"Now, now, why the grumpy face?" Hermione asked, her voice quite nasal and obstructed by the permanent disfigurement that Greybeard had gifted her. Being an Alpha meant she needed some things. Being the  Alpha meant that she needed more.  Mostly she needed to hold sway over whoever she came into contact with, so long as they were lycanthropes. She needed power to back up her claims, and magic to control their wild nature. She needed to hold onto the ancient curse that had gifted them all with little bits of magic ported over from wolf to man. Now her body merely described the role that she’d stepped into. Her nose was sloping, eyes a poisonous yellow, and her canines and tongue had allotted her some ferocity that the small, bookish-schoolchild that she’d once been had never held. There was also all the extra hair, but she couldn’t really complain about that.