged in the pack once more and pulled out her old school cloak, draping it over her legs as a blanket as she took a mouthful of the remaining water, gauging the amount she could safely drink and still have some left in the morning.
Once finished with eating, she wrapped the cloak around her more tightly and her heavy eyelids closed as the pain became too much and began to overwhelm her. For a moment, she debated whether to take the final potion that she had been carrying with her, provided by Mrs Weasley to help dull the pain without harming the baby, but she decided against it. She had already squandered the previous ones not realising how deep the pain would run. If she didn’t find the werewolves soon she would need the painkiller for the birth, which she had no doubt was going to be difficult and excruciatingly painful.
The baby kicked again and Hermione moaned, louder this time, not caring if anyone could hear her — in fact, actually hoping that someone would hear her and would come to help. There was more rustling in the trees and she forced her eyes open, looking around hopefully. But it was only the wind. Exhausted and disappointed, she closed her eyes and dropped her head, drifting into an uncomfortable sleep.

When Hermione opened her eyes she blinked twice at the bright light before she managed to focus on her surroundings. She was in a bed, in a room, but she wasn’t at the Burrow. Wherever she was it was even more rustic than her friends’ home. She glanced around to see if there was any clue but there was nothing except an old chair containing her backpack and a dresser that had a range of bottles on it. There was also a jug of water, and on spotting it she realised she was dying of thirst.
Hermione tried to sit up, intending to get out of bed, but a wave of pain so violent that it made her cry out forced her back down. She clenched her eyes shut to stop the tears that formed automatically as she gripped her stomach.
‘No, don’t move!’ a gruff voice said.
The speaker had a thick accent that was quite hard to understand. Hermione couldn’t have said exactly where it came from, but if she had to guess she would have said somewhere in Eastern Europe. As she forced her eyes open she saw an old and very hairy woman, wearing a black dress and a dark maroon headscarf leaning over her. The woman was holding a flannel and looking at her worriedly.
‘You stay in bed. You have a fever,’ the woman said. She was clearly worried that Hermione couldn’t understand her.
Hermione nodded to show she understood but said faintly, ‘Water . . . I’m thirsty . . . please.’
The old woman put a hairy and rather claw-like hand on Hermione’s brow for a moment then nodded as if satisfied. She leant forward and put the flannel to Hermione’s lips.
‘Not drink, you’ll be sick. You suck,’ she explained helpfully.
Hermione realised that the flannel was wet. She took it in her mouth and sucked at the moisture, almost moaning with pleasure as a little fluid eased her parched throat. She was desperate to drink but understood that it wouldn’t be wise to take too much water in one go. She sucked for a second time on the flannel before the woman took it away, watching her carefully all the while.
‘Where am I?’ Hermione asked.
The woman continued to study her for a moment as if debating whether to answer the question. She put a hand on Hermione’s stomach through the sheet that covered her and the baby began to move, kicking Hermione with enough force to make her cry out.
‘Strong boy, like his father,’ the old woman said, sounding satisfied.
Like his father? The woman knew Fenrir? Hermione’s heart soared as she realised she had reached her goal.
‘This is the werewolf village?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Where Fenrir’s pack live?’
The old woman made a tutting noise as if she was sucking on her lips. ‘Not Fenrir’s pack now he’s dead. Draven Blackscar is leader of the pack now.’
‘Fenrir was my mate,’ Hermione said. She gripped her belly as the wolfling gave another kick. ‘My name is—’
‘Hermione Granger,’ the old woman said gently. Her hand brushed Hermione’s brow again. ‘The beloved human mate of Fenrir Greyback.’
‘I loved him, too,’ Hermione whispered. She could feel the tears rising as she thought of Fenrir.
‘This is why you are still alive,’ the old woman told her. ‘That and the baby. Had you been any other human you would have been ripped apart. You nearly were anyway, but fortunately, the one who found you first wasn’t alone and you were recognised. You were unconscious and hot with fever, so you were brought here.’
‘How long have I been here?’ Hermione asked. A vision of the Weasleys, worried and panicking about her, popped into her mind. She had promised to tell them when she arrived safely with the werewolves.
The old woman shrugged. ‘A few days, a week at most. The other wolf mothers have been here too, watching over you as you slept, making sure you survived to give birth to your son.’
‘The wolf mothers.’ Hermione gave a faint smile. ‘Fenrir said you used to tell him stories but he never believed them. You told him one . . . what was it called?’ She broke off for a moment, her brow creasing with concentration as she tried to remember. ‘Ah yes, The Moon Princess and the Wolf, wasn’t it?’
The wolf mother made a clucking noise again. ‘So he did remember the stories even if he didn’t heed them.’ She shook her head. ‘He was a foolish boy.’
‘He didn’t think about the story until it was too late,’ Hermione said sadly. ‘He mated with me to help me out, to save me from a fate that I thought worse than death but it enchanted us both. It was so unfair when he was only trying to help me.’
She gave another sharp hiss at the pain and clutched once more at her stomach.
‘You are still ill and must rest,’ the wolf mother said firmly, although not harshly. Hermione closed her eyes as the woman stroked her forehead again. ‘You must get well to deliver the baby.’
‘I’m not going to survive this, am I?’ Hermione mumbled. She seemed to be drifting off into sleep, suddenly exhausted again.
‘Hush, child, sleep now,’ the wolf mother said quietly, her accent a soothing lullaby to the spent girl.

Hermione tried to stay asleep. She had been dreaming of her beloved Fenrir and didn’t want him to leave her and the baby alone; didn’t want to feel that dull ache of desire or the pain in her heart that would be there in the waking world, fighting with the pain of their growing child. Unfortunately, however hard she tried, she could feel herself being forced into wakefulness, Fenrir only a memory that faded even as she fought to hang on to him.
‘You’re awake then, finally,’ said a brisk voice.
Hermione opened her eyes and looked around for the owner. There was no trace of an accent so it probably wasn’t one of the wolf mothers, but it was female and had a feral quality that Hermione associated with the werewolves.
‘Baba Nuna and Baba Masi have told me that you are sufficiently recovered to have visitors, so I thought I had better come and see the human who took my son away from me,’ the woman added coldly.
Hermione shuffled in the bed, attempting to sit up so she could see the woman who was speaking, but it was difficult as the baby was now so large and her body was so weak. For a moment the woman watched her struggle, then she moved closer and leant over the bed to take hold of Hermione’s arms to help her. Hermione smiled her thanks but her smile died when she saw the stony expression on the woman’s face.
She could see the resemblance between Fenrir and his mother: their eyes were the same and he had her chin. Although she, too, was dressed in black and had grey hair, she wore no headscarf and was far younger than the wolf mothers, but she wasn’t young by any stretch of the imagination. Hermione thought of Fenrir for a moment and calculated his mother’s age to be even older than that of the old Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, who had been at least one hundred and fifteen years old when he died.
‘I didn’t take him away from you,’ Hermione replied quietly. ‘We were going to come back here once the war was over. That was always the plan.’
‘And yet, instead, he died . . . fighting a battle that wasn’t even anything to do with him. He shouldn’t have been there,’ the old woman insisted, her voice filled with an accusing bitterness. ‘My son died because of you.’
Hermione shook her head. ‘That’s not true. Fenrir would have been at the battle anyway. Voldemort would have ordered him to fight. He would have stood just as much chance of dying for him. At least he died fighting for what was right.’
‘So you say.’ The woman’s voice was more of a growl now. ‘You enchanted him and so he followed you rather than another wizard.’ She spat the final word as if tasting something disgusting. ‘But what makes your side any better than his? I don’t see your Ministry treating us with any regard, and certainly not better. At least the Dark Lord allowed us to follow our true natures.’
‘He was just using you,’ Hermione said. ‘If he had won, Voldemort would have eradicated you just as he wanted to do with the Muggles and Muggle-borns. He had no love for anyone but himself and his Pure-bloods. No one else would have survived, except as slaves. Fenrir realised that and knew he had no choice but to oppose Voldemort and everything he stood for.’
‘He fought for you!’ the old woman spat. ‘And he died for his trouble.’
‘He fought for the survival of the pack, as well as for me,’ Hermione told her. ‘He fought for the baby in my belly and so that we could share a future together. That’s what we both fought for, and it was right.’
‘Yet what did he get but death?’ the old woman retorted angrily. ‘He was a fool to begin with and an even greater one to fight your battles. He should have killed you when he had the chance.’
Hermione could feel herself getting upset as they continued to talk about the man she loved so much. She could understand that Fenrir’s mother was upset about his death but she was being so hostile and Hermione couldn’t understand why. And now she wanted Hermione to die even though she was carrying her grandchild. Hermione wasn’t sure what she had been hoping for or expecting from the werewolves but this hatred from Fenrir’s family definitely wasn’t it.
She stared defiantly at the old woman and replied, ‘That was never going to happen. Fenrir loved me, just as I loved him . . . as I still love him. He did everything he could to save me, even though we both knew it was hopeless. He refused to give up.’
‘He was moon-struck,’ the old woman said in disgust. ‘Somehow you bewitched him and made him forget his true nature. You cursed him to an existence that would have been miserable for both of you had you survived it. And now he is dead and you are here — alive, still, to torment me as you tormented my poor son.’
‘Don’t you think I’ve wished to die a million times?’ Hermione said, her voice breaking with emotion as the tears she had been attempting to hold back finally spilt free. ‘I miss Fenrir so much that I’m paralysed with grief. But I’m carrying his child . . . your grandchild . . . and so I keep going for his sake. That’s why I came here because I want my child to have a proper family . . . to have a proper lycanthrope life. It’s what Fenrir would have wanted, and what would have happened if he had lived.’
Hearing a noise, Hermione glanced towards the door. The wolf mother, who Hermione knew was called Baba Suma, was coming through it carrying a tray containing a bowl of what looked suspiciously like more of their strengthening soup. The wolf mother studied both Hermione, who was trying desperately to brush away her tears and Fenrir’s stern-looking mother as she made her way to the bed.
‘I hope you haven’t been upsetting our patient, Lycia? You know how weak she is and there’s not long until the wolfling is due,’ Baba Suma said, her voice a deep growl.
Fenrir’s mother looked indignant at the comment. ‘My son is dead because of her—’ she began.
Baba Suma shook her head as she gazed fiercely at the irate woman. ‘Your son made his own choices and he lived and died by them, too. How do you think he would react if he could see what you’re doing to the woman he loved? Do you think he would be happy at the way you’re treating her, especially when you know how ill she is, when you know she came to us because it was what your son would have wanted?’
‘She had no choice,’ Lycia Greyback retorted viciously. ‘She’s pregnant with a werewolf’s spawn and outcast amongst her wizard friends, so she comes crawling here expecting us to care for and look after her.’
‘Not true,’ Baba Suma countered mildly. ‘She has both family and friends who love her and would have been more than happy to help raise the child, but Hermione wanted to be with us. She wanted us all to share the gift of her and Fenrir’s union and for that, we should be grateful.’
Lycia looked sourly at both the girl in the bed and the wolf mother who was placing the tray of broth on her lap.
‘I shall leave then as I’m clearly unwelcome here,’ she answered stiffly.
‘Please, you don’t have to leave,’ Hermione told her. ‘I understand why you’re angry at Fenrir’s death. So am I, and God knows I’ve wished enough times that it had been me rather than him. But I still carry a part of him inside me, and you should share that as his mother. Our child will need his grandmother who will be able to teach him so much.’
‘You should eat before it gets cold,’ Baba Suma said putting the spoon into Hermione’s hand.
‘You should do as the wolf mother says, and then I expect you need some rest. You still look extremely weak,’ Lycia said a little less coldly. ‘I shall return when you’re feeling stronger.’
Hermione gave Lycia a weak smile. ‘That would be good. I’m hoping you can tell me more about Fenrir. There’s so much I don’t know about him and I want to know everything. I know you’re not happy that I’m human, but I’m sure we can get past that. We’re family now and I want to know you, too.’
Lycia nodded but didn’t say anything further. Hermione took a spoonful of the soup, trying not to grimace as she swallowed it. She didn’t like to ask what was in it or concentrate too hard on the possible ingredients otherwise she was certain she would never touch another drop.
Once Baba Suma was satisfied that Hermione was eating she followed Lycia out of the room.
‘By Mani, what on earth possessed you to talk to the child that way?’ the wolf mother said angrily as she caught up with Fenrir’s mother. ‘Don’t you realise how brave she’s been in coming here?’
‘I lost my son because of her,’ Lycia replied coldly. ‘I don’t want her here reminding me of what I’ve lost when all I can think is that it’s her that should be dead.’
Baba Suma made a clicking noise of annoyance with her tongue. ‘Hush, woman, you know you’re going to get your wish soon enough. At least have the decency to make her last few weeks as comfortable for her as possible. She has to leave her child in your custody — don’t let her die worrying that you won’t care for her son.’
Lycia sighed. ‘Why did Fenrir have to choose a human and then keep her human, for Mani’s sake? Why didn’t he just turn her, like every other lycanthrope in history? Then there wouldn’t have been a problem.’
Baba Suma took hold of Lycia’s hand. ‘You know the old tales as well as I do, Lycia. There have always been those of our kind who are attracted to humans as mates. Your grandson will be so special, the first of our kind born for so long and bearing the human blood that keeps us strong. You should be grateful that Fenrir not only chose a human to love but that he found one who loves him so much in return.
‘I do not know why he kept her human, although I understand he did not believe the old warnings, but I’m sure if you ask Hermione she will be happy to share her knowledge with you, just as she requests your knowledge in return. This could go a long way towards cementing the relationship between you. But make it quick, she doesn’t have much time left.’
‘Your potions aren’t helping?’ Lycia asked her voice slightly warmer.
Baba Suma shook her head. ‘We are giving her what we can, but she is still under the enchantment from her mating and the baby is taking its toll on her body. However much we try to strengthen her, she just grows weaker.’
‘Will she make it to the birth?’ Lycia sounded suddenly worried.
‘She should, although it would help if you talk to her, tell her about Fenrir and stop her from pining for him.’
‘And after the birth?’
Baba Suma looked sad and shook her head again. ‘Hermione’s body is so weak already that she is unlikely to survive giving birth. All we can do is try to make it as swift and painless for her as possible.’
‘I see.’ Lycia looked as grave as Baba Suma now. ‘I will come to see Hermione tomorrow morning, then.’
Baba Suma patted Lycia’s hand and smiled. ‘Good. Then things are looking up already.’
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Legend of the Wolf