[Author's Note | Hi dear readers, if you are reading this then you probably know it's been awhile since I have updated much of anything. Apologies for that but such is life. I hope you enjoy this fic, I appreciate the encouragement along the way. ]

Fenrir had left the loft without ceremony shortly after the spell was cast. He had vowed to return by nightfall with the information she had requested and Hermione was left alone with conflicted feelings. For a long while she stared at the front door the werewolf had exited from and half expected a swarm of Death Eaters to knock it down. How long would it take him to betray her location? Hermione gripped her wand and held her breath. It was only when the pounding in her head reminded her to exhale that she began to consider a new possibility: Fenrir wasn't going to betray her. Afterall, their fates were entwined now. To harm her would mean that he too would suffer… But what if he got in between her goals for the Order? What sacrifice would she need to make?

Hermione let herself ponder the ramifications of the blood oath briefly before pushing aside the burdensome thoughts. When she finally determined that there was likely no one materializing to whisk her away, Hermione set to work on the previous evening's incomplete work. After being caught by the Snatcher, Hermione had been unable to get the supplies to the other members. She knew that a disruption in the chain could be disastrous for their efforts but that first meant finding Cho.

Hermione had an idea of where to start. She went to her closet, removed her cloak, satchel and a small vial of polyjuice. The liquid sloshed against the glass and Hermione grimaced even before she tipped it back and felt the strange potion on her lips. Within moments her appearance had changed drastically and she fixed her gaze on the person in the bedroom mirror. Grey eyes and sagging skin, she was a woman in her late seventies with billowing white hair.

"Thank you for the identity, Margot," Hermione said softly almost in prayer for the reclusive elderly woman who had given her the gift of anonymity before her passing many years ago. It had been a force of habit to thank the woman as she took on the mantle of her guise. Hermione tucked the remaining polyjuice into a locket she had charmed for magical storage before Apparating with a blur of movement.

She reappeared with a pop, brushing the nonexistent lint from her cloak before Hermione surveyed her surroundings. The quaint park was nearly empty in the afternoon sunshine, whereas once it might have been full of giggling children with their parents sitting on benches beneath the willow trees.

"Pardon me," murmured someone behind Hermione. She jumped, curbing her instinct to reach for her wand. A young mother passed Hermione with a small infant in her pram, she made eye contact only briefly with Hermione and there was something haunted in the young woman's eyes.

A Half Blood? Hermione wondered as the woman hastened her step down the winding sidewalk. Surely not a Muggleborn; she never would have been caught outside in this age. But nor could the passing stranger have been a Pureblood, who's lineage would have made her nearly untouchable. A Half Blood of questionable lineage then, Hermione thought to herself. Under Voldemort's regime proving one's bloodlines was necessary step to survival. If you weren't part of the Sacred 28, the ancient Pureblood houses, this was sometimes a tricky challenge of making sure you had the proper documentation. Which was what made Hermione's task of delivering the supplies, to include forged documents, necessarily lifelines for those who needed to escape the UK's borders.

Hermione patted the satchel hung at her side before making slow, deliberate steps down the path. When she came upon a small pond Hermione pretended as though she needed to rest her old body on a nearby bench. She retrieved a bag of stale bread from her satchel, tossing the crumbs into the still water. Ducks paddled over, quacking indignantly for their share of the feast. From the corner of her eye she scanned her peripherals for any sign of other people.

But she saw no one. She was alone save but the gathering of ducks and one swan that slowly glided across the pond. The creature paused outside the circle of birds, staring back at Hermione with a steady gaze in it's ebony eyes. The swan fluttered its wings and few ducks parted until the elegant animal stood frozen on the pond's shoreline, as though waiting.

Hermione continued to toss bread crumbs to her feathered companions as she spoke in a low monotone:

"Dragging it's long train, now a shroud, from it's early light in the East.

The sung goes to sleep under an arch."

There was a fluid of motion as the air rippled. The swan opened her wings and the creature's body shifted instantly to that of a woman.

The Animagus sat down beside Hermione, her tone hush as she replied: "Listen, Sorrow, beloved, to the soft approach of Night."

"It is good to see you Cho," Hermione said. She couldn't see the witch's face as they both had their hoods drawn but she sensed the other woman's relief as she squeezed Hermione's hand in quick gesture of affection.

"I was worried when you didn't show up at the drop point," Cho said. "What happened?"
"There was a complication but I have it under control now," Hermione responded. She thought that it wasn't entirely a lie if one considered making a Blood Oath with a werewolf that's sworn loyalty to evil incarnate. Details, details.

"What aren't you telling me, Hermione?" Cho asked.
"The less you know the better," she said, which was true. Hermione remained committed to the belief that the less people she involved with her plans with Fenrir the better. If anything was to go awry at least she could minimize the damage to those she cared about.

"Hermione…" Cho began to protest but the presence of Hermione pushing the velvet satchel into her hands was enough to stop her abruptly.

"I mean it. Please trust me that everything is alright but I can't get into details. There isn't time," Hermione said. "Everything the Muggles will need is in there including the polyjuice but they are going to need to use it sparingly. I think one of our potionmasters was compromised and I don't know when I can get the next batch. Do you have any news on the Muggleborns the Death Eaters are transferring?"

"No," Cho said and Hermione could hear the threat of tears in the other woman's voice. "I think they got ahold of Hugo. His last message was...it wasn't good."

"I'm so sorry Cho," Hermione said and now it was her turn to grab the other witch's hand. Cho waved off the gesture of comfort instantly and Hermione understood why. Mourning others was not something they had the luxury to indulge in. Not when the stakes were so high and there was mission to see through. It was better not to even acknowledge the loss.

Which was why when Cho said "It's nothing," Hermione knew better than to say anything further on the topic. "But this does mean we are dead in the water trying to free them."

"Maybe not quite," Hermione said. "I will know more soon but I think I have someone who can get us information."

Elsewhere Fenrir Greyback made his way home and collapsed on the pallet he vaguely considered a bed. His limbs felt like lead and his head felt woozy from the night's affairs. A cocktail mixture of too much ale and the painful silver-poisoned injuries didn't help. Even with the help of the witch's healing ditany his skin was tender from where the silver had touched it. The magic's toxins would likely still be in his system for several long days.

Still worth it, he thought to himself. Sprawled on top of the blankets Fenrir couldn't bring himself to move but his mind drifted to the witch who had nearly killed him only just to decide to make a Blood Oath and seal their fates together. When he closed his eyes he could remember her scent and the touch of their hands as their magic intertwined. Even now if he stretched out his senses he could feel her magic like a whisper in his mind.

And strangely it soothed the wolf within him in a way Fenrir could not have predicted. When had he last felt such peace between his dual nature? Of course he knew the feeling was not mutual with the witch. He assessed the line between ally and foe was still very thin for Hermione and understandably so. Fenrir only hoped with time he could prove his sincerity to protect her at all costs, magical pact or not.

The werewolf wasn't sure of when exactly he must have fallen asleep only that when he awoke the light that streamed through his window was the artificial glow of a street lamp. He sat up with a groan and a litany of profanity that would make the most salty of sailors blush.

According to the decrepit clock clinging to the studio loft's wall the time was just a little past 7PM. An owl stared at him from the corner window, tapping impatiently on the glass with it's beak. Fenrir opened the window and the owl dropped the letter at his feet before fluttering to perch itself on the back of a broken kitchen chair.
The owl hooed and Fenrir couldn't help but interpret the creature's wide yellow eyes as anything but an expression of disgust as it surveyed the bare interior of the werewolf's living space.

"Bite me Turkeyleg, it's called minimalism," Fenrir said to the owl as he opened the letter.

The bird gave another reproachful hoot.

The letter was addressed to him and dated earlier in the day. Fenrir recognized the handwriting to be from Amycus Carrow, one of the Death Eaters that worked with him on occasion:

GREYBACK THERE HAS BEEN AN INCIDENT WITH YOUR SQUAD. REPORT TO THE MANSION IMMEDIATELY.

Considering that Fenrir had killed one of his own Snatchers just the night before Fenrir was sure he knew what the urgent matter pertained to. He was only surprised that they had not sent someone to his home to deliver the message in person.

Because you broke the nose of the last sod who disturbed your sleep, the werewolf said silently and shrugged. Although Fenrir gave Amycus no authority he did not want to keep the dark wizard waiting much longer in case they did decide to send out a search party so he quickly showered and changed into clean clothes before setting off to the mansion turned homebase of the Snatchers.

When he arrived the two wizards posted as sentry greeted him and moved out of his path. Fenrir paid no attention to them and as he stepped inside the mansion no one seemed to initially notice him. There was a commotion of urgent conversations among the Snatchers as the darkly dressed wizards and witches moved about the halls in hurried steps.

"Boss!" A voice called out.

Fenrir turned and saw Benjamin Wright running towards him. Benjamin was a freckle-faced wizard in his late 20's. In terms of company Fenrir found him tolerable on most days if only because despite his earnestness he was efficient.

"What is it, Wright?"
"Master Carrow has been asking for you all day. There was -Wait, what happened to your neck?"

The wizard seemed to catch himself staring at the large scarring along Fenrir's neckline and immediately regretted the intrusive question. The menacing werewolf narrowed his eyes for a flash before smiling which may have scared the young wizard even more.

"Hooked up with a lass that has some interesting hobbies," Fenrir said and Wright gave a nervous chuckle. The wizard was thankful to dodge further conversation into the werewolf's escapades by an interruption.

"Oh good you decided to grace us with your presence, Greyback," drawled Carrow. The frail looking Death Eater greeted him from the staircase. Carrow wore a perpetually bored expression that Fenrir had come to associate with most of the Pureblood aristocrats. It was as though human emotion was simply beneath them.

"I had other matters to attend to," Fenrir said as he approached the wizard.
"Yes, so I heard," Carrow retorted. "Follow me, we have a problem on our hands."

Fenrir followed behind Carrow up the staircase and into a space that might have once been a study but had now been claimed as Carrow's personal office. The wizard closed the door behind them and seated himself in a leather armchair. He didn't offer Fenrir a seat but the werewolf didn't care. He preferred to stand anyways.

"Patrols this morning found one of your Snatchers dead in some alley," Carrow said.
"Who was it?"
"Carver," Carrow responded but the name didn't evoke any emotions in either of the men. "He was laying face down in the trash and it looks like he got the Avada."
"Any leads on who or why might have done it?" Fenrir asked, he folded his arms and leaned against the library bookcase as though considering the wizard's words. Of course it had been him that had sent Carver to his maker but Fenrir had a part to play and he knew what questions he was meant to ask.

"No, and that is part of a bigger issue," Carrow said. "Some from Carver's squad made mention he had a bit of a drug problem and that's a very strong possibility."

"But you don't think this was a deal gone bad," Fenrir responded. Carrow nodded.

"My intuition tells me that this was the work of the Order. They are getting bolder by the day and I think their reach is expanding. Look at this," The dark wizard retrieved his wand and tapped it against the desk. A folder appeared and he handed it to Fenrir.

Fenrir opened the folder and peered at the paperwork. It was a report detailing the capture and interrogation of a spy found in the ministry: Hugo Clark. The accompanied picture was that of a battered man Fenrir presumed to be the unfortunate wizard. He scanned the document to glean the details of his crimes: Discovered to have been passing information on the Muggleborn trade for months. Fenrir's attention piqued at the mention of the Muggleborns, recalling Hermione's request that he got whatever information he could on the matter. The report was sparse with the details but he did make note that the Muggleborns would be moved to a new location immediately. The wizard must not have given up anything useful to the Snatchers, Fenrir surmised by the last line of the report:

HUGO CLARK EXECUTED AT 1430 HOURS BY KILLING CURSE.

"Up until recently we have presumed that the Order was pushed out of the UK, hiding like cockroaches in whatever backwoods country will have them but this is proof that they are here. Right underneath our noses," Carrow said.

"The Dark Lord knows all this?" Fenrir asked.

"Of course he does and he has tasked you and I to make sure we round up every last one of them. Double our patrols and start setting up surprise check points in each district. We will go to every bloody house in London if that's what it takes. The Dark Lord himself has ordered the Death Eaters to ensure nothing gets in the way of the upcoming trade deal."

"I will have my men on it then," Fenrir said as he placed the file down on a nearby table. Internally he was relieved that Carrow's attention was less on Carver's death and more on ensuring nothing disturbed the Death Eater's plans for the Muggleborns. Fenrir knew he needed to keep Hermione's name off Carrow's radar for as long as he could.

Hours after his conversation and the end of his patrols, Fenrir made sure he was not followed as he returned to the safe house. He Apparated inside the loft and Hermione nearly struck him with a curse. There was a flash of light and smoke spiraled from her wand as she lurched to her feet from where she had been sitting in an armchair.

She cursed loudly, using a few words even Fenrir hadn't heard before. "Impressive vocabulary, poppet," Fenrir said with amused appreciation as he stepped forward into the open space.

"You should have knocked. I could have been in my knickers!"
"Well that would have made things more interesting," he responded with a cheeky grin. "Besides if I had used the front door there is a greater chance I could have been seen. We wouldn't want that now?"
"No, we wouldn't," Hermione replied with an equally condescending tone.
"Put the wand down would you? It's not like it will do you any good on me anyways," Fenrir said. He glanced at the small kitchen, remembering he had not eaten that day and made his way to rummage her refrigerator.

As though quickly piecing together why her curse had turned to smoke when she tried to use it on him, Hermione said plainly: "The Oath."

"Precisely," Fenrir said. The contents of Hermione's fridge proved to be more disappointing than that of his own and eventually he settled on an apple from the countertop bowl instead.

"Please make yourself comfortable," Hermione said sarcastically although she lost some of her bravado as Fenrir stepped suddenly very close to her. Her heart began to race and Fenrir seemed to enjoy the response he elicited from the witch.

"Thank you, I will," he said and brushed past her to take her seat. Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the flush of her cheeks as she sat down in the other chair Fenrir could have taken.

"Did you get the information?"
"Some details, I will tell you what I know."