Hunter and Prey

Fenrir thrust hard with the last dregs of his orgasm, emptying himself utterly into her as though he meant to seed her again. The werewolf sighed. He could mate this bitch all day. Then he noticed the wand. He grabbed her wrist as she tried to stun him again. They wrestled furiously, knocking over a lamp and ending up on the floor.

Hermione clawed at his face determined to scratch out his eyes while the werewolf tried to restrain her without hurting her, too much. Fenrir had her arm twisted behind her back and she was fighting dirty trying to get a knee into his balls when there was a knock. Both of them froze listening fiercely.

“Mione, I’m sorry! I just want to talk!” The petitioner shouted plaintively and hammered again on her front door. It was Ron.

“I’ll kill him.” Fenrir’s eyes glittered with bloodlust as he got her in a shoulderlock but she refused to drop her wand or cease her attempts to bruise his fruit.

“You think that will stop me?” Hermione snarled. He looked at her in surprise for a second then grinned almost happily. Fenrir licked her face as affectionately as a puppy. She stared at him dumbstruck.

“Good bitch.” He kissed her before she could shout, still holding her arm painfully behind her. Hermione punched him but he shrugged it off without breaking the kiss. Ron knocked again, yelling something. Fenrir finally came up for air. “I’ll let you kill him.”

“Get Harry!” Hermione screamed once she had got her breath back. There was a curse downstairs then the faint pop as Ron Apparated away. She glared at the werewolf, who continued to grin at her. Fenrir bent forward and kissed her belly, slowly drawing his tongue over her skin as though he wanted to savour the flavour.

“Take good care of our litter.” He chuckled then shoved her away from him. “Regressus sanctum.” Fenrir intoned as Hermione brought her wand around to curse him. He vanished before her hex struck, leaving a black mark on her wallpaper and a lingering odour of something that had her rushing to the bathroom to be ill.

Ron and Harry found her bent over the bowl. They had arrived so quickly she had not had time to collect herself or scourgify. They saw her dishevelled and pale, with the werewolf’s cum oozing down her thighs. Harry dragged Ron back out into the bedroom to give Hermione some privacy.

“He has to be hiding somewhere. Be careful.” The Auror ordered then began a sweep of the neat terrace house. The blackened wallpaper had not escaped his notice nor had the strange smell, like old blood mixed with more visceral things. No wonder Hermione was talking to God through the big white telephone.

Ron did not say anything. His blue eyes were wide, almost manic. He charged down the stairs to search. He still had a conciliatory bouquet of wildflowers in his hands and appeared to have forgotten its existence.

Wincing with embarrassment and a sore arm, Hermione tidied herself up. She found her yoga pants and pulled them back on before enveloping herself in a dressing gown. She wanted to lie down but she could smell him on the bed. Scourgify, scourgify, scourgify. Her wand flicked until there was nothing left of the werewolf in the room except his babies inside her. Hermione bit back gorge then chided herself for clean up when they could have traced that smell.

It was Dark Magic, she was sure of it. Regressus Sanctum was the recalling part of a demesne spell. Originally developed to allow the quick return of a wizard to a sanctuary. It was readily mutable, ideal for contingencies but she had never heard its use as a breach-ward. Hermione took a deep breath and left the room quickly as she heard Crookshank’s yowl.

“Its a cat!” Harry said in the kitchen, beating Hermione there easily from the basement. He was still in work robes albeit with sneakers beneath. “Its Crookshanks.” He reminded Ron, who had been on the point of hexing the fluffy menace when he had suddenly heard a noise behind him. For his part, the half-kneazle sat by his cat door with his nose in the air.

Hermione stopped by the doorway clutching her stomach. Evidently running was another thing off her To Do list. Ron stared at her and lifted his arm to offer her the flowers looking as though he had been hit by a stunning curse. He was a good man to have at your back, Harry thought, but he really did have a one track mind.

“He left. Didn’t Apparate.” Hermione took a deep breath, ignoring the flowers. “He recalled himself with a sanctum spell. Someone must be helping him.” How the hell did he get through the wards? Judging from Harry’s expression, he was thinking the same thing. Judging from Ron’s expression, he wasn’t thinking at all. “The flowers are very nice, Ronald. Why don’t you give them to your mother? She has been very worried about you.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Ron forced the words out of his mouth, dropping his arm. “I was drunk. I didn’t realise who I was talking to. I never meant to say those things.”

“But you did!” Hermione spat. She leant against the wall. Timing, again. “There must be a breach in the wards or a focus somewhere in the house that allowed him to open a conduit. I can’t stay here.”

“I’m taking you to the Burrow.” Ron dropped the flowers, crossed the room and stopped at the point of Hermione’s wand.

“Stupefy.”