Reposting in honour of Nauticalparamour's Fenrir February. In truth, this should have been done last year, but I never got around to correcting the errors in time. For anyone worried that I'm starting a new story, don't be. This one is complete and it's all thanks to the magnificent CatherineMorgenstern who endlessly supports me and fixes all of my mistakes. Thank you, lovely, you're the best!

Hermione wasn't supposed to be out at night. No one was. She especially wasn't supposed to be out at night in the Forbidden Forest, but she had little choice. Hagrid was sick. Possibly dying sick. And she would not leave him to face it alone. Of course, if the others found out they would be furious with her, not that she cared about that. She didn't think she'd ever be able to care about something so trivial again, but a kindle of guilt did embed itself in her chest regardless of that fact.

The war had changed her, as it had everyone, but no one had understood at the time how much it would ultimately change everything. Despite being dead, Voldemort's evil presence still hung like a shadow over the land; more foul and devastating than when he'd been alive. Before death wrapped its fingers around his empty heart, the Dark Lord had managed to cast one final spell.

It was a spell no one had ever seen before.

A spell nobody could understand.

It triggered a deadly disease which had spread across Britain within weeks. At first no one noticed it; the early symptoms similar to a common cold or the flu. What reason did anyone have to assume it to be anything more sinister, after all? Their lives had been a seething mass of chaos after the war and nobody had time to worry about the odd snuffle or a few unexpected deaths. Especially Muggle deaths. But then more died, Witches and Wizards included, and no spell, potion or charm had any affect on the illness whatsoever.

The disease became known as the Huntsman's fever; named after John Huntsman – the man who had the dubitable honour of being the first recorded case. Borders were closed, planes grounded and experts called in. And still people died. Hundreds and then thousands and then finally, millions succumbed to the illness. The world watched as Britain became a wasteland, her inhabitants barricading themselves inside their homes, too terrified to do so much as move or breathe as the food ran out and they slowly died.

The only people who appeared to be immune were magical creatures. There were even whispers of Unicorns and the Fey emerging from their hiding places to once again roam freely upon the earth. But for some unknown reason, Witches and Wizards contracted the disease as easily as Muggles. And not one person could figure out why.

All Hermione knew was that her friends were dying and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Thankfully Harry, Ron and Ginny had managed to escape onto the last Muggle ferry bound for France. She should have been with them, but Mrs Weasley had become sick and she had stayed to take care of her, determined to help the woman who had become like a second mother to her. Hermione had discovered that if she put up a shield overlaid with a bubble charm, she wouldn't catch the illness while being around the infected.

It only lasted until her air ran out, then she would need to leave the room and recast, but it allowed her to do something to help. Even if it was merely to sit with them and watch as they died. At least they weren't alone.

Which was why she found herself walking through the Forbidden forest at night.

A dull, red glow cloaked her body, caused by the two opposing charms encasing her from head to toe. Every so often she would pause to drop the charms, needing to replenish her air supply before recasting and moving laboriously onwards. She wasn't absolutely certain whether using the charms was necessary in the empty forest, but there was always the possibility of stumbling upon someone infected and foolish enough to venture outside. Besides, Harry would never forgive her if she didn't do something to protect herself. Not that it would matter; she'd be dead, after all, but she was positive he'd find a way to do some kind of weird reverse haunting on her.

Hermione also wasn't sure just how sick Hagrid was. She hoped the giant's blood running through his veins would be enough to save him, but she couldn't be sure whether it would be strong enough; it was watered down, after all. The owl he'd sent her had been infuriatingly lacking in details. He'd merely mentioned that he'd been feeling under the weather and should be back on track soon. That had been four days ago. She hadn't heard from him since.

Dragging her feet, Hermione paused beside a tree, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. Sustaining the charms was incredibly tiring and if she didn't rest frequently, she would pass out where she stood. Sighing, the curly-haired witch allowed herself to sag to the ground. The spongy leaves and loamy earth felt damp beneath her legs and she quickly dropped the charms so she could recover and replenish her air supply. For a few moments she sat in silence, relishing the cool breeze that brushed her skin and dried the droplets of sweat that beaded her face.

It was only then that she noticed the lack of sound. Not that she expected to hear much in the middle of the night, but she should be hearing something. The scuttle of tiny feet as nocturnal animals searched for food or the screech of an owl catching its prey. Even the trees were silent as they looked down at her with disapproving eyes, their leaves and branches remaining stubbornly still. Fear nibbled at the skin on the back of her neck, causing her eyes to snap open.

She was being watched.

Hermione could feel it prodding at her flesh like a bony finger. She immediately recast her charms, coating herself in the soft red glow. Widening her eyes, she quickly searched the surrounding trees. The thump of her heart collided with her ribs as she saw nothing but darkness around her.

"Who is that?" Her voice trembled in the night before fading into nothing.

No reply.

Withdrawing her wand from its sheath, she held it up, more for comfort than any real hope of using it. After all, she couldn't hex what she couldn't see. "I know you're there."

A long, silent moment passed, spiky-edged and thick with tension. But then she heard a light rustling sound, followed by a loud crack as a twig was deliberately snapped in two. Hermione froze as the sound of breathing followed, slow and steady and just beyond the trees that her wide eyes now frantically searched.

"Show yourself," she demanded, beginning to tremble as terror swept through her.

Fear coated her skin with sweat and each breath became an effort to control. Dizziness made the trees spin around her and the urge to vomit was strong enough that she had to clamp her lips tightly closed.

And then she saw bright topaz eyes emerging from the darkness.

Hermione stopped breathing. Goosebumps erupted down the length of her spine, the hand holding her wand twitched. A shadowy figure, large and well-muscled, slowly closed the distance between them. Faint light from the bloated moon filtered through the leafy canopy, gilding the approaching figure in silver. Horror widened her eyes when she saw who it was.

Fenrir Greyback.

She remembered him perfectly from those awful, war-torn years at Hogwarts. Tall and broad, with defined muscles running up his arms and spilling onto his chest. The contours of his face, although handsome, were oddly shaped, no doubt caused by too many shifts merging the wolf and the man into one. Fenrir grinned, displaying sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.

"Stay back!" Hermione yelled, pointing her wand, terrified beyond belief. Each of the stories she'd heard of him began to circle her head in a never ending spiral.

"Put away your stick, little girl. It will do you no good." His voice rumbled up from the depths of his chest, emerging as a low growl.

Hermione shivered. "Go away!" she said, knowing that she was too tired to put up any real fight, but also knowing that she might not have a choice.

Fenrir cocked his head, his eyes shifting to those of a wolf as they swept down her body in one long, lazy perusal. "I like you stinking of fear. It makes me hunger."

"What do you want?" she hissed, desperately trying to come up with spells that could take down a wolf and didn't require much power. She came up empty.

"I want you, Hermione Jean Granger." He inched forward, enclosing her in his large frame.

She shrank away from him. "You can't have me!" And then she did the only thing her panicked mind could think of; she ducked beneath his arms and ran.

How she wished she could say she ran like a gazelle. Swift and light-footed, disappearing over the horizon without so much of a backward glance. But she actually resembled an elephant with three legs, tripping over every root and stone, no matter how big or small. Low branches snagged her robes and hair, threatening to trap her with every step. The charms to protect her from the Huntsman's fever had been dropped in her haste to escape.

It was a ridiculous idea; running from a wolf. Hermione thought she almost deserved to be caught for such a foolish plan. But she wasn't captured. Fenrir remained behind her, following closely enough that she knew he could tackle her at any moment. A howl erupted from his throat as he tracked her, playing with her. Beyond his eerie call, Hermione could hear her own heaving breaths and thumping feet. On she ran, quickly losing her way amongst the endless trees.

Her lungs burnt and exhaustion tugged at her legs. Finally, she was unable to run any longer, her tired body tumbling to the ground, palms skidding in the soft earth, heaving stomach pressing into the damp leaves. For an endless moment she lay there, stunned and staring into the shadowed forest. Her wand had slipped from her grip in the fall and was laying a little distance away, mocking her. She instantly scrambled to her knees and shuffled forward, reaching out with trembling fingers to grasp the familiar wood.

When she twisted around, Fenrir was behind her, framed by two gnarly oaks. The wolf was barely out of breath, his eyes glowing like gems as he stalked towards her. A feral grin pulled at his lips, exposing sharp canines to her terrified gaze.

"Leave me alone!" she yelled, a hex ready to fall from her lips.

Greyback took another step forward. "No. I want your blood, Granger."

"Defodio! Everte Statum!" Hermione spat out the hexes one after another, hoping to distract him with one whilst the other hit and took him down.

No such luck.

Fenrir dodged them both, but not like she'd expected. A human would have dove left or right, hit the ground and then rolled away. Fenrir did neither of these. He dove towards her, skimming the floor and then tapping her ankle from beneath her. She hit the ground hard, breath huffing out as pain erupted along her hip and back.

And then Greyback was on her, weighing her down, his body pinning her in place. She pulled in a ragged breath, smelling musk and earth and man. A rough hand circled her wrist, squeezing the bones until she feared they would break, forcing her fingers to unclench from the wand. Hermione knew that without it she wouldn't stand a chance, so she squirmed and thrashed, using her knees and elbows to hit every soft spot she could find on his body.

She was viciously pleased when he grunted and the grip on her wrist loosened ever so slightly. Not enough to free her, but enough to give her hope that he might. Her mind fell back two years. She saw the Burrow, steeped in sunlight, insects zipping through the air. And in the yard, beside a bench, Hermione stood next to Ginny Weasley. They were chatting and laughing, Ginny relaying some appalling prank her brother's had played on her, and the revenge she had used to get them back. They'd expected her to use magic. She was a witch after all, so why wouldn't she? But in the end Ginny had gifted them each with a swift knee to the balls. They hadn't been laughing then. They hadn't been doing much of anything but rolling on the ground clutching their privates and gasping.

A hot breath touched her cheek, instantly bringing her back to the present. Golden eyes stared intently into hers, drinking in the fear and panic she couldn't quite conceal. Unable to meet his gaze, Hermione slammed her lids shut, turned her head to the side and waited for him to let down his guard. And he would. She could already feel his muscles relaxing one by one, sinking more firmly on top of her. Slowly, hardly moving at all, she bent her knee.

Three. Two. One.

A sharp upwards thrust and her bony knee met his hardening flesh. Fenrir growled, his body bending in two as his weight fell to the side. Hermione gasped, twisted onto her stomach and crawled away, her fingers making runnels in the soft earth. As soon as she was free she pushed to her feet and began her mad dash through the forest once again. She had no idea where she was going, just away, as far and as fast as she possibly could.

The trees became a blur as she sprinted. The longer she ran, the more time her brain had to catch up with her jumbled thoughts. And one sentence kept repeating itself.

He hadn't hurt her. He hadn't hurt her. He hadn't hurt her.

It confused her, because he could have done so several times. But Greyback hadn't. He'd scared, intimidated and threatened, but he hadn't actually hurt her. The mad dash faded into a slow stumble. Every piece of her ached, even her toes felt stiff and sore inside her shoes. The skin on her arms and face stung from the dozens of scratches the branches had torn into her. Finally, incapable of continuing, Hermione stopped beside a tree. She pressed her forehead and chest against the rough bark. Her own heated breaths rebounded back onto her face, almost scalding her cheeks.

Fenrir didn't make a sound as he approached her. Yet Hermione knew he was there, hovering no more than a foot away. His warmth seeped into her, quickly becoming unbearable and her eyes closed in defeat; she was going to die, ripped to pieces and tossed amongst the trees. And the worst thing was that nobody would ever know. Not Harry or Ron or Hagrid.

Greyback inched closer, laying his body against her back as softly as mist. Rough hands bracketed her head, his thick thigh slid between her own and eased up until he was holding her off the ground, the full weight of her core pressing down onto him. Her nails dug into the bark, fear closing around her as surely as Fenrir Greyback was.

"Please don't," Hermione gasped, tears escaping from beneath her closed lids.

A soft breath touched her neck, the whisper of lips hovering near. "Shhhhh."

"Don't," she repeated, trembling so badly she feared she would shake apart.

"I've wanted you for a long time," the wolf said, his voice a soft growl, "And now I have you." His tongue darted out to lick the skin of her neck.

Hermione wriggled, her flesh crawling, her body bucking. "Let me go!" she yelled.

"I will."

She instantly stilled, hope filling her chest, eyes widening in anticipation.

"But not yet," he breathed against the curve of her shoulder, shuddering.

No, not shudders. Spasms.

The sound of his bones breaking was very loud in the quiet forest. It was such a visceral noise that Hermione flinched. But it was nothing compared to the horror of feeling his ribs flex and bend against her back as the change overtook him. Hermione pressed herself into the tree trunk, seeking to push herself through and out the other side.

Tears collected along the seam of her eyes as the Werewolf behind her breathed raggedly onto her skin. A cold, wet nose began to sniff her hair, the line of her neck and the slope of her shoulder. The edge of teeth pressed into her flesh, followed swiftly by a sharp, slicing pain. Warm liquid oozed down her back, bringing with it the scent of wet pennies A rough tongue licked her blood away with a gentle thoroughness that left Hermione horrified.

Fenrir had bitten her in his wolf form. She was infected. Her head shook in pointless denial as he backed away, letting her go as he'd said he would. And then he was gone.

Hermione blinked, her head a churning mass of confusion. She should be dead. Ripped to shreds and warming his stomach. Bile rose and she had to sink to the ground as vomit flooded her mouth. She spit it onto the ground, wincing at the wet splash it made. For a second Hermione remained bent over, gasping in the cool air as she fought to control her growing panic. Sitting back, she lifted a shaking hand to her shoulder, probing the bite with tentative fingers. It already felt hot to the touch, causing a throb of pain to travel along her arm, neck and back.

Not allowing herself time to think, Hermione quickly snatched up her wand and cast an Aguamenti charm, pointing the stuttering stream of water onto the wound as she rinsed it clean. She stayed like that for several minutes, hissing at the pain and trying to convince herself that if she washed it thoroughly enough then the Werewolf saliva would be removed.

That she would be okay.

But she could already feel the curse spreading through her veins. Ice cold as it moved inside her body with deadly intent. In the distance, she heard a lone wolf cry, howling its triumph into the night. Hermione trembled, pulled her knees to her chest and wept into her hands.

She'd been claimed by Fenrir Greyback and she didn't know what the hell she would do about it.

ooXoo

Hermione didn't know how long she remained on the ground, broken sounds climbing from her throat, shoulder aching as the wound burned and itched. It was long enough for the moon to drop towards the horizon and for Fenrir's haunted cry to fade into an echo. Eventually, she climbed to her feet, switching all of her attention to finding Hagrid, refusing to think about what had happened.

What would happen.

She set one foot in front of the other, retracing her tracks until she regained what she hoped was the path. The trodden, patchy trail became her lifeline over the next few hours. Each step she took jarred her legs and spine, rattling her bones with vindictive spite. She muttered to herself as she walked, mostly so she wouldn't hear the soft rustle of leaves or snap of twigs.

Fenrir was following her.

As soon as the thought formed, Hermione thrust it away, replacing it with thoughts of Hagrid; sick and alone, maybe even dead. His surprisingly sweet face would be grey and lifeless, his gruff personality forever silenced. But the loss of his kindness would be the biggest tragedy of all. Determination lengthened her stride; she wouldn't allow that to happen. Besides, she could do more to help him now. She'd be able to brew potions and tend to him properly. After all, she wouldn't be trapped inside her red shields any longer. There was no point.

Werewolves didn't catch the illness.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth which she quickly swallowed away. She would deal with the … change … when she had to and until then, she simply wouldn't think of it. A growl sounded behind her. Hermione stopped walking, blinking when she realised she'd been about to walk into a patch of poisonous vines. Purple liquid oozed from the tips of the sharp thorns. Another step and she would have been impaled by a dozen barbs. She spun around to see the now familiar amber eyes staring at her from the shadows.

Hermione stood like that for a frozen moment, too scared to move or breathe. When it became obvious that he wasn't going to attack, she slowly took a step away from the vines. It would bring her nearer to him, but so far, apart from the bite, he had done little to harm her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, instinct telling her that he was helping her. She didn't dare think about why, afraid the answer might tip her into madness. Licking her lips, she carefully took another step towards him. "I'm trying to get to Hagrid," she whispered.

The wolf cocked his head, fixed her with an intense stare and then snarled.

Hermione's spine stiffened, chin lifting defiantly. "I'm going. You can't stop me." The words were a lie. She knew it the moment they left her lips, Fenrir could stop her at any time. But he wasn't. Which gave her hope that he wouldn't.

She took another small step, this one bringing her close enough to smell the musky scent coming off him. She kept her eyes up and forward, not once looking his way. Another growl sounded, loud enough that Hermione felt it in the centre of her chest.

"I'm going," she repeated softly, stepping past him and back onto the path, more careful not to stray this time.

The entire time she walked, Greyback shadowed her. A silent companion that she refused to acknowledge, but she allowed it because she didn't know what else to do. Although, she did keep her wand gripped firmly in the palm of her hand. So firmly that she feared it might leave marks on her skin.

Hermione didn't know how long she walked. It felt like forever and each step she took made the bite on her shoulder pulse with heat. Every now and then she would press her fingers against the swollen wound and shiver at the sensation it caused. Something between pain and tingling heat.

Above, the sky turned a light purple and the distant chirp of birdsong filled the air. She'd almost lost all hope of finding Hagrid, fearing she'd been wandering in an endless circle, when she stopped, lifted her nose and sniffed.

Smoke.

Without being aware of it, she began to run, pushing aside thick bushes and drooping branches. And then, finally, she saw Hagrid's squat cottage, surrounded by flower-tipped shrubs.

A limp smile curved her lips. She'd finally made it.

The air behind her shifted, searing breath touching the back of her hand. A rough tongue darted out to brush her skin. When she turned to look, nothing was there. The wolf had gone. Hermione shuddered, wrapping her arms around her waist as she made her way towards Hagrid's. When she reached the battered door, she paused before knocking, instead turning to look back at the surrounding forest.

She didn't see him. The shadows between the trees were empty, but Fenrir was there.

She could feel him.

A/N: Reviews feed fanfiction writers. It's the only acknowledgement we get that you, the reader, have (hopefully) enjoyed and are grateful for the time we spend writing. They literally make our day.

(Before anyone asks about updates for other stories, I'm gonna save you the time and tell you here. Right now I'm working on Using the Hunter. I'm working my way through the posted chapters and my fabulous beta, CatherineMorgenstern, is correcting my horrendous grammar mistakes and helping me figure my way out of the corner I wrote myself into.)

Lastly, I'll be updating Mine every Tuesday and Thursday. Thanks for reading!