So, yeah, seems this is the last chapter after all. Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this little story. AND the reveal of the Big Bad (those of you in DEE know I didn't post a collage for this final chapter, only a story art piece, that was deliberate, because the collage had a pic of the character, and I felt like that might be too much of a spoiler)! I will only say that they are very OOC as per their canon personality. All the better to surprise you with, my dears 😉 (though, I think some of you may have guessed, you just didn't want to say in case the guess was wrong).

Chapter Eight

Minerva followed the girl back into the house, worry creasing her brow at the familiar sound of the trunk's lid hitting the floor above her head. "Hermione?" she called up the stairs. "Whatever your thinking, I beg you to reconsider!"

All but stumbling back down the steps in her hurry, Hermione shoved her dagger into her boot as she moved, her crossbow and quiver slung over her shoulder. "I can't reconsider, Auntie."

Her shoulders slumping, the witch observed her niece. She really needed to stop thinking of her as a girl, she was a grown woman, after all. Minerva supposed it had just been a way of keeping her young, keeping her close. Protecting her.

Now, as she watched this . . . this young woman ready herself to follow the man who was meant to be her mate into combat, whether he bloody well liked the idea, or not, Minerva understood. Hermione had not been that little girl who needed protecting in a very long time.

She stepped in front of the door, blocking Hermione's exit. "Wait."

Frowning, Hermione shook her head. "I'm sorry, I have to go now. If I lose track of Fenrir, I might never find my way to the alpha on my own."

Minerva clamped her hands over her niece's shoulders as she nodded. "I know, I just . . . I need you to promise me you'll come back to me."

Her brow furrowing as she blinked a sudden, suspicious glimmering from her eyes, Hermione hugged the older woman. "Always, Auntie. I will always come home. Promise."

Like that, she was pulling out of her Aunt's hold and stepping around her to disappear out the door.

Stepping out to watch her go, Minerva sighed. Would she have been brave enough, all those years ago, to do what Hermione was attempting had she known it was an option?

She squared her shoulders, deciding not to think on that—the idea that this might've all been avoided, had she and Roman been a bit braver, themselves, was too guilt-ridden a notion. Nodding to herself, she whirled on her heel and went back into the house, making a bee-line for her cauldron.

She might not be able to do very much from a distance, but she wasn't a witch for nothing.

As Fenrir reached the mouth of the cave, he knew, for certain, it wasn't paranoia. He was being followed, and he knew perfectly well who it was trailing him.

She was adept at this if she'd managed to track him so far before he'd noticed.

Yet, he knew if he approached her, she'd only give him the slip. Right now, he needed to focus. The notion that her scent did pass closely enough for her to be mistaken for a werewolf unless one was standing beside her helped. She'd be able to slip into the den relatively undetected.

He also knew he should stop her, but he felt oddly strengthened by her proximity, even if she wouldn't show herself.

If he let on to her that he knew she was there, it might only complicate this entire situation. It worked in their favor if he didn't quite know what she was planning.

Forcing back any movement that might indicate that he was aware of her presence, Fenrir proceeded into the cave.

Hermione stepped from the shadow of the treeline and onto the path that led into the mouth of the cave. For a moment, there, she'd thought he caught her from the way he hesitated at the entrance.

Sparing a moment to look about, she realized why this seemed familiar. That's when I met him, Aunt Minerva had said when relaying the story of her and Roman. I was closing in on this cave I'd heard some howls near.

Minerva had stumbled over this place all those years ago and not realized what it was.

With a determined nod, Hermione pulled her crossbow from her shoulder and loaded the slide as silently as she could. Placing her arm behind her back to conceal the readied weapon from easy view, she started after Fenrir.

After all, if she smelled enough like a wolf to have fooled Fenrir until he got close to her, none of the werewolves in that cave would notice her. Stick to the shadows, skirt the walls, don't draw attention to yourself unless you've no choice, she reminded herself in an admittedly trembly voice.

He looked up as Roman's pup approached. A smile curving his lips, he retreated to the center of the den and took a seat in the carved chair stationed before the fire pit. Ah, this Fenrir Greyback had always been an undeservedly proud creature. It often made him wonder just what might lead Fenrir to coming to ask something of him.

Fenrir was cognizant of the moment Roman had emerged from the rabble to watch what was about to unfold. Given the lack of commotion, he felt assured his maker had not told anyone of what had happened between him and one of the Dagworth wolf-children.

Though he hated every movement, Fenrir lowered himself to one knee before the undeservedly exalted Remus, latest member of the Lupin blood line to claim alphaship. Tipping his head to one side, he bared his throat in a—deplorable, false, hated—show of fealty.

Sitting back, Remus leaned his elbows upon the armrests. He didn't bother hiding his amusement as he watched the other wolf. "Fenrir . . . . Rise and speak."

Lifting his head, Fenrir met Remus' gaze and climbed to his feet. He knew it was a dangerous thing to test an alpha's patience, but he wasn't sure he cared, anymore. Every passing moment made him wonder why he bothered with this idiotic system. Nothing like a true pack, the alphas didn't watch out for their own or even lead, they only lorded their power over those subjected to the natural order of such roles.

Made him wonder why they all accepted this madness so easily. Perhaps it was time for a change, after all.

"I come to ask permission to take a mate."

Remus pursed his lips in thought as he nodded. Touching his fist to his chin, he said, "And who is this creature who's won your attention, I wonder?"

"A wolf-girl from a nearby village." Fenrir made a point not to glance in Roman's direction, then. He would not let on that he knew anything about his maker's own sad tale. "I must ask permission, because . . . she is of a Dagworth family line. Hermione Granger."

"No," Remus spat out the word with a shake of his head and not even a second of thought.

"But you don't understand. She found her way to me, twice. There has to be some exception."

With a feral grin, Remus stood from the chair. His eyes narrowed in look to match that grin as he spoke. "I will make no exception. In fact, for even thinking to disobey this law, I believe I just might go pay a little visit to this wolf-girl of yours, myself, and—"

His words were cut short by a sickening gurgling sound and it took Fenrir a heartbeat to realize what had happened. Even seeing the spray of crimson, and the way Remus suddenly clutched at the arrow sticking through his throat didn't seem to make sense.

Both he and Remus had been so focused on their flaring tempers that they never heard the snap of the crossbow firing. The other wolves were murmuring in confusion as they looked about for the source, and Fenrir secretly found it hilarious that no one seemed to be rushing to the alpha's aid.

Remus tried to pull out the arrow, but the blood left his hands slick, the wooden shaft slipping through his fingers again and again. He somehow managed to get out the words, "What is the meaning of this?"

That was when Fenrir heard it, the sound of feet hitting the ground. Turning his head, he spotted her as she straightened from jumping down out of wherever she'd managed to secret herself away. Reloading her weapon as she approached the firepit, her unhappy gaze never left Remus Lupin's agonized face.

Hermione knew part of the reason this was not creating more of a stir. She could feel the whisper of magic in the air. Aunt Minerva had given her mission a little push toward success by casting a charm to muddle the minds of those who might interfere.

"Thank you, Auntie," she whispered as she came to stand beside Fenrir.

Aiming the crossbow, once more, she spoke, her voice loud and clear so that her words echoed against the walls of the cave, despite that her insides were positively trembling. "I am Hermione Granger, wolf-child descendant of the Dagworth family. The meaning of this is that our lives will no longer be controlled by anyone but ourselves. End the law about my family and I might let you live."

His expression a mix of fury and disbelief as he finally managed to wrench the arrow from his throat, he forced out a rasping, "No."

Fenrir winced, actually needing to look away at the dull thuck of the crossbow's trigger releasing at close range. A truly unappetizing sound of metal rending flesh and scraping bone followed. By the time he returned his attention to Remus a moment later, the alpha's body was dropping to the ground, a bloody arrow protruding from his eye and Hermione's dagger in his heart.

She watched until he stopped moving, entirely. Though shaken, she stepped over to the fallen body to tug her dagger right back out.

As she straightened up, she became aware of the shifting of bodies around her.

Swallowing hard, she looked across the cave. The wolves had come into full view, all lowering to one knee before her and bearing their throats.

All except Fenrir.

She met his gaze with wide eyes. "I don't understand what's happening."

It took a moment before a grin spread across his lips. "You killed the standing alpha. You . . . you're in charge, now."

"Bollocks," she said in a numb whisper as she looked around, again. "I did kill him. This was all it took all along?"

"These are the things that happen when people become too afraid to even try." Fenrir frowned. "We're not so different from humans."

"Well, this all ended rather anti-climactically," another voice said.

Hermione turned her attention to the man who strode up beside Fenrir. He shook his head, crinkling his nose. "His dad was tougher. Little shit."

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she looked from one werewolf to the other. "What now?"

Roman swept his hand outward to indicate the entirety of the cave. "They're waiting for you to talk to them."

"Oh. Like, to tell them what to do?" The Lupins really had been awful creatures, hadn't they?

Fenrir and his maker both shrugged and nodded.

Closing her eyes, she nodded back. "The law about the Dagworth families is ended! Do not look to me for leadership—go live your own lives! Govern yourselves. Find love, have families, form your own packs if you want! Most of all, try to live peacefully so the hunts don't resume. Protect yourselves and each other. If you think of this place as home, then stay. But only if it's what you want." When she opened her eyes, she found the lot of them staring at her, awestruck.

She thought perhaps no one who'd held power over them before had considered giving them freedom over their own lives.

Roman frowned thoughtfully. "Well," he said as Hermione turned and started for the tunnel leading out to the forest, following as Fenrir fell into step beside her, "she got the hang of that nicely."

"Didn't even let me lift a finger," Fenrir muttered in a petulant tone.

"I'm back!"

Minerva thought her heart would burst from relief, alone, at the sound of her niece's voice on the porch. Sooner than she could stand from her worktable, though, the door opened.

Hermione rushed across the cottage, Fenrir stepping through the door behind her. The young woman threw her arms around her aunt, shaking, still, even as she relayed her story. Even as she thanked the witch for her assistance.

"She was amazing," Fenrir said with a proud smile. "And—"

"Didn't let you lift a finger." Hermione looked up at him from where she sat, laughing. "Never going to forgive me, are you?"

"Oh, that boy's been a bellyacher from way back," another voice chimed in, the speaker still on the porch.

Biting back a grin as her eyes watered, Hermione stood from the bench and backed up to stand beside Fenrir. Her gaze was on her aunt as she moved away.

Minerva watched the cottage's entryway, her suddenly tearing eyes wide with disbelief. Her mouth moved a few times, but no sound would come.

He stepped through the doorway, then, his hands clasped before him as though he didn't quite know what to do with himself. "Hello, Minnie."

"Roman?" the name left her lips in a breathless whisper.

Hermione didn't know if it was her imagination, but it appeared the years melted away from the witch's face as she stood from the table and made her way toward him on measured footfalls. She seemed afraid that if she moved too fast, he'd vanish as though he'd never really been there at all.

Minerva let out a quiet laugh as she reached him. "You haven't changed at all."

He shrugged, echoing her sound of amusement. "Werewolf."

Immediately feeling self-conscious, Minerva raised her hands to her face. "Oh, but . . . I've gotten old. You couldn't possibly still—"

He cut her off by catching her hands in his own. Gently pushing them away, he stroked the lines around her eyes with the tips of his fingers. "You'll never not be beautiful to me, Minnie."

Hermione didn't even realize her eyes were watering as she watched them. She knew the embrace they shared in that moment was far long overdue.

"You're crying," Fenrir said in her ear, his voice low so as not to disturb the reunited mates.

Sniffling, she gave him a shaky smile as she turned her head to meet his gaze. "I'm happy. And a little bit impressed with myself."

"As you should be. That was rather terrifying of you back there. But happy is good."

"Happy is good," she echoed, slipping her arms around his waist.

"And, this might be presumptuous of me, but I aim to keep you happy for as long as I'm able. That's, well, if you'll have me."

"Oh, shut up, you," she said, snickering.

"So," he said, guiding her head to rest in the hollow of his shoulder. "Still want to become what I am?"

She nodded. "But, you know, someday."

Smirking, he rested his chin atop her head as they watched Roman and Minnie having some hushed conversation that was all smiles and lingering, loving touches.

"Someday is good," he echoed.

THE END