WATER

[Fenrir Greyback x Hermione Granger]

Water is the element of constant movement, it swirls inside each of us no matter how placid the surface may appear. It is the element of conception and death, of illusions and fairytales, holding the secret to our soul - its beginning and its end.

/~/~/~/

"Water, water everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink."
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1797–98]

Fenrir's trudging steps finally halted when he reached the bank of a vast pool of water. It wasn't quite big enough to be classified as a lake, but when he considered the vegetation that surrounded the area, he knew it had to be deep. So it would do, for now at least.

Fenrir had been sure that there was a source around here, but it had taken him longer to find than he would have liked. He hadn't been in these parts for some years, and it wasn't as if he could follow any of the other animals that inhabited the forest. They had fled to safety as soon as he began his search and, for once, Fenrir was in no mood to give chase.

Still, even with those complications, Fenrir knew it shouldn't have taken him hours to track down water. It was a testament to how scattered his ever-reliable senses were that he'd had trouble with something he had been doing without thought for years.

Fenrir sat on the hard ground and removed his heavy outer coat and shoes. He understood the necessity of the garb, but he resented it also. Fenrir had no desire to appear human, even part-time, he was a wolf and proud of it. The animal the bite on the side of his torso had unleashed had fused so tightly to him that it was all Fenrir was now.

He had no regrets.

Fenrir threw his costume of humanity onto the damp ground and took a moment to relish the feel of dirt on his bare soles. It didn't matter how long Fenrir spent walking among regular wizards for the good of his pack, his feet never adapted to the feel of heavy boots. He grew to hate the way his skin softened when he had been within the land of men too long. Immediately Fenrir knew that the first thing he would do, when he eventually got home, would be to run in the forest and allow its scarred floor to reclaim his flesh.

The sun had risen an hour or so before, but the light hadn't fully crept across the vastness of the landscape yet. The almost lake in front of him was still, tranquil, Fenrir could imagine it was lying in wait, anticipating his next move. The water was as much a predator as he was, only it had a much better reputation. Fenrir scowled at its unblemished surface as he caught sight of his reflection and remembered why he had needed to come.

Fenrir pulled his well-worn shirt over his head and let himself feel the rising wind against his skin, it was calming. Soon it would be too cold to be without layers unless he was running, but for right now it, it was exactly the right balance of pleasure and pain that he had been craving since he had last been able to spill blood to sate the torrent that had been unleashed within him.

Fenrir looked up at the crisp, blue-hue of the morning sky and tracked a couple of birds that were gliding in the distance. He wondered what he looked like from their point of view - sitting in the middle of an open, deserted vista. A sitting duck, if he could ever be something so unguarded.

The fact that he was still in the Scottish Highlands was complete folly, Fenrir knew that, but he was a man governed by his greater impulses and every molecule of his being forbade him from going too far, for now. There was almost no viable reason to be where he was, apart from her. Fenrir couldn't return to his pack until he knew what he was going to do next. Not until he was back to feeling like himself.

If he went back after a month of absence and showed any sign of weakness at all, it was likely to mean a fight. While Fenrir held no fear that the end of his dominance was approaching, he did consider it foolhardy to kill too many of his pack at a time when he was doing all he could to protect their numbers. With the feeling of her raging through his blood and agitating his wolf, Fenrir knew it would be harder to control his rage than normal; any lack of respect or hostility from anyone and it could lead to a bloodbath.

The Death Eaters had disappeared into the night after the end of their mission, no doubt heading back to their crumbling gothic mansions to celebrate the inevitable good favour their Lord would bestow. Fenrir had no taste for revelry.

He shook his head, that wasn't true. In fact it was the opposite. Fenrir had so much taste for debauchery that his mouth was nearly overflowing with need, but he would no longer be gratified by drink, blood or inferior flesh. Only one would be able to stem the tide of hunger in him now, and he couldn't take her. Not yet.

For a wolf that denied himself nothing, patience came hard. Fenrir had not even had a day of it, and he could already feel the itch beginning.

He knew before long the pull would get worse.

Fenrir stood to pull off his jeans that were old they had all but moulded to his body, and he threw them with the rest of the pile.

The invasion of Hogwarts castle had gone better than he could have ever anticipated. Not only had the little Malfoy mop managed to get them in - no doubt saving his worthless skin along with his father's - but Dumbledore was dead.

Fenrir had taken great pleasure in watching the man plummet after he had been struck down. A bright, bolt of a shocking green right to the heart. It wasn't Fenrir's preferred kill method, he would and normally have complained about the speed of proceedings, but this was different. There wasn't time, and it was another barrier out of his way to get to his overall goal. Few men on the planet would have had a chance of keeping him from her now that he had found her. The old man had been one, and he had perished.

Fenrir knew he would need to reassess Lord Voldemort's forces before long, the events of the evening before had thrown more than one wrench into his plans. Fenrir liked to keep a running tab on the Death Eaters, to give them titles in his mind as he would if they were wolves in his pack. It told him who to keep an eye on, and who to eliminate. Had it all just gone to plan with no surprises, Fenrir would have been doing precisely that. He would already be home, sitting in front of a dying fire with his Beta, explaining the details of the attack and deciding on their ongoing course of action.

But none of that seemed to matter now.

He had seen her.

Had smelt her.

One battle had changed his whole life.

-/-/-/-

Fenrir was stalking through a maze of corridors; he had been tasked with eliminating anyone he could find that might give them trouble when they tried to exit. The Lord had been very particular about the Malfoy pup having ample time to try to do the deed before any of them were to intervene. Fenrir might have scoffed, but he knew better than to voice his disapproval.

Bellatrix had already skipped off to spread her own brand of rambling evil which left Fenrir to explore to his heart's content. Though he had been around the grounds of the old castle often he had only been inside once before, and Fenrir was sure he wouldn't have a chance again, not until Voldemort took over as he planned.

Fenrir got a perverse kind of pleasure from thinking about how the residents of the castle would react to seeing him within their sanctuary. Werewolves didn't belong inside Hogwarts, not unless you were willing to subject yourself to being little more than a pet for the side of the Light. After all, even a well cared for dog was still a dog, and if there was ever a choice, its needs would be placed beneath those of its human counterparts every time.

When Fenrir had gotten word of Lupin teaching in the school his initial fury had quickly given way to amusement, he supposed it shouldn't have surprised him, Remus had always been so irritatingly fixated on 'fitting in' and being 'normal'. The Omega should have embraced his superiority when Fenrir had been so good as to gift it to him. He should have come to join his pack, and not just as an ineffectual spy but as a full member, a wolf willing to throw off the shackles of humanity and live life as nature intended. But Remus had preferred to cloak himself further, to dress up as one of them and teach their young as if he was accepted.

Fenrir had laughed when Lupin had been sent away from the school in disgrace, only a year he had lasted. After everything he had done for Dumbledore that was all the old man would give him, and yet he Remus cowed and begged at the Order's table for scraps.

Pathetic.

-/-/-/-

It didn't take long for the Order to arrive, news of a break-in at the school - and the obvious danger it presented - would naturally have travelled fast. Fenrir barely reacted, he was ready for them, that was why he had been sent. He was a beast honed to understand the proper application of adrenaline; he felt the shift in his body often enough to know how to utilise the flight or fight response in a way his opponents would never have been able to appreciate.

Fenrir had just gotten the best of a scrawny looking Auror that had Lupin's scent all over her when, suddenly, his awareness shifted. The room around him seem to stretch and then collapse in a matter of seconds, while the air began to hum with a magical charge, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. Fenrir forgot all about the spent witch in front of him, he forgot he was in the middle of a tensely fought battle. All he could focus on was the feeling somewhere inside his very centre that was propelling him forward with an urgency he had not felt since the night he had successfully challenged to become Alpha.

His wolf howled and thrashed against his ribs, commanding him to get to the other side of the room no matter if he died doing it. Fenrir clutched at the neck of his shirt and all but staggered forward as if an invisible force moved his legs.

Then he saw her.

She was standing with a defensive posture, her arms raised in front of her body and her back pressed into a redhead girl behind her as she shot hexes in a wild, frantic spree.

Her hair bounced and scattered as she shifted her position, and her large brown eyes burned with an intent that Fenrir had seen in the mirror often enough to interpret readily. She meant everything she was casting. Failure was not an option.

Fenrir felt the need to surround her with his body, to remove her from everyone's view and to keep her still so he could get a good look at all she was.

He wanted to know what every bit of her skin's pigment looked like under every kind of light.

He wanted to know what her curls would feel like when pulled into his grip.

He wanted to map her.

He wanted to conquer her.

Fenrir was halfway across the room before Bill Weasley stupidly stepped into his path. It was an uneven match on the best of days, but today, with Fenrir able to caress his newly found mate's cheek with his gaze, and deeply breathe her into his lungs? The boy didn't stand a chance and Fenrir had no desire to give him one.

For once, Fenrir did not play with his food, he quickly incapacitated and then scratched at the Weasley scion, carving deep lacerations into his freckled face before he threw his worthless body aside. Only one person's flesh would interest him now.

But she had gone.

-/-/-/-

Fenrir's commitment to the mission evaporated in an instant, the only thing that mattered to him now was finding her again and grabbing her so they could leave before anyone else came close to touching her.

He could ask for forgiveness later.

He would kneel before Voldemort and say anything he needed to get the outcome he wanted. But he wouldn't believe a word of it. The Lord held no power over him in this.

She was his.

-/-/-/-

She didn't take long to find, she never would now, Fenrir would be able to locate her in a room of thousands.

Fenrir knew he didn't have time for this, he needed to be up in the tower any moment, but he smelt her, hiding in an alcove.

She was on his way, like she was meant to be taken.

"We have to find Bill."

The harsh voice was almost enough to break Fenrir from his concentration, but not quite. He saw a flash of red and knew she was with the same girl as before.

"Not now," she chided.

Hearing his mate's voice made the blood in Fenrir's body freeze. He stood as still as a statute, barely breathing as he waited for her to say more, but at the same time, he was desperate to press his large hand over her mouth so he could snatch her words away before they were freed.

He wanted them for himself.

Her voice was commanding but soft, and her speech was uttered at a much more sensible register than her companion, given there were supposed to be hiding.

"Hermione," the Weasley brat whined.

Fenrir's world stopped for the second time that evening. How could he not have realised before? Hermione Granger, Potter's friend. She was… her? Fenrir smashed his fist against the nearest wall and grunted as he felt a bone give way. There would be no taking her now, not tonight. Forgiveness was not going to be enough. He would need permission.

The word felt dirty even in his mind, allowing himself to be subjugated to claim his mate was abhorrent. But somehow, in this twisted reality where she was Hermione Granger it had become necessary.

Fuck.

Fenrir tried to drag himself away then, to put some distance between them before he was unable to do so. To act without thinking now could mean the end of both their lives and that was truly unacceptable.

But then he heard them whispering again, and he couldn't deny himself - his wolf - the chance to listen to her speak again.

"Hermione, we have to go check on him, he fought with Greyback."

"He will be fine Ginny, Fleur is with him, the only thing we would achieve now would be getting hurt ourselves, which would help no one. We are better off staying here and trying to round up the remaining members of the DA."

"You're right," the other girl sighed. "I just can't believe they sent that… that animal into the school! He didn't even look human, did you see his teeth?"

"Ginny," she, Hermione, chastised, "I was concentrating on fighting."

"But you always notice people's teeth?"

"That's what happens when you're raised by Dentists, but it was hardly the time to contemplate oral health. There were other, more important things to observe."

"What like his hair?"

"You are ridiculous. You are the only person I could have this type of conversation within this kind of situation."

"Let me prattle it helps with my nerves."

"Fine, if we must, what was wrong with his hair?"

"What do you want a list? How about how it was matted back with who knows what, or the way it hung in the front of his face in straggly, greasy clumps."

Fenrir moved to stand closer to their hiding spot and saw her nose wrinkle in apparent agreement. "I suppose," she replied, and Fenrir frowned.

This was how she saw him? Or rather, that was how the Weasley child had seen him, she hadn't noticed him at all.

He would change that.

-/-/-/-

Fenrir had known she had been there, close but out of reach, for some time. He had sensed his true mate in the same way he had heard others describe it from their own experience, but he'd had no idea who she was, until now. Of course he found her in the heat of battle, where else would he have come across his own other half? That she was technically on the other side of this fight was unimportant, more significant forces were at play than the game of chess Voldemort and Dumbledore had been playing for so long.

Light and dark were relative terms, and Fenrir had never subscribed to any of the labels given to him by others. His only true loyalty was to his pack, and that's what she was now, pack.

As the land around him began to brighten, Fenrir sauntered into the middle of the water. It was cold, as he had expected, and the bed beneath his feet was course, but he had never been one to place a value in comfort of any kind.

Once he was deep enough, Fenrir dropped to his knees and then fell forward far enough that he could submerge his head.

Vanity was an unusual and unwelcome emotion for Fenrir, he had never cared what anyone thought he looked like before. He didn't suppose the Weasley chit would have bothered to learn he had been travelling for the best part of three weeks to get there on time.

Fenrir had never considered what he looked like to others either, he had never had too. Such considerations he left to the younger males in his pack. In truth, Fenrir had always found some amusement in the way they altered themselves to appear to the best advantage when chasing their wants. He had no experience of such things himself. In his lifetime women had always come to him, whether because they were attracted to him physically or just his position, he had never sought to inquire.

This was different.

She was different.

It wasn't just about the girl though, Hermione - she had been the girl, woman or unknown female for so long it was difficult to reset his thinking and use her name know he knew it. Fenrir wanted to wash himself free of all of those that had been before, to come to her fresh, for his face to be something that no one else had ever looked on. So that when she gave into him - and she would - what she would see would have been witnessed by no other.

But he couldn't do that. So he would settle for what he could do.

Fenrir stood up in the water that was now around his middle and removed his wand from the leather holster he kept strapped to his bicep. He didn't use his wand for much; it was too distant a weapon for his tastes, Fenrir preferred to feel the torment he inflicted with his teeth or claws. But that preference wasn't the same as not being able to use magic if he wanted. His knowledge may have been archaic and basic, but he was skilled at what he needed to survive.

Staring at the water's surface for a long moment, Fenrir lifted his wand in the air and swept it over his head, muttering as he went. His long hair fell in clumps all around him before sinking into the depths below. Once he was finished Fenrir swam forward until he could drop under the surface and wash away all trace of what he had done.

As he stepped back out of the water and let himself dry, Fenrir pushed a hand through what remained of his hair. It was shorter than he had it in years and was sure to raise a few eyebrows when he got back to his pack. He hoped it would be enough to give Hermione a moment's hesitation. When they met again, he would only need seconds before he could take her away.

But when?

For the first time in his adult life, Fenrir didn't have a plan. He couldn't march back into the school to get her, and if she were anywhere near as smart as they said she was, he wouldn't be able to get her on her own anytime soon.

Fenrir stared at the pool as he got himself dressed watching every ripple as it formed and spread.

She was like the water, as free and as wild as nature herself.

She was surface level calm that hid an ever-building torent underneath.

She was the harbinger of life and the bringer of death.

She appeared where she was truly needed.

And he knew it all, at little more than a glance because she had been made for him.

A year. It had taken a fucking year. Month upon month where Fenrir had to hold himself back even though his skin itched. Lunar cycle after lunar cycle where he had to be physically restrained to stop his wolf from claiming her too soon. He had never denied his wolf anything, not since the first day he had been turned. Yet, he had denied him her, and it made him feel like he was on fire.

The only thing that alleviated his growing rage even the smallest amount was revenge.

Once Fenrir had made it back home after finding Hermione he had spent several days compiling information on her, he started with his own remembrances of Death Eater meetings and reports and then scouted out what he needed to fill the blanks.

He knew that Dolohov had mentioned her a few times.

He learned that the Russian Death Eater had burnt a mark across her chest in her fourth year.

He slashed a matching wound across into him during a routine mission and blamed it on bloodlust.

He waited for Antonin to seize the opportunity for his own revenge. Then, Fenrir promised himself, then he would kill him.

A year of waiting and the night was finally here. Fenrir thought there was a kind of provenance to finally claiming his mate on the night that the wizard who got in his way when he had first found her, was getting married. It was his kind of poetry, the kind that came with fear and scars.

Fenrir leaned forward from the edge of his bed and dipped his fingers into the reddened clay he had collected earlier. He didn't need a mirror to apply the double lines across his cheeks. It was something his ancestors would have done. They came to these shores to make their fortune, claimed lands and everything else in between.

Fenrir painted himself for battle.

He painted himself to be noticed.

Let the Weasley girl say you couldn't see his face now. No one would leave that night without his image printed into their minds.

She wouldn't smell him, not like he could smell her. But she would, he would teach her.

There had been others of course, he was old after all. But none had been perfect, none had been fated, none had been his.

Not like she was.

Blood, flesh and soul.

His.

A/N: Hello lovelies! You may already know this but my fan cast for Fenrir is Michael Fassbender (typically as he looked in 300 - I mean, hello you feral dreamboat!) this fic was heavily inspired by scenes from Macbeth. This fic was written for the lovely Nautical Paramour's Fenrir February celebration and it is also the start of a new one-shot series of multiple pairings. I have the final instalment of The Mixtape to finish and then I will be working on other element inspired stories alongside my WIPs.