Hunter and Prey
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Hermione/Fenrir
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
67
Views:
53,131
Reviews:
112
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Hermione/Fenrir
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
67
Views:
53,131
Reviews:
112
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Other People's Lives
Hermione got off him without looking at him. Like a sleepwalker, she went to the pantry and took the little girl upstairs to change her. Once she removed the rompersuit she could tell this wasn’t a handy-wipe job so Hermione put both of them under a lukewarm shower. Always a bookworm, she had read up on childcare after her marriage to prepare herself mentally for what she had thought inevitable; more Weasleys.
She found a towel in the toddler’s room, drying first her then herself. It was a pink towel with a kitten appliquéd on one corner. Hermione noticed little things as she found talcum powder, diapers and clean clothes for her new charge. Someone had made a collage of baby pictures with the name Elinor Grace and a date in careful calligraphy. The little girl was just over a year old and this room had been refurbished for her, down to a laminate floor rather than the dated carpet.
There was a baby’s bottle under the cot. Hermione cleaned it with a wipe from the enormous box on the change=table, clearly Elinor’s parents understood the reality of childrearing. The bottle was more than half full of water so she tucked it in with the little girl. A familiar routine and a woman’s voice settled her, her eyes were closing as Hermione tiptoed out of the room. She shut the door softly then looked at the other one.
It was still closed. What did she expect? Hermione did not want to open the door. It was an irrational fear. She had seen worse. Assuming there was anything in there. But there wasn’t another room. It was dark outside, the baby had been left for several hours. She hadn’t seen any blood downstairs though she hadn’t been into the left hand room. A fallen chair in the dining room suggested someone had been in there when Fenrir attacked. Logical thought convinced Hermione it was unlikely anyone had been killed in the master bedroom. And even if they had, she had to find out.
She opened the door like there was a Grim behind it. No, he was downstairs, she thought bitterly. That made her push the door wide and face what lay beyond. What lay beyond was a mess but an ordinary, cluttered bedroom. Secondhand furniture, scattered clothes and a stack of moving boxes in the corner told Hermione that Elinor’s parents had taken a break in their home improvements. She let her breath out. Wherever they were, it wasn’t here.
Feeling like a thief, she rummaged through the clothes to find something that would fit. Elinor’s mother preferred thongs and Hermione just couldn’t bring herself to borrow someone else’s underwear. She checked the tag of a blouse, decided the buttons wouldn’t take the strain then automatically found a coat-hanger. She had the wardrobe open before she realised it. You are in the bedroom of a couple who are almost certainly dead and you are putting away their laundry...
Hermione sat down on the bed and stared at her hands for a while. It was all too much but the same pragmatism that had prompted her to send her parents to Australia got her back on her feet. She tidied the bedroom; sorting, folding and hanging by rote. No thought. In the process she found a blue sundress left over from Elinor’s mother’s pregnancy that she slid on with a little envy for the naturally slim. Had their situations been reversed, Elinor’s mother probably would not have been contemplating liberating a pair of Hermione’s husband’s trousers to clothe herself.
The smiling dark haired woman in the wedding picture she found under a pile of work shirts liked soft colours and florals. Her husband, stocky and grinning, worked in a suit somewhere and supported the Welsh National Football team judging from the jerseys in his side of the wardrobe. Neither of them looked older than twenty. There were other photos of them amongst the clutter, including one in the hospital with a newborn and an older couple almost eclipsed by a huge teddy bear. That bear was in the nursery next door.
There was too much of them in the room for Hermione to stand it any longer. She ran out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Tears misted in her eyes for two people she didn’t know, who wouldn’t have understood if they had met and who would have lasted less than a minute against a werewolf. Who had attacked them because he thought their home was a convenient place to hide.
She was exhausted. There was no denying it. Being unconscious wasn’t the same as sleeping. Hermione found a blanket in the linen cupboard then dragged it and herself downstairs. She wasn’t going to sleep in the master bedroom. That just wasn’t going to happen. There would be something in the sitting room. Hermione found it was an IKEA sofa bed, she had one herself in her spare room, and unfolded it to take refuge in sleep.
She found a towel in the toddler’s room, drying first her then herself. It was a pink towel with a kitten appliquéd on one corner. Hermione noticed little things as she found talcum powder, diapers and clean clothes for her new charge. Someone had made a collage of baby pictures with the name Elinor Grace and a date in careful calligraphy. The little girl was just over a year old and this room had been refurbished for her, down to a laminate floor rather than the dated carpet.
There was a baby’s bottle under the cot. Hermione cleaned it with a wipe from the enormous box on the change=table, clearly Elinor’s parents understood the reality of childrearing. The bottle was more than half full of water so she tucked it in with the little girl. A familiar routine and a woman’s voice settled her, her eyes were closing as Hermione tiptoed out of the room. She shut the door softly then looked at the other one.
It was still closed. What did she expect? Hermione did not want to open the door. It was an irrational fear. She had seen worse. Assuming there was anything in there. But there wasn’t another room. It was dark outside, the baby had been left for several hours. She hadn’t seen any blood downstairs though she hadn’t been into the left hand room. A fallen chair in the dining room suggested someone had been in there when Fenrir attacked. Logical thought convinced Hermione it was unlikely anyone had been killed in the master bedroom. And even if they had, she had to find out.
She opened the door like there was a Grim behind it. No, he was downstairs, she thought bitterly. That made her push the door wide and face what lay beyond. What lay beyond was a mess but an ordinary, cluttered bedroom. Secondhand furniture, scattered clothes and a stack of moving boxes in the corner told Hermione that Elinor’s parents had taken a break in their home improvements. She let her breath out. Wherever they were, it wasn’t here.
Feeling like a thief, she rummaged through the clothes to find something that would fit. Elinor’s mother preferred thongs and Hermione just couldn’t bring herself to borrow someone else’s underwear. She checked the tag of a blouse, decided the buttons wouldn’t take the strain then automatically found a coat-hanger. She had the wardrobe open before she realised it. You are in the bedroom of a couple who are almost certainly dead and you are putting away their laundry...
Hermione sat down on the bed and stared at her hands for a while. It was all too much but the same pragmatism that had prompted her to send her parents to Australia got her back on her feet. She tidied the bedroom; sorting, folding and hanging by rote. No thought. In the process she found a blue sundress left over from Elinor’s mother’s pregnancy that she slid on with a little envy for the naturally slim. Had their situations been reversed, Elinor’s mother probably would not have been contemplating liberating a pair of Hermione’s husband’s trousers to clothe herself.
The smiling dark haired woman in the wedding picture she found under a pile of work shirts liked soft colours and florals. Her husband, stocky and grinning, worked in a suit somewhere and supported the Welsh National Football team judging from the jerseys in his side of the wardrobe. Neither of them looked older than twenty. There were other photos of them amongst the clutter, including one in the hospital with a newborn and an older couple almost eclipsed by a huge teddy bear. That bear was in the nursery next door.
There was too much of them in the room for Hermione to stand it any longer. She ran out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Tears misted in her eyes for two people she didn’t know, who wouldn’t have understood if they had met and who would have lasted less than a minute against a werewolf. Who had attacked them because he thought their home was a convenient place to hide.
She was exhausted. There was no denying it. Being unconscious wasn’t the same as sleeping. Hermione found a blanket in the linen cupboard then dragged it and herself downstairs. She wasn’t going to sleep in the master bedroom. That just wasn’t going to happen. There would be something in the sitting room. Hermione found it was an IKEA sofa bed, she had one herself in her spare room, and unfolded it to take refuge in sleep.