Life in an Alien Land 2: The Werewolf Chronicles

Thanks to Jilliane for her help on my creative commafication.


Chapter 3:

The Potions Master

When I was a child, Mum and Dad took us all to a Muggle aquarium. I hated it. It smelled of fish and was hot and stiflingly muggy. Bill, who was visiting from Egypt or somewhere exotic, saw me lagging, and grabbed my hand. He took me to a dark area of the aquarium and showed me the deep-sea creatures that had so fascinated him when Mum took him and Charlie to visit when they were younger. There was a beauty and grace to them in their dark world that I just couldn’t see in all the colours of the other habitats. Bill wandered off as I became engrossed in the floating movements of the anemones and the swift darting of the silvered fish. I wandered further and came to the shark tank. It was love at first sight as I watched this predator with his dead black eyes circling the tank. I touched the glass and for a moment, it seemed as if the shark returned my regard before it began its pacing, water-eating swim. It made me sad that the movements were pointless, that the shark couldn’t be where it could do what it was designed to do.

Bill returned and I followed him, vowing to remember that shark. I still think on it and wonder if it might remember me out of the countless faces that assailed it in its years of captivity.

As I stared in sickened fascination at Snape’s violation by Greyback, I remembered that shark’s dead, black gaze and its pacing captivity. Snape didn’t acknowledge our presence. I could tell he was far away in his own world. I had done that too, after the Lestranges raped me, and each time I was with a client. The woman to whom the voice belonged shoved me forward and I looked back at her. She glared back at me, her eyes familiar above the scarred wreckage of her lower face. I remembered her with Percy, a pretty enough girl with her brown curls and keen intelligence. I always thought that Penelope Clearwater had left England before the war broke out; I saw that I was wrong.

Clearwater spoke over the climaxing groans of Greyback, “Sir, I’ve brought the new breeder.”

Greyback’s face contorted and he gave a mighty grunt before withdrawing from Snape. I tried not to look at the werewolf’s organ as it glistened from the fluids of his release. I looked, instead, at Snape who had lost that look of dead absence. His face remained impassive, as only Snape’s could, I suppose, but I could see the bare structure of his emotions in his eyes. His fury burned me as my gaze skittered from his eyes to his now flaccid cock, his Dark Mark, and his dreadfully abused body. New scars lay over old. I never knew, for all his buttons and layers of both physical and mental armour. How could he have survived so much pain?

Snape sneered, the effect of the expression not diminished without his dark clothing, and layers of mystique. I looked away. I had never liked him, no one had really but to see him thus, unsettled me more than anything that had happened in these last months.

It wasn’t pity that stirred me, but fear. If Snape could be brought to so low, what would happen to me and Mum? Were we to be turned as Greyback had tried to turn Bill?

I heard Greyback mutter a Cleansing Charm and then the rustle of his clothing as he pulled up his trousers. He said to my jailor, “She’s been tested?”

“Yes, sir,” Clearwater answered her now familiar voice almost welcome to my hearing. “She was pregnant, addicted to a Muggle drug, and had some Muggle venereal lice. The Traitor gave her the potions to rid her of the foetus and the addiction, and I depilated her to rid her of infestation.”

“Depilated. Hairless as a babe I expect,” the werewolf said with a strange leer. Greyback approached me, circled with his carrion breath and his yellow eyes. He said, “Strip her.”

Once again, my skin was exposed, and once again, I felt Snape’s interested gaze. I thought I had lost the need to cover myself, but I had to arrest the motion of my hands over my denuded crotch and my bared breasts. I watched Snape harden almost imperceptibly and it was my turn to sneer at him. The old perv.

“Hairless, but too old for my tastes.” Greyback sniffed the air around me. “I smell you on the girl, Clearwater. Did she respond well?”

Clearwater’s voice was cool as she answered, “She responded like a whore. She fucked me well but got no pleasure that I could see.”

“Bad response and she’s not got much meat on her. Not like that delectable little thing Malfoy sent last month. Twelve and just on the cusp. That was a good lay while she lasted.” Greyback smacked his lips disagreeably as he prodded my flesh roughly with his heavy hand. “This one’s inadequate for the Breeding Shack.”

He turned his topaz regard to me. “You were at Hogwarts.”

“Y-yes,” I stammered. “Yes, sir.”

Greyback gave a huffing laugh. “The Traitor was your Potions Professor?”

“Yes, sir,” was my reply as I shot what I hoped was a venom-filled look at Snape. I had long since given up hating him. After what Harry had said, I actually quite admired his bravery, even if I didn’t like him personally, but it wouldn’t do for the werewolf to know that.

Greyback turned to my jailor, “Set her up in the kitchens for now. She can help the Traitor when he needs it. We’re going to need more output from him soon.”

Clearwater bowed as she thrust my tunic into my hands. “Dress.”

Greyback turned his attention to Snape. “Make sure he bathes before I summon him next time. His smell is offensive. “

He jerked Snape by the leash attached to his iron collar and the man stumbled before righting himself and assuming the graceful gait that I remembered from school. We both followed Clearwater out of the room. I was still conscious of my former Professor’s nudity and I balked as we approached the exterior door. I asked, “Shouldn’t he... get dressed or something?”

Clearwater pulled on my arm. “They’re used to it. Everyone knows why he’s summoned by the Alpha. They can smell it on him. To most of us, he’s nothing more than an object.”

We exited the building, a town hall by the looks of the façade, its ancient face marred by a recent fire. The village was an old one, the cobbles in the street likely Roman and the houses thatched and picturesque. Many people worked in the square, refitting the buildings with electrical wiring and cleaning the streets. Several of the workers paused as we passed, nodding to Clearwater and then to Snape after she showed them her back. I wondered at their regard for him, but said nothing. Women were scarce and the ones I did see were fitted with the same collar as Snape. I wondered how many were witches and how many were Muggles.

“This is where you’ll be working.” Clearwater stopped before an Inn. “We took this town about two months ago. The Dark Lord ceded East Anglia to us, but we’ve had to carve out our own spots. This is the largest werewolf colony to date, but as we take more towns, our numbers grow. Someday soon we’ll be able to take Cambridge.”

She opened the door to the Inn with a swift motion and twitched Snape’s leash. “You’ll be living above stairs with the other drudges. We don’t allow whoring, and since you’re not to breed, you’ll be given a once a month contraceptive. Taking it is mandatory, and as the Lead Healer, I’ll be administering tests to ensure its efficacy.”

I heard Snape’s inhalation as a female passed him in the hallway carrying a tray laden with food, mostly rare meat. I wondered if he had been made into a werewolf yet.

I followed my jailor upstairs and into a room fortified with heavy exterior locks. She waved her wand, a new one that I didn’t remember her having before, as she said, “Those are for him. You will have your own room, the matron will let you in and out.”

Clearwater turned to me. “You’ll be in charge of the Traitor’s care while he’s here, deliver his food and make sure he eats it. I’ll be round to pick him up when he’s summoned next. You are not to engage in any sexual activity with him. If you do, he will be punished and you will be sent to the stocks or worse.”

“Get him to bathe and I’ll let you out when I get the time.” She handed the leash to me and I blushed, remembering my shameful actions, his regard, and the smell of his arousal earlier.

Clearwater said as she left, “Ginny, it’s nice to see you again.”

I heard the first of the bolts shoot and then the distinctive clicking of the locks. I dropped the leash as if it were on fire and retreated to the door, unable to contain my panic any longer. Snape stared impassively at me as I gave into the despair that had threatened since our capture. I began beating on the door to no avail. After some time, the keening wail that I had held back when I realised where my mother and I had been delivered, ripped from my throat. I saw black spots dancing in front of my eyes and I fell to the floor in despair.

I heard Snape sit on the pallet that I assumed was his bed as he waited, silent and just as forbidding as I remembered him. Once my initial storm passed, he said in his dry tone, “I believe you were to make sure I bathed.”

He moved to a door I hadn’t noticed before. I followed him, reluctant to see him in such a personal setting. He bent over the tub and turned on the water. I saw the angry red pucker of his anus, the obvious scarring from his many rapes, his cock and balls swinging between his legs, and I suddenly felt nothing. If he could survive Greyback’s violation, then I could survive anything they threw at me, even if they Turned me.

Snape sat in the tub, easing himself into the water with a hiss. Immediately goose-bumps dotted his skin and I reached over to turn on the hot tap. He stayed my motion with a harsh bark of laughter. “Don’t bother, Weasley. We don’t have that luxury here.”

He dunked under the water, sat up with a splash, and then reached blindly behind him for the soap. He scrubbed with it, as if he were trying to remove the taint of his violation from his skin. I knew that action too well to mistake it.

He ran the bar of soap over his hair and I snorted trying to see the humour of our situation. “I always wondered why your hair looked so greasy.”

He continued his ablutions with a pained sigh, and then dunked his head under the water once more. He came up with a shuddering motion, his pale skin almost blue-tinged. He rose from the water, his cock shrivelled with the cold, and then he took a rough bit of towelling from a cabinet with shaking hands.

After looking at me a moment, his expression as inscrutably sour as ever, he strode past me. I watched him don a coarse, shift-like tunic and a pair of homespun pants, both distinctly worn and grey from laundering. He sat again in an almost regal pose on his pallet; only as he bent did he show any distress, a slight hiss as he stretched aching muscles. I looked past him to the small garret type window.

“So, how long have they had you?” I asked as I stared out on the incongruously normal street-scene.

Snape blinked but made no answer as I took his towel from the floor. I had spent years hearing Mum screeching at the boys for leaving things about in a mess. I supposed some actions were just unmarried male. I busied myself with folding the towel then placed it back in the bathroom. I let out the water, noting the ring around the porcelain surface. He really had been dirty.

I turned and watched him from the doorway, his expression, if possible, had become more impassive. He reminded me of those last days at Hogwarts with him as Headmaster. He was just as thin, just as ill, and just as much a bastard as I remembered him.

I shrugged and went to the Potions bench, wondering if I might be able to pull a Fred and George and make something from the ingredients. No such luck, I saw, as I made a mental inventory of the basic potions ingredients neatly labelled and put in alphabetical order on the shelf. All were common in Healing potions, and none were volatile. I picked up a knife, running the blade over my finger. It was dull. I placed it on the counter.

Snape finally spoke in that voice crawling with scorn, “The blades have been charmed to only cut carrion, nothing live.”

He stood and came to my side, his scent fresher than it had been, but his breath sour. “Sweet Merlin, Snape, brush your teeth.”

He recoiled as if he had been slapped, and drew himself to his full height. Giving me his most disdainful glare, he retreated once more to his pallet, muttering something about arrogant Gryffindors.

I burst out laughing. “Is that the best insult you can come up with? I mean, Fred and George...”

I broke off, remembering George’s final moments. He had been Cruciated to death before my eyes by Dolohov and that Lestrange bitch.

Snape gave a loud sniff and said nothing, his glare speaking volumes about his contempt for all things Weasley.

“Fuck you, Snape,” I said in the quiet.

“You injure me, Miss Weasley, with your pointed repartee.” He answered.

He rose once more and moved to the cabinet, his clothing rustling with his movements in a way I remembered from Hogwarts. I remained where I was. Fuck him and the broom he rode in on...

I spent the rest of the time looking between the door and the window, hoping my incarceration with the git would end soon. After another hour of pointed silence, I heard the locks rattle. I strode to the door as it opened, and a matronly looking woman with a slashing scar across her throat said sourly, “Kitchen duty. Follow me.”

Her voice was rasping, I thought it was a consequence of her injury. I went through the door, waiting for her while she secured the locks. She passed me in the narrow hallway and led me below stairs to a large, modern, Muggle kitchen. I waited by the door until she directed me with a jerk of her head towards her.

“You a witch?” she asked. I nodded my assent and she frowned. “Second one today and you look like her.”

I followed the woman’s darkling gaze to the corner of the room, my view obscured by a hanging line of pots and pans. I saw my mother’s deft hands as she chopped onions or turnips, I couldn’t tell which. I said over my tearful elation, “Yes, that’s my Mum.”

The woman pushed me to the area. “Get on then, she can use some help. We’re preparing for the workmen and then we need to feed our Alpha and his lieutenants. You’ll get used to the work, even if you are used to a wand.”

The woman turned away as I half stumbled to the corner where Mum stood with several other silently working women. She looked at me for an instant and I saw her eyes fill with tears, before she returned her attention to the vegetables. “Ginny, dear, we’re making beef and turnip pasties. Please get an apron and help.”

The other women smiled amongst themselves. I looked around and a young woman handed me a white apron with a shy smile. Another woman cleared a space beside my mother, leaving her chopping board and knife. I thanked her, but she made no response. The raspy-voiced woman returned with a bowl of meat for me to chop. I began.

After moments of silence, I whispered, “Mum, did they hurt you?”

“No, dear,” she answered, her lips pursing in disapproval. “We aren’t allowed to speak until later.”

I returned to my work, but soon had to ask, in as low a voice as I could, “Did those men from the lorry rape you?”

Mum looked stricken and nodded, a swift, painful motion of her head. The young girl with the apron whispered, “No one escapes that. Not here.”

“Quiet!” A male voice intoned from the back area, presumably at a back door. “No talking.”

We continued our work in silence.

We served the workmen and werewolves. Mum was given a platter for the enslaved humans and sent outside, while I was given a Never-ending pitcher of ale. I served the werewolves. I was exhausted from the last two days and I stumbled once, almost spilling the contents of the pitcher on a grey-haired man who had an ugly port-wine stain birthmark on one of his cheeks. I apologised, but he grabbed my hand and slapped me across the face. I fell back with a cry, dropping the pitcher in the process. It shattered noisily on the tile floor.

Another man stood, angrily brandishing a knife. I backed against the wall as the room fell to chaos. After several moments of tension-filled shouting between two groups of werewolves, I noticed a large, brown-haired man enter the room.

He said, with a softly accented voice that was filled with authority, “Dinner’s over. Back to quarters everyone.”

The werewolves filed out with no comment and I began picking up the pieces of the pitcher, trying to disguise my gulping sobs as I did. I wished I had died when Harry did.

Through my tears, I notice that two booted feet had stopped in front of me. I dropped the pieces of charmed pottery and cringed. “No need to fear, krásná dámo.”

I glanced up into warm, yellow-brown eyes and a handsome smiling face. He was about Snape’s age and carried an aura of authority. He was the man who spoke in from the doorway. He held out his hand. “Let me help you malièká.”

I stood, not daring to take his hand as he offered, but thanked him as I returned to my attention the shards. I was afraid I would be punished for breaking it. He said a few words and the pitcher reformed, flying to his hands. “Now, no need to worry about that. You are new here, yes?”

I noticed several of the women returning from the outside duty stop and cluster together. I dropped my gaze, not wanting to make my position worse if any of them might be interested in the man before me. “Yes, sir.”

“I am Borowiec,” he said as if I should already know who he was. I wracked my brain for any references, wondering what his position was in relation to the power structure of the werewolves. I couldn’t remember even Hermione pointing him out in reference to any articles in the Daily Prophet.

He lifted my chin with a large finger, and smiled into my eyes. He asked kindly, “And you are?”

“Ginny, sir.” I took the pitcher from his hands and tried to move past him.

He stopped me with a hand to my arm. “Miss Weasley, I presume? Daughter of Arthur Weasley who was a member of the Order of the Phoenix?”

“Yes,” I answered dully. I knew my looks would not grant me anonymity, but had hoped I might avoid direct questions about my past. I dared a look at the werewolf.

He smiled softly in answer. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Remus Lupin spoke of your family often. He had a soft spot for all of you.”

The man turned from me as Penelope Clearwater entered, her eyebrows drawn down and her lips in an angry, straight line. She waved her wand as he strode to her, saying, “Muffliato!”

The section of the room they were in buzzed noisily and I fled to the kitchens, shaking with exhaustion and nerves. Mum pulled me to her and I cried as if I were still her little girl and had not already lived a thousand years since the war ended.

Thanks to Madietta for her expertise in Czech and the corrections she gave.

krásná dámo: Pretty lady.

malièká: Little one.