Hunter and Prey

They did something between having sex and making love again that afternoon. Draco sent a house elf to bring them lunch, too sated to bestir himself. Hermione lay contemplating the canopy trying to decide whether it was magically or mundanely woven. The fact she had bonked Draco Malfoy lurked in the back of her mind, seesawing between good and bad on the decision axis.

“Regrets?” Draco inquired, ogling contentedly. She looked beautiful pregnant and he really did not want to spoil the moment but he felt he should ask so he would be prepared for any morning-after recriminations. He had got an earful of those from Pansy during their fifth year. She never said no but afterwards she would whine about being ruined like the heroine of a Regency romance; angling for a wedding ring and his wallet.

“None. I am entirely existential at the moment.” Hermione decided magically woven. No seams was the giveaway. The good/bad Draco issue had yet to resolve itself. “I guess from your question you have no misgivings.”

Draco laughed. He had been thinking about nothing more complicated than whether he could get it up again before bedtime so he could not accuse her of Legilimency. Now he had lowered himself to bedding a muggle-born he might as well get it thoroughly out of his system. A few days of banging and he would be over her charms, he hoped.

They ate lunch companionably in bed. Hermione, in a more collected frame of mind now the shock had worn off, gave Draco the full details of what Professor Snape had told her. She needed to talk it over with someone who had a reasonably disinterested perspective and as she was fairly confident her host was interested in her only so far as his libido was concerned he qualified.

“Your unbiased hiring policy has left you open to attack.” Draco considered what he had just been told then added in the bits he knew from Potter and Severus. “That’s why it is sensible to stack your office with cronies. They are less likely to stab you in the back.” He gave her an ironic smile. She did not look amused. Nepotism was not a virtue to her. “You have a Lestrange working for you and you wonder who did it.”

“Whodunit.” Hermione corrected absently. She slid out of bed to retrieve her laptop. Draco cast a scornful glance at the anaphrodisiac machine. He considered sulking but that only worked with his mother. So he left the witch to her technology, gathered his clothes and went to finish preparations for the fete.

Hermione composed letters to Harry, Molly, Arthur, Professor Snape, Headmistress McGonagall, her parents, her lawyer, Neville, Madam Pomfrey, Minister Shacklebolt and a very carefully worded missive to Ron. She had several ideas but wanted hard facts before she leapt to conclusions. Printing the letters was actually quite easily done. She had developed a screen-grab spell. It only worked for text so far but she could transfer a doc. to scroll quickly.

Making use of the Malfoy owlery was impeded only by the long walk to find it. No wonder the pure-blood families were against freeing house elves. Without magical slave labour, they would never be able to clean their homes. The Malfoy’s could host a UN summit in the ballroom and provide accommodation for all the delegates. Hermione sent off her letters then trekked back to the guest room to have a nap. It was not heroic but it was practical.

She dropped quickly to sleep, mentally and physically exhausted. The first tremor of alarm occurred when she rolled over. Hermione felt cold. Her back ached. She was lying on something scratchy. Opening her eyes she saw square cut flagstones. Reaching out a hand to touch them, she saw bright climbers’ rope binding her wrists. Her ankles were hobbled too and a length of rope ran between the manacles further restraining her.

Hermione touched her neck. Collar there too. She turned around. Mattress on the floor, rough blanket, chamberpot, toilet paper, water jug and flannel such were the amenities available to her. She sat cross-legged watching the werewolf’s cubs squirm in her belly. So, a dream. Or had the rest been a dream? I am now a butterfly...

A grey hackled wolf padded into her cell and dropped a bloody fawn at her feet. He licked his teeth. He, not it. She knew who he was. Hermione snatched at the carcass, pulling off a leg to tear at the meat; the taste metallic and sharp in her mouth. She ate hungrily breaking the small bones to get to the marrow. The wolf watched her. He growled once she had finished and she shifted to her hands and knees.

He licked her blood-stained face. She did the same for his reddened muzzle. Then he mounted her and mated with her. His teeth grazed the back of her neck with each thrust. Hermione moaned as he changed to hybrid and filled her further. His taloned hands reached around to grope her breasts, pinching her nipples until bright drops of scarlet fell onto the flagstones. He made her come then changed to human and bit her shoulder hard, drawing blood again.

“You’re mine, bitch.” Fenrir Greyback growled. “My bitch.”

Hermione nodded, gasping with pain and moaning with pleasure. He licked the blood from her skin and slid his hands to her belly. Her children kicked against his touch. He growled, changing quickly back to wolf. So quickly he hurt her but he wanted to. She had defied him. She had mated with another. His knot swelled as he rammed into her. She was his and would never shake him loose. She screamed.