Life in an Alien Land 2: The Werewolf Chronicles

Thanks for all the response to the last chapter.

This chapter was beta'ed by Jilliane. Any mistakes remaining are mine alone.


Life in an Alien Land II:

Chapter 4: Full Moon Day

A spy is only as good as his intelligence. I was completely cut off from most information as I languished in my prison in the scant months before Miss Weasley came to tend me. Of course, most days she ignored me, preferring to clean up the room in silence as I brooded over my breakfast. I have never been a morning person, hence the evil persona during my Hogwarts days. Of course, as a young Professor, barely over the age of most of my students, and still carrying the stigma of having been a poor, unhygienic, and odd at that same institute, I soon learnt that my morning demeanour solved a great many problems when dealing with the dunderheads I was charged to teach. Over the years, the persona had expanded, encompassing most of my daily social interactions. I enjoyed the dubious distinction of being the most hated Professor in Hogwarts while I risked my life daily for the pustulant sacs of snot and hormones. Is it any wonder I became embittered?

Not that my personality had a chance at being sunny. I was born under a baleful star, with a screeching hag for a mother and a drunken sot for a father. Had the auspices of my birth been any direr, I might have been stillborn. Sometimes I think I should have been.

The day of the full moon Miss Weasley entered my humble cell in a flustered state, not her normal mien at all. With a snarl I directed her to sit my breakfast on the bench where I usually took it. She transported the laden tray to the area indicated, but was shaking so badly that she dropped the Earthenware teapot. It broke in large, chunky pieces on the floor. She let out a cry of what I assumed was frustration as she bent to pick the remnants up. Her tunic dipped at the neck and it was then that I saw the damage that had been wrought on her back.

"Stay as you are." I said as I went to my workbench to fetch the healing unguent that I had made just yesterday.

Miss Weasley drew away from me with an almost animalistic snarl. "No you don't, Snape. There's no way you're seeing me naked."

I quirked a brow at her, my best expression to show contemptuous disregard. "If you remember, I have seen you in the all-together. Sit and remove that tunic."

I would not be a man if I said it did not move me to see her expose her back to me, no matter in what bad grace she did it. Miss Weasley had ever been a fascinating specimen to me, with her hourglass figure and long, slender neck. Her flesh was luminously pale; the colour only bestowed on true gingers, with a smattering of small, reddish freckles where the sun had kissed her. My mouth went dry as I contemplated touching such perfection, and remembered how her small, pink mouth had felt on my engorged penis that first day of our re-acquaintanceship only a fortnight ago.

Do not take me for one of those Professors who ever considered a dalliance with a student under my tutelage. I did not. Ever.

I did, however, feel the need for an occasional wank to the visions that my female students presented to me. Men are visual creatures and I was no less so simply because I taught the little blighters from age eleven on. Miss Greengrass, the Patil twins, Miss Weasley, Luna Lovegood (Merlin help me, the girl was indescribably sexy) and Nymphadora Tonks had all fuelled fantasies. I was tortured by hot and sweaty versions of them in my potions classroom, on their knees, between my legs, worshipping me with their supplicating mouths, or on their bellies with me ploughing them from behind over a student desk. Only once had such a fantasy become reality and the werewolf had been present for that. Bloody wanker liked to watch his little girlfriend suck me off, timing his motions to the rhythm her bobbing head set. We both came at the same time, his golden eyes on mine, triumph and a darker lust mixed together. I never repeated the experience, though Mrs. Lupin still features prominently in my wanking sessions. Disturbingly, so does Mr. Lupin.

I turned away from Miss Weasley, already in the throes of lust. I had been more sexual since the process of turning began, especially during the fullness of the moon. Tonight I knew that when Greyback entered me, I would welcome his cock just to feel the pressure on my prostate. I would rub my engorgement against the ground until I found my release. It had been shamefully thus the last four cycles.

I approached her as she held her tunic against her chest, only creating in me the desire to snatch the rough cloth from her fingers and expose those pearly pink nipples to my gaze. Instead, I said roughly, "Turn."

She did so, probably more from habit than in any true deference to my person. I smoothed the cream over her shoulders and watched as the welted flesh receded along with the small amount of bruising already marring her skin. She hissed a thank you as the process continued.

"No need for expression of false sentiment, Miss Weasley." I said as I capped the jar once more, agonisingly aware of my twitching readiness. "I know your true feelings on my person."

She donned her tunic once again, with her back turned to me so that I glimpsed a side of her heavy breast, its three-quarter fullness arousing to my senses. She said, "No you don't."

I crossed to the cabinet as she began scooping up the pieces of crockery once more. I slammed the unguent into its spot with more force than intended. "Really? What was the name your brother and Mr. Potter devised for me? Greasy Git, was it?"

"That was them, and unless and until I grow a penis, lose my breasts, and my brain, I am not Ronald Bilius Weasley." She swooped up in a graceful motion, again drawing my eye as she did. "And don't talk about Harry. You never gave him a chance. You were always horrible to him, even when it was your precious Malfoy that caused the problems. Is it any wonder that he hated you?"

"We each had our roles to play." I answered, my voice and face neutral, but my heart pounded in my chest painfully. I had finally realised, in my captivity that the boy had been given short shrift by me, but I had also received no recognition from him. I was a spy, after all, not a noble profession in any realm of existence. I began again with more venom than I actually felt, "When you are through defending members of your sainted house from my Slytherin taint, remember this. I was the one who risked his life daily to make it possible for your little hero to survive to the Final Battle. I did not lose this war. He did. Now, get out, you stupid little cunt."

At some point during my tirade, I had come to lean over her, my face in hers, my clenched hands drawn back to strike her. She peered up at me, her clear brown eyes holding a mixture of horror and defiance. Her lips parted and I swooped down on her, thrusting my tongue into her open maw, raping her mouth with my conquest. She pushed at my shoulders and finally kicked upward, her knee landing a solid blow near enough to my crotch that I lost my breath.

"Fuck you, Snape." Her words were quiet, nearly conversational. "Fuck you. If you think you're going to intimidate me, think again. I've been raped so many times I don't even feel it anymore."

Yet, as she spoke, I noted the progress of a single tear down her cheek. I retreated, still following the track of that single drop of moisture as another joined it. "I do... I do apologise, Miss Weasley. It seems that my captivity has..."

I choked on the words as I felt a Stinging Hex hit my chest. Weasley was standing; her palm outstretched a look of surprise and triumph mixed with a good dose of fear flashing across her face. I treated her to a look of surprise that equalled her own. "I do believe we need to talk, Miss Weasley."

She lowered her hand as she stifled a sob. My heart broke that accidental magic should bring this response to such a trifling spell in such a powerful witch. She was Molly Weasley's daughter, after all. Molly's name appeared more times than even Flitwick's on the Dueling Club's Championship trophy. I approached Miss Weasley, this time slowly and without the heavy burden of malice, I had felt only moments before. She jerked away from mem her teeth bared, but as I spoke softly to her she leaned toward my voice and finally fell into my arms with a sob.

That, I think, was when I began to feel again, and I cursed Ginevra Molly Weasley for the tenderness she evoked.

It had taken me twenty years to recover from the softer emotions that Lily had evoked in me. They had hung around my neck like an albatross in that Coleridge poem. I was doomed evermore to carry her curse.

"Fuck off, Snape," she said again. Her hands tangled in my hair as she dragged my face to hers. I tasted her tears and the sharp, mourning tang of her spittle as she pulled me closer.

I broke from her, wishing desperately that times were different, that she were older or I younger, and that I wasn't becoming a soulless beast. My time of reckoning was nearing, and my change would be complete soon if I could tell by my body's reaction to the cycling moon.

She retreated to my pallet as if she had a right to the area. Drawing her knees to her chest she said, "Fred's here."

"I see," I answered, knowing this was the news that created her emotional state on her entry to my domicile.

She screwed up her face, as if she were going to cry and I braced myself. I was never good with snivelling females, especially when I could offer no suggestions to stop the flow of viscous matter from at least two orifices of her face. "He's been Turned."

I paused, wondering what wisdom I might impart that didn't stink of hypocrisy. I settled for silence. She continued, "That's why I was punished. I tried to talk to him last night. Drudges don't get to speak to werewolves unless they are spoken to first."

I knew of the rule, had become intimately acquainted with it over the past months. I watched more tears flow from her eyes, her gingery-brown lashes spiky. I finally asked, "And he did not wish to speak?"

Miss Weasley snorted. "What do you think? He's one of them now."

I retained my stoic mask. There was no answer for Miss Weasley. I knew the werewolf mind changed the person infected. As I reached my infective dose of the curse, I too was becoming more pack oriented and less prone to independent thought. I fought it, but I thought that someday, if I remained in the company of these creatures, I would succumb to the mentality. Even Lupin had succumbed to the pack mentality when he sided with the unholy trio, Black, Potter and Pettigrew, as a student. I could almost forgive him for it now, knowing the urge to belong. Almost.

"Why hasn't he Turned you, Snape?" Miss Weasley asked no challenge in her tone.

I brushed my nails against the fabric of my tunic, willing her to draw her conclusions as I said, "He is."

"You've been bitten?" Her concern or fear made her voice squeak at the end of the statement.

I sneered, "No, I have been raped."

Miss Weasley flushed a deep maroon, her eyes flitting from mine to the doorway. "I saw."

"No, you saw him rape me in human form. Tonight I get to enjoy his animal attentions." I flicked a piece of lint from my sleeve, a laconic gesture to cover my distress and revulsion.

"Oh, Merlin," she whispered. "Wha... how... that's disgusting."

"Indeed." I answered with a lift of my brow. "Tonight I go for another of his special infective treatments. I can ask that you be allowed to watch, if you are curious."

She had the good grace to look ill, and I was inexplicably disappointed. Perhaps I had wanted a witness to the crimes committed against me, so that I might one day be vindicated even as I was condemned for the beast I was to become.

An impatient knock sounded on the door and I scrambled to eat as much of the breakfast as I could. Miss Weasley jumped from my pallet, bending to straighten the bed as the door popped open. Borowiec entered.

"You're needed," he barked, looking at me. With a toothy smile, he directed his eyes to the girl, still bent over the pallet. His eyes lingered over her rather delicious derriere before he said, "Miss Weasley, see to your other duties. I need to prepare him."

The girl gathered the tray, clattering the dishes in her haste to leave. Borowiec saw her out, muttering something to her before he warded the door and turned to me. "Go bathe her scent off you, unless you want to get her killed."

I responded with alacrity, scrubbing frantically under the frigid flow of water. Borowiec waited in the main room, silent and forbidding. He, of all Greyback's followers, had shown the least brutality to me. I had observed during my brief outings, that the Beta deferred less to Greyback than he ever had before. Even in the days before the war ended, Greyback had ruled with an iron fist, no velvet glove. Borowiec had been thoroughly cowed by the Alpha and I had little respect for the fawning creature. It seemed that Greyback was losing his hold on his pack, as it grew larger.

I returned, nude and ready for the leash. Borowiec grunted as he put a bottle of powdered anise back in its place. "Put your clothes on. You're not seeing him yet."

I did as he bade and waited before him as he fastened the leash on my collar. He let the leash fall to the floor as I followed him to a set of rooms at the top of the inn, the old maid's garret and site of the newly Turned's first changes. The process was violent and quite bloody from what I had witnessed, quite apropos of a virgin's first sexual experience. I ducked under the short lintel, coming to stop behind the Beta, his muscular body obscuring my view of what lay beyond.

He bent over yet another ginger-haired body and propped the youngest Weasley male up. The pack would soon be infested with them.

Ronald Bilius Weasley, Potter's little sidekick and second-most bane of my last years at Hogwarts, had been beaten almost to death. His face was pulp, his nose skewed to the side and his eye-socket shattered. He moaned through smashed lips and exhaled. If I had had a match, I might have lit the alcohol fumes that emitted from the gusty noise.

Borowiec turned and with a flick of his wand and several muttered spells, warded the door. He cast a stronger version of Muffliato and handed me a length of ebony wood. I knew the core was Thestral as it responded to the magic that surged through me. It felt the same as my own, lost to the Dark Lord so many months ago. I felt sharp prick of tears behind my eyes, and trembling in my sinuses, making me want to sneeze. At the same time, Borowiec trained his wand on me, his magic crackling around him. "Don't get any grand ideas, Snape. We haven't decided if you're expendable yet or not."

I turned my attention to the Weasley before me. "I shall need several potions."

"They're here." Borowiec answered smoothly. "Fix him without incident, and I'll find a way for you to fuck the boy's sister without Greyback knowing."

"Don't be ridiculous." I bit out, wishing I did not feel the sharp pang of lust the image of her under me brought. "She is a child and quite beneath my notice."

"Say what you will, but I can smell arousal as easily as the next wolf." Borowiec said matter of factly as he gathered a satchel from beside the pallet on which the drunken boy sat. "Tell me what you need."

In short order, I spelled a sobering potion into the boy's stomach, and then waited. Weasley came to full wakefulness and I handed him a flannel. He peered at it through his one good eye. "Where you gerroff, y'bastard?"

"Clean yourself, Weasley." I spat. "You stink of the gutter from which you sprang this morning."

I would be lying if I said that I simply treated the boy's injuries in a calm, professional manner. I did not. I treated him as he had treated me, with indifference and contempt. I set the broken bones in his face without the aid of a potion. I waited, each time he passed out, until he woke to continue.

Borowiec hissed. "You are a bastard, Snape."

"I know." I said as I waited for Weasley to revive. "Tell me, Dusun. Why is it you are saying my name this morning? I was under the impression that your Alpha had made a decree about the matter."

Borowiec made a noncommittal noise in his throat, a half contemptuous grunt. "He's not omniscient as was your master, Dumbledore. Just fix him. I need to make sure he's out of here before this evening. We've got about twenty virgins tonight and they'll need the room."

Upon mentioning the subject, I froze. Borowiec read my hesitation properly. "You're well on your way. It won't be long, maybe another four or five months."

I felt the gorge rise in my throat. I had hoped I was nearing completion. The agony of the half-changes nearly killed me. Bella could have learned something about pain by watching them. I felt a trickle of sweat wend its way down my neck, and then my back. It settled into the crevasse of my arse. Suddenly I was clammy, decidedly ill. It was getting later, and the partial illness was upon me. I shuddered.

Weasley groaned and I turned my attention to him once more. I thrust a pain potion against his lips, having lost the desire to torture another person. I seemed to be getting soft as I became more of a beast. Strange.




Thanks for reading. Please leave a review and let me know what you think.