"Fenrir," Hermione greeted the werewolf. He was grinning at her - all teeth and a dark glint of sadism. She might have been intimidated if she hadn't spent two Summers with a Clan of Veela. It had been easy to get him and his werewolves on her side. In fact, he had congratulated her in having a much more convincing argument than both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore combined. While she had been adamant that she was no dictator, he still insisted on calling her "My Lady'.