At Hermione's suggestion, the group apparated to the cave. Draco was distant and would not make eye contact with Hermione, even though he took her side-long with him.

They found Cora and the twins situated inside the cave. Wilbur and Martin looked cosy in a transfigured bassinet. It had been fortified with protection spells to ensure the twins were not accidentally injured during transformation.

Also inside the cave, were two dozen of their most severely injured pack members who were unlikely to even survive the change. The rest of the pack was outside, awaiting the arrival of their alphas.

Hermione studied Draco as they walked past their betas enquiring about his plan for the next phase of the battle. He still wore his mask, but his eyes, his eyes betrayed his emotions.

Concerned, Hermione pulled him aside. "What's wrong?"

"We should not have come here," he whispered discretely, still not looking her in the eye. "This was an awful idea. Packed in one spot like this—We've essentially trapped ourselves in."

"Then let's turn it into a trap for Fenrir. Whatever happened to all your Slytherin cunning," she teased, hoping to inject some optimism into him.

"How can you be so flippant at a time like this? Don't you see, we're all going to die because I messed up." Jaw clenched, he hissed, "Oskar is already dead... Oskar, and so many others who were depending on me, died today because I failed in my duty to protect them."

The anger suddenly left Draco. He stood deflated; limp hands hanging at his sides, head hung low and eyes squeezed shut like he was trying really hard not to cry. In a small voice he confessed, "I always fail whenever my family needs me the most."

Hermione slipped her hand into Draco's. Intertwining their fingers, she gave his hand a squeeze. "Today has been terrible, but I refuse to abandon hope. I want to believe that together we can find a way to beat Fenrir... that we will live because we have so much to live for."

There was a lot she would have liked to tell him, but there was not enough time to do so. Hermione was scared herself, but her determination to live trumped her fears. If they were to survive the night, they had to act quickly. There was no room for self-doubt.

She raised Draco's chin, forcing him to look at her.

"I believe in you, Draco," Hermione stated with conviction. "We all do," she emphasised with a jerk of her head towards all the eager faces observing their alphas.

Draco looked around him, gulped and looked at her.

She gave his hand another squeeze, hoping he could see in her eyes just how much faith she had in him. She smiled when his hand engulfed hers and squeezed back.

Draco closed his eyes and was silent for a few moments, brow furrowed in deep thought.

"Your suggestion to trap Fenrir sounds like our best option right now," he told her before calling Adrian and Serafina to join them in forming a plan to do just that.

Having spent enough time in the region, Hermione, Draco, and his pack were well acquainted with the Mountains of the Moon. Lacking numerical strength, they intended to use their knowledge of the local geography to their advantage.

The enemy had not followed them to the cave and given the number of times they had run through the forest within the last twenty-four hours, it would be impossible to track them by scent alone—especially with the distracting scent of human flesh and blood lingering in the air. Now, Fenrir could only track them through his bonds with the werewolves he had sired.

Thirty of their best fighters, not turned by Fenrir, were sent away with instructions from Draco. The remaining weres—less than a hundred now—stood guard outside, blocking the path that led to the cave. Their proximity to the cave was determined by how long they took to transform; the weakest members were positioned closer to the cave and the strongest up front. As bait, Hermione stood front and centre of this new group of combatants.

...

Fenrir arrived just as the rogues were taking their positions. He had already instructed his troops not to attack, not until moonrise anyway, when they could effortlessly massacre the rogues.

They were probably wondering why they couldn't smell any other werewolf. Draco, the Usurper, must be going nuts trying to work out what kind of ambush he'd planned. Fenrir chuckled. They had no way of knowing he had only brought along the Black Cloaks, who he needed to defeat the rogues.

He didn't risk bringing his pack along. No way they'd be able to resist the appetising scent of human flesh; good chance they'd make a snack out of the Black Cloaks before they'd served their purpose. His wolves were better off where he'd left them—feasting on the corpses littering the battlefield.

He had no need for any kind of sneak attack. Even without his pack, their numbers easily exceeded the Usurper's. Not that it mattered how many rogues there were, when the change hit them they'd all be helpless and at his mercy.

Fenrir stepped into view, staying well out of the range of any spells they could fire. "Draco, I have an offer for you, pup," he announced scornfully. "No one else has to die today if you give me the twins and the Mudblood."

He didn't mean it, of course. Soon as he got a hold of Wilbur and Martin, and their mother, he planned to kill each and every one of the cunts who'd dared to sever their bond with him.

...

"I have a better offer," countered Hemione, ignoring Draco's instruction to avoid directly engaging Fenrir in any way. "Fight me. Defeat me in a fair fight and I'll willingly go with you... but if you lose, your people need to withdraw and return home."

Fenrir did not respond.

"What is it, Fenrir? Can't stand the idea of a fair fight? You needed to abduct ne, like a thief, because you knew you couldn't beat Draco in a fair fight."

Fenrir continued to disregard her.

"I think you're just too much of a coward to fight me. That's it, isn't it? The big bad wolf is afraid I'll beat him again. Did you tell your pack who gave you that scar on your face? Bet they don't know how their alpha tucked tail and ran away after he turned me—"

"You lying bitch! You tricked me that night."

"—because he was too afraid to fight me."

"I'm not 'fraid to fight a pup like you."

"Prove it then. Fight me."

"I'll fight you, you cunt. And when I beat you I'm going to kill Draco and everyone else right before your eyes."

"You'll have to defeat me first. Make your troops swear on their magic, they will leave and not attack when you lose."

Fenrir wavered, confirming he had no intention to live up to his end of any deal they made.

"You're a thief, a coward, and a liar," she spat angrily at him.

The moon slowly peeped out. Fenrir tilted his face to the sky and flashed a toothy grin.

"I'm also going to be your mate in a few minutes, I am. No potion for you this time, Mudblood. I'll be using Draco's blood to lube you up," he told her before transforming into his wolf and retreating behind his troops.

...

Under the moonlight, Hermione easily changed into her wolf despite being too exhausted to do so a short while ago. She looked sideways, to where Draco's white wolf stood. Nostrils slightly flared, he was staring intensely at her. His rapidly growing organ demonstrated how eager his wolf was to claim her. But now was not the time for it.

The black wolf yipped and cocked her head in the direction of the Black Cloaks.

The sight of their enemies approaching served as a sobering reminder of their priorities. The white wolf shook off his lusty thoughts and took up an attack stance. He began to growl, soon joined by Hermione's black wolf. Their packs, still mid-transformation, accompanied their alphas in making as inhuman a sound as they possibly could to intimidate their enemy.

Their tactic worked, but only partially. The Black Cloaks trembled with fear, but did not retreat.

The pack held the line by spreading themselves such that the enemy could not go around or past them. As they would be vastly outnumbered when the moon came out, Draco wanted to avoid an all-out fight in the initial stage. They would wait for their enemy to come to them, past the bottleneck in the access path, thereby limiting the number of people able to attack them all at once.

The Black Cloaks came charging at them, wands blazing—wands, some had most likely lifted off their fallen comrades after their own wands were destroyed that day. They smartly kept away from the alphas, targeting the weres still in the midst of their change.

The alpha pair worked together to counter the attack on their packs. The white wolf forcefully rammed into shins and knees, shattering bones; once the enemy dropped to the ground, the black wolf mauled and incapacitated them. Despite their joint efforts, they could not protect everyone.

At the end of the first fifteen minutes, the most critical stage of this battle, more than a dozen semi-transformed wolves lay dead and close to twenty lay severely injured along the path leading to the cave. Nearly every casualty was a combatant.

They could not see him, but a spot within the shadows cast by the trees, not too far from where the fight was taking place, reeked of Fenrir. They needed to draw him out somehow and separate him from the Black Cloaks. Fenrir could be bested in a one-on-one fight, but he was untouchable while he hid behind the wizards.

...

Fenrir refused to walk into the trap the Usurper had set for him. What kind of a fool did they take him for; did they really expect him to fall for such an obvious ruse? The path leading to where the rogues were fighting the Black Cloaks narrowed, with most of region obscured by trees and boulders. He could smell the rats, hiding just to the right of where the fighting was taking place. None of the Black Cloaks bothered with that direction, so that must be the cave some of his pack had overheard the Usurper and the Mudblood talk about on the battlefield. Fools thought they could lure him into an ambush. Ha! He wasn't falling for it.

As the fighting progressed, most of the rogues attacked and retreated, drawing his troops further in and closer to the cave. However, some of the Black Cloaks had succeeded in separating the Mudblood from the Usurper and the rest of the rogues. Not only was she moving in the wrong direction, away from others, but she was thrashing about wildly to fight off the spells thrown at her. When she was a little closer he noticed the blood dripping down her brow and into her eye. It must've left her with quite the blind spot. No wonder she was struggling to dodge the spells thrown at her.

The grey wolf joined the humans in stalking the Mudblood. They chased her down the path to a clearing dominated by a rock overhang. It was a dead-end. Even if the Mudblood were in any state to do so, flying was out of the question due to the rocky protrusions of the overhang.

The Mudblood staggered a few paces, stumbled, and fell. The Black Cloaks ignored her and quickly set up anti-disapparition wards. They had her completely trapped.

Changing into his human form, Fenrir ordered the Black Cloaks not to attack and make way for him. The dimwits didn't know, he had no desire to kill the Mudblood; she was far more valuable to him alive. Oh, how it excited him to see the Mudblood cornered and then prone on the ground. He couldn't wait to mate with her and sire many children!

Having children of his own, Fenrir had come to realise, was something he desired more than everything else. More than being recognised as a superior by the snooty Purebloods... even more than finally being considered worthy of the Dark Mark.

The Mudblood howled, not a pained cry; it was a signal because a group of rogues he recognised as some of the best fighters flew in from behind the Black Cloaks, blocking their exit. The Black Cloaks had two choices now, defend themselves against the attack on their rear or protect him. Under assault, they chose the former.

The black wolf's face twisted into the approximation of a smile. Curse them all, he had played right into their hands.

An infuriated Fenrir charged at the black wolf as she was getting up and landed a skull-rattling kick—he needed her alive, not conscious, to knot with her. It was satisfying to watch the black wolf fall to the ground, genuinely disoriented this time. He slammed his foot into her rib cage, not stopping after one kick.

Right leg. Left leg.

Right leg. Left leg.

He alternated between both legs to kick her repeatedly with enough force to lift her body off the ground, enough force to break the dire wolf's bones.

...

Fenrir's kicks hit Hermione with the force of a wrecking ball, transforming her body into a limp bag of meat and bones. She had to get away from his assault before she bled to death from internal injuries.

In her wolf form, she could have easily borne Fenrir's thrashing, if hours of fighting had not already drained her of her strength. Unlike Draco and the other werewolves from Fenrir's former pack, Hermione's wolf, though naturally strong, had not trained to build the kind of endurance needed to sustain herself through such prolonged fights. The kick to her head made things worse, causing a ringing in her ears louder than the sounds of the battle taking place around her.

Pain exploded in her chest when she tried to draw in a breath. Only then did Hermione realise that the distant sound of cracking ribs had come from within her own body.

"I don't want to kill you, Mudblood," Fenrir paused to assure her. "You can make this a lot easier on yourself by submitting to me. You've done it before," he whispered seductively to her, "you know it's not hard."

NEVER.

Never again!

She would never willingly mate with Fenrir and she would rather die than be taken against her will again. Hermione wanted to yell at Fenrir but she was in too much pain to even growl in response.

Hermione stared defiantly at Fenrir; she would not yield to him. Just as she resigned herself to death at Fenrir's hands, her would-be killer flew backwards. It took a few moments to process what was happening, so when several spells came shooting at her, Hermione braced herself. Only, the pain never came. There was just the sting of her magic resurging within her and repairing her body.

Tears clouded her vision but Hermione could make out four wolves standing around her. Her pack! Sensing their alpha's distress, they had come to her aid. Unfortunately, they paid a steep price for healing their alpha.

"Pathetic!" Fenrir snickered. He wasn't looking at her. "How any of you weaklings ever survived in my pack is a mystery!" Fenrir mockingly addressed one of Hermione's saviours right before he snapped the wolf's neck with great ease. Fenrir dropped the lifeless body, where it joined three others besides his feet.

In all her years as a member of the Order, despite having fought in many life-or-death situations, Hermione had never actively killed anyone. Even during the battle, though she had delivered many a mortal wound, she had not aimed to kill any of her attackers. But watching Fenrir kill her wolves—wolves she was meant to protect, wolves who had saved her life—broke something inside her. Hermione's humanity abandoned her as she became consumed by a hunger for blood and vengeance.

...

The she-wolf launched herself at Fenrir, using her head to deliver an uppercut to the chin that flung him backwards, into the trees. She ran after him, catching up just as he cancelled the anti-disapparition jinx. Before he could disapparate, the she-wolf pounced on Fenrir, claws extended.

With her front paws, the she-wolf latched onto Fenrir's shoulders. Jaws opened wide, she used her fangs to tear out Fenrir's throat, causing him to eventually choke on his own blood and die.

Unrestrained in every manner, for the first time since she was turned, the she-wolf succumbed to her bloodlust. She ripped out chunks of Fenrir's flesh and consumed it, without caring she was cannibalising one of her own kind.

The gruesome sight of Greyback's mangled corpse being chewed up by the ferocious-looking dire wolf struck terror in the hearts of not only the Black Cloaks, but also the wolves, who backed away in fear even as they howled in celebration of Fenrir's death.

News of Fenrir's death was quick to spread, leaving the Black Cloaks worried about how this would impact them. They had failed in their mission, which, according to Greyback's threat, meant the worst kind of death for their loved ones. Some of the smarter ones thought of ways in which they could mitigate the impending disaster and figured Lord Malfoy may be persuaded to intervene on their behalf if they accomplished his goal for this mission.

There had been no sign of any witch, definitely not any pregnant redhead. However, they had seen the platinum blond werewolf many times as he led the beasts during the battle. After the moon came out they noticed the white wolf, who on closer inspection, turned out wasn't actually white, but the same shade of platinum blond as his hair in his human form.

The white wolf was defending a group of injured omegas when he was caught off-guard by some of the Black Cloaks. Draco had been prepared for a lot of things to happen during this battle, being taken away as a hostage by the enemy was not among them.

After Fenrir's death and Draco's abduction, every Black Cloak who did not have the good sense to flee was killed by the werewolves. By midnight the battle concluded; the pack had won. But with one alpha captured, the other gone rogue, half the pack dead and more than a quarter critically wounded, it was a hollow victory.

AN: thank you ephsbell, because of your reviews this fic finally has more reviews than it does chapters.