Shifted

Bonded

Hermione spent the next few weeks traveling through the woods trying to pick up Malfoy's scent. It was always hardest to track him down when she was forced to apparate back to Head Quarters.

She thought it would be easier this time around, with her heightened senses.

The first week was spent running along the same perimeter like a mad woman, picking up and following the same old dusty scent as she adjusted to the powerful weapon that was her new nose.

Everything was over bearing. Too strong. She could smell the scent of a banshee from miles away. It took her two hours to outrun the reek, even with her nearly unbeatable new stride.

She kept overthinking it, or trying too hard or— she wasn't sure. But every time she felt like she was on the right track, her ears perked up at something unrelated and distracted her now short-fused brain. It would take her hours to get back on track, some days.

It was too loud, and then when night time came it was deadly silent, and she found herself focusing the crunching of snow beneath her boots instead of the actual act of tracking. All of her senses had been dialed up five notches too high and it took her weeks to figure out how to rein them in.

By the time she'd gotten even a semblance of control, it was time for her first full moon.

The Order was ill prepared for a scenario like hers. It took months to brew a proper batch of wolfsbane, and they certainly didn't have many skilled potioneers around.

She apparated back to Grimmauld Place two days before the full moon. Three weeks after she'd disappeared in a fury to go ruminate in the cave where she'd nearly died.

Harry and Ron were there. Someone had probably told them the dates, and she wanted to be mad that she was made out to be such a child— so fragile and broken from this stupid werewolf bite, as if she hadn't been in shambles for years at this point.

She wanted to be mad— but then their arms were wrapped around her aching body and she could hear Ron's soft sobs— not because she was broken, but because once again they were confronted by the mortality they all shared. It was more delicate than Hermione could ever be, and she knew then, that they were there for themselves.

Neither boy tried to talk her out of her plans to pursue Malfoy. They all three sat on the floor in front of a fire, and planned out the best ways to implement Hermione's transformation.

"It could be nearly half a year before we brew a working batch of wolfsbane," Harry said, eyeing the parchment sitting in front of Hermione with a furrowed brow. "It's not something we should even discuss as a possibility at this point."

Hermione listened with a stiff back and glazed over eyes as she flipped through book after dust covered book explaining werewolf transformations second by second. She devoured every detail, storing it at the front of her mind and attempting to process it, until her hands were shaky and her breaths were shallow.

Ron pulled her attention away from the books, but she waved him off. She didn't feel anything. Not a single emotion about how much pain she'd be in, or how they had no solid plan to store her and make sure she didn't cause any bodily harm. She wasn't alarmed, or anxious. She just... felt nothing.

They weren't able to properly enchant a room in time for Hermione's first transformation. They portkeyed her in the middle of a forest— so dense sunlight couldn't be seen through the thick line of trees— with a First Aid kit and a hug goodbye.

She didn't react as she waded through the thick tree stumps, looking for the best place to hide her gear. She just counted her heartbeats, starting over once she reached one hundred.