Hunter and Prey

For no reason she could name, Hermione thought of Dolores Umbridge at that moment. The pink-clad Nazi certainly wouldn’t have used his words and her attitude to half-breeds made her a very unlikely ally of any werewolf. But the undercurrent of menace, the unspoken suggestion that everything you did was flawed, that you were thing to be stepped over, all that contempt she had heard in Umbridge’s voice Hermione heard again from Fenrir.

She had been going to snap back something witty or more likely half-witty and goading but she hesitated. One of her regrets in her fifth year was not sticking to her guns. She had wanted to protest Umbridge’s direction of Hogwarts and her frankly fascist methods. Hermione still got angry at thought of that awful quill. But she hadn’t protested. She had listened to Harry, who in the light of maturity had been more sulking than strategising.

Both Umbridge and Fenrir Greyback were bullies. When threatened, bullies attacked. In her fifth year, she should have stood her ground. Instead they skulked and scored little victories when they would have been better off collectively shouting from the rooftops. Even if at that age, it would have been more writing to their parents than their MPs. This time, when she wanted to scream herself hoarse, instead she folded her hands and spoke docilely.

“Do you wish to continue this somewhere else?” There was no push in her tone, no protest. Even a mild ‘are you finished’ to the werewolf might be interpreted as a sneer. Of course, he was a sociopath without empathy or conscience. He didn’t need a reason to kill, he just needed an excuse. And ‘she looked at me funny’ would serve him well enough.

Fenrir’s lips curled as he scented the air. This house was full of stink as all muggle buildings were but he could smell her. Smell his scent on her. She should be aroused that he deigned to mount her. He was alpha, the strongest, the most vicious, the best hunter. If she were a werewolf, she’d hold her tail aside for him. A low growl started in the back of his throat. If she were a werewolf, she’d be dead or in a cell somewhere begging for treats.

The toast popped up. At the sudden noise, Fenrir lashed out. The toaster went flying across the small room and smashed against the wall. Upstairs, the bang startled Elinor awake and the toddler’s frightened cries caught the werewolf’s attention. His ears pricked up. The low growl grew louder. Hermione froze. The werewolf wasn’t far from frenzy. She could almost feel the rage radiating from him.

Do something! The thought reverberated in her head in one of those attenuated moments that had been so familiar during the War. Time slowed, everything shone clear, cutting into her memory. There were moments like this Hermione would give her left hand to forget but they remained in her mind like crystal.

She sank to her knees and licked the head of his penis. That startled him. He raised his arm to strike her and she shied away dropping her gaze to the floor. Fenrir lowered his arm. His bitch was willing to submit. Showing him she was willing. Not jabbering like a monkey.

There was a pause but he wasn’t much for thinking. Fenrir grabbed her head and pulled her towards him. The witch took her cue, taking him into her mouth to please him. This was a human act for all he was half-wolf. His tongue lolled. Her hands were on him. He didn’t tense. Her teeth were blunt and if she wounded him, he’d kill her.

“Make yourself wet.” Fenrir ordered. He wanted her but if he hurt her too much she’d be no good for whelping. Hermione obeyed, telling herself this was a damage control measure and when this was all over she would bathe for days. Watching her hand busy between her legs made him pant. She could fake nothing. He smelled she was receptive.

Pushing her off him before he spilled his seed and she saved herself a mating, Fenrir gestured to the sitting room. It was a stupid name for a chamber but the bed she had chosen was there. His bitch stood, going where he directed. Upstairs, Elinor’s cries had quietened but Hermione still heard them. She paused at the bedside, waiting for him.

Fenrir went to the toaster to pick up a piece of the burnt bread. He went to his bitch, gave her the food and waited while she ate it. She chewed hungrily. He didn’t touch her until she had finished then he pulled her down onto her bed. Pushing the blanket aside so she couldn’t hide from him, he licked her sex until her folds were pink and she was trying not to let him hear her moans. But he knew she liked this.