Summary:

A Werewolf Rebellion Chronicles One Shot. Hermione receives some surprising news as she and her mates prepare for the Holidays. Overhearing a conversation between Orias and Fenrir, she decides to use that surprise to make Fenrir's first real Christmas unforgettable.

Fenmione, Hermione/Orias Mulciber poly-pairing

Fancast: Brock O'Hurn as Orias Mulciber; Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback; Charlize Theron as Narcissa Malfoy

WINTER WOLVES

Her chestnut eyes shot wide as she looked over the message from the Medi-witch. Fingers a bit numb as she half-heartedly closed the window while the delivering owl flew into the distance, Hermione stumbled over to the nearest chair and simply fell into it.

"Well, don't you just look dreadful?"

She didn't even have it in her to jump at Narcissa Malfoy's voice as the blonde witch entered the sitting room. Blinking a few times, she looked up at the other woman. Without a word, she held the missive out for Narcissa to read.

Taking the slip of embossed parchment, Narcissa scanned the words a moment, going over them a second time before her perfectly arched brows shot up. "Oh, well, now. Is this unhappy news?"

Hermione shook her head, managing to collect herself enough to speak. "Not unhappy, simply . . . unexpected."

The blonde snickered and handed back the message. "With what you three get up to? Hardly."

"I meant there being two."

"Oh, well . . . ." Narcissa tipped her head side-to-side. "This circumstance isn't common, but it does happen on rare occasion. And, like the Medi-witch wrote, it's likely on account of what you are that it was, well, a little less rare."

Hermione drew in a deep breath and let it out slow, trying to calm her quickly fraying nerves. "Okay, I have to go tell them."

Narcissa nodded, stepping aside to allow the young woman a direct line from where she sat to the door. "By the way," she said as Hermione crossed the floor, "lovely work on the Holiday decorations, my dear."

Looking back at her, Hermione smiled a bit awkwardly—her friendship with Narcissa Malfoy still an odd thing she hadn't quite come to terms with, yet—and nodded. Here, she'd thought the woman was about to give her another reprimand for biting Lucius. Was his own bloody fault for getting between her and her mates on a full moon, after all.

The couple might be having issues, but for whatever Lucius thought, Narcissa still viewed him as her husband, and so Hermione had feared the witch's wrath and disappointment on the heels of the incident much more than any other possible outcome. Lucius, shockingly, level-headedly perhaps, turned the blame inward, as well, as he'd put himself in harms way when he full-well knew the werewolves were not in control of their own actions.

Didn't stop him from skulking about the Manor at bizarre hours, giving everything and everyone he encountered loathsome looks. So dramatic.

Sighing heavily, Hermione made her way through the massive house. Let's see, what time was it? . . . Oh, she wasn't sure it mattered, there were sweets in the kitchen, which meant that was where Orias would be. Bloody hell, she was going to have to ward the place to keep him out, wasn't she?

She considered that perhaps she should speak to them together, but given the rare, yet less-than-rare-for-their-kind circumstances, explaining it to each of them separately and slowly might be her best bet.

"If you don't stop eating those, she's going to kill you."

Fenrir's voice stopped her as she reached the kitchen doors.

Orias snickered. "She can certainly try. I's almost cute when she does give it a shot. Bit like a butterfly trying to hurt a dragon."

Folding her lips inward to keep in a scoffing sound, Hermione eased one of the doors open to peek inside at her mates. There sat Orias Mulciber at the kitchen table, the jar of candy canes she'd hidden open before him. She didn't know how, but she managed to keep herself from growling. She'd been so careful, how did he find them?

Honestly! It was the strawberry cake from her birthday all over again.

"I don't get it," Fenrir said, frowning as he picked up one of the freshly-frosted biscuits and sniffed at it before dropping it back onto the tray. "I mean, I've seen the decorations around before, I just . . . never understood the fuss humans make this time of year."

"First of all," Orias started, finishing noisily crunching one candy cane and immediately reaching for another, "she's not been human in a while, now, thanks to you. Second, she's your mate, her culture is yours, now, too, just like yours has become hers."

"Amazing how you actually stopped from inserting yourself into that observation."

Hermione nodded. She did have to admit Orias had an amazing knack for remembering to mention that she was his mate, as well, whenever the subject was mentioned. As though he worried any of them would forget.

"That's because she and I are from the same culture, I didn't feel like it had to be mentioned?"

"All right, then, so you tell me." Fenrir stomped across the kitchen to pull out a chair. Spinning it around, he sat down heavily and crossed his arms over the back. "What is the big deal about this ruddy human holiday?"

"The big deal?" Orias' eyes shot wide. "You really don't know?"

"Wasn't exactly raised like any of you, now was I?"

"Okay, well." The mountain of a wizard shrugged, twirling the next in what would turn out to be a series of candy canes that would end up in his gullet between his fingers. "For some folks it's a religious time of year, what that means depends on the person. But, what it means for most people is you know, family, friends . . . celebrating the shit tha's good in life."

Fenrir's brows pinched together as he yelped a small, feral sound of confusion. "Why d'you need a special time of year for that?"

Orias shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "We don't, not really, but to be honest, humans are petty creatures. Never realized how much so until I wasn't one, anymore, but they are. They're so focused on what's wrong all the time, that they need to give themselvs permission to be happy about what's not wrong. They actually need to set aside days were it's okay to let the petty things go, and those days are sort of publicly acknowledged throughout most of the Wizarding world . . . Muggle world, too, the way our Little Witch would explain it."

Hermione smirked. Yeah, yeah, so they knew her pretty well, by now.

"And that's it?"

"No!"

She barely held back a laugh at the way Fenrir jumped. Orias' sudden, too-serious bellow was simply too out of place in such a quiet moment.

Orias held up the jar of quickly disappearing candy canes in way of elaboration. "There are sweets you can only get this time of year. And special feasts and treats, and presents!"

"Presents?"

Orias nodded, but on the other side of those doors, Hermione's heart sank. That's right. If he had never experienced the Holidays before, he'd also never received a Christmas present before. Though the two were nothing alike, the realization reminded her of Harry the year they'd first met. She hadn't been there for it, but she remembered Ron describing how shocked Harry was to receive presents for the first time in his life.

Even now she felt her throat tighten and her eyes swim at the memory of how hearing that information has made her feel.

"Yes. Gifts from friends, family, in all sort of brightly colored paper. And Santa Claus!"

"Bless you."

Hermione silently clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at Fenrir's dead-pan, entirely innocent response. Well, nice time to find out he'd been practicing interacting with humans, like she'd taught him. Things like saying bless you when someone sneezed were still new habits for him.

Orias' blue eyes had shot wide. "I didn't sneeze, I said Santa Claus. As in Old Saint Nick. No? Nothing?" Running his hand—which made Hermione wince in that she could imagine how sticky his fingers were right now from all those poor, long-gone candy canes—through his long, dark-blond hair, Orias frowned. "Unbelievable."

"Where are you going?" Fenrir asked as he watched Orias stand from the table . . . notably with the half-full jar of sweets clutched in one hand.

Orias turned back to look at him. "It's where we're going. To the library to find you some books about Christmas, so Little Witch doesn't hate me for letting you not learn about this time of year."

Blinking rapidly a few times as Fenrir grudgingly got to his feet, she tucked herself away in a corner. The two came through the doors the second she was securely hidden and stomped their way through the dining room.

Just as Fenrir disappeared outside, Orias halted. "Just a minute. You go, I'll catch up in a second."

"Fine. But I'm not looking for any damn books. This is your idea, you do it when you get up there."

Hermione folded her lips inward at how very much it sounded like the big, scary, savage werewolf was on the verge of a temper tantrum.

When Fenrir's footfalls sounded on the staircase, Orias spun to face into the room. One brow arched, he set the jar down on the table as he said, "All right, come out."

Her shoulders drooping, Hermione slipped out of the shadows. "How on earth did you know I was here when he didn't?"

"I'm used to peppermint. My senses account for the impediment of sweets, his don't. Want to tell me why you're hiding?"

The witch's nostril's flared as she nodded. "Wooh. That is strong. I'd thank you to stop eating the sweets, if you could?"

Orias smirked. "Make me. But you still haven't told me why you're hiding."

Biting her lips on a nervous grin, she crossed the floor to stand before him and held out the letter from the Medi-witch. As he took it, he—like Narcissa—read it over twice before he could react.

A smile lighting his face, he lifted his gaze from the words before him to meet her eyes. "Really? But . . . I don't understand. We're both—?"

She waved her hands about as she tried to explain. "It's not entirely unheard of, but it's not that different from fraternal twins fathered by the same man. There is a window of time during which this, uh, can happen. Two different eggs fertilized by two different sperm within that window, and bam, two babies from two different fathers. God, it sounds like madness on the face of it. And, like she wrote right there, it's probably the lupine influence on our systems that made it easier for this to happen, and with how often we, um, get up to things. I mean, we all know there have been days when you've both, well, you know with me. So . . . ."

"Okay, I don't understand a lot of what you just said . . . ." He gave a side-to-side nod. "Mostly on account of that thing you do when you talk really fast and your words run together because you're so excited about something, but you're pregnant?"

Once more biting her lip, this time on a sound of excitement, she nodded.

"With twins?"

Again, she nodded. "Technically, yes."

"I'm going to be a father."

"Yes!"

She barely kept in a shriek as she found herself suddenly in the air and being spun around. "Okay, but this probably isn't good for the babies!"

"Oh, right! Sorry!" Setting her on her feet, Orias pulled her against him in a hug.

All right, so she knew it would be a while before anything like that could harm the babies, but still. Even not pregnant, she hadn't been especially fond of being tossed in the air.

She pulled back in his arms enough to look up at him. God, she hated that he was so pretty. All this time together and the effect his appearance had on her hadn't diminished. "Just, um, don't tell him, yet. Okay?"

Nodding, he kissed her. "Okay. You want to surprise him with the news?"

Hermione smiled. "Yeah. And given that this will be his first Christmas, I think I know exactly how to do it."

Fenrir looked up at the knock on the door. He wanted to be grumpy. Wanted to think the only reason he heard the sound over the noise of the party downstairs was because of his werewolf hearing.

"Come in."

The door opened and Hermione popped into the room. She looked like she was trying to compete with the ornaments on the tree, her lips a bright crimson and clad in a floofy party dress of the same shade that flounced about her curves when she moved. "Why aren't you downstairs?"

"Too noisy." He frowned, dropping his gaze back to where he was picking at the sofa cushion beside him. "Too many humans."

"Oh." Nodding, she closed the door behind her. "Well, um, that's okay, because I have a present for you, and it's something I wanted to give to you in private, anyway."

Returning his attention to her, he smirked. "Why do I feel like that's a trick?"

She shrugged as she crossed the floor to stand before him, one arm behind her back. "Not every present comes in some big, bright box."

He arched a brow as she held out a simple envelope to him. Plain, save for his name on it in a big, needlessly flashy style of writing, he took it.

Turning over the envelope, he opened it—delicately, but only because it was from her. Sliding a folded piece of parchment out, he carefully unfolded it.

Hermione watched as his jaws fell and his eyes widened. He looked up at her in a daze. "Really?"

She smiled, her hands clasped tight in front of her. "Happy Christmas."

His shoulders sloping, he set aside the letter and reached for her. Pulling her into his lap, he hugged her tight as he deposited quick, sweet kisses all over her face and neck. "I'm going to be a father!"

After a few moments, he paused, stilling against her.

Alarmed, Hermione cupped his jaw with her hands and lifted his head. "Fenrir?"

"I . . . ." His voice spilled out in an awed, barely audible whisper. "I'm going to have a family."

Again, she smiled, her touch gentle as she traced over his features with the tips of her fingers. "You already have a family. It's just getting a bit bigger, is all."

He stared at her in silence for several heartbeats. That was when she noticed the suspicious glimmer in his amber eyes.

"Fenrir? Are you crying?"

Sniffling as he shook his head, he said, "Of course not. But tell anyone and I'll wring your pretty little neck."

Unable to help a giggle, she curled herself against him, tucking her head under his chin. "After the babies are born."

He nodded as he tightened his hold on her. "After the babies are born."

Once more they sat in the quiet of the study, both listening to the raucous noise of the revelers downstairs.

"Hermione?" he said in a whisper, lifting a hand to stroke her hair.

"Yes, Fenrir?"

"I think I like Christmas."