Hunter and Prey

The fete wound on until midafternoon before finally winding down. Hermione was exhausted. She headed upstairs while Draco said their farewells to the last of his guests. Shower, pyjamas, dream ward, wand and bed then slumber. She drifted for awhile, aware she was coming out of a sleep cycle into REM. It was a very odd sensation to be conscious of the transition.

The barn formed around her. Details of its exterior filled in as she watched. She had been outside though she could not remember when. Had she tried to escape? Hermione liked to think that she had. Walking around the weathered exterior, she stumbled over an old pipe lying half buried in the undergrowth. Ryan was there, grabbing her as she stumbled. The sudden recollection of his hands on her made her hit him.

She was hitting a lot of people lately, anger bubbling up spontaneously. It would be tempting to ascribe it to the werewolves incubating inside her. They must react to the full moon. They were certainly more active during that time. Hermione made several circuits of the dream barn concentrating and trying to sharpen the memory. There were a lot of trees.

A huge wolf came bounding out of the dark green shadows, charging towards her. The vision blurred as in her memory she turned to run. Hermione saw everything jumble around and then she was looking up at him as she lay flat on her back. Canine teeth were centimetres from her face. A drop of his saliva touched her cheek. First instinct, wet herself. Second instinct, scream.

Thank you primitive monkey brain, Hermione thought sourly as her vision tunnelled with adrenalin and she lost details. Ryan babbled something and the wolf backed off. That memory faded abruptly. They had hit her with another Stupefy. Was that the only restraining spell Ryan knew? She got up. The black wolf was still padding around. He changed as she watched, aroused again.

“Clever witch.” Fenrir said, stretching. He flexed his shoulders then shook himself. The gesture was as natural for him in human form as it was in wolf. Hermione noticed he was more clean-shaven than when last she had seen him, which was odd as she could not imagine him caring about his grooming.

“They cleaned you up regularly at the Holding Facility.” Hermione remarked. She had seen it done, having informally inspected the cells for her own peace of mind. A few simple spells cast out of harm’s reach was sufficient. Many of the werewolves came in with ticks and fleas, or so feral they did not care if they were soiled. “Am I remembering you when I first saw you?”

“He needs fur for the ritual. You’re cunning, bitch.” Fenrir snapped, showing his teeth. “But you won’t get away from me.”

“That’s interesting.” Hermione was on her guard now. While she knew reinforcing any link between two living things required physical substance from them both, the werewolf spoke in the present tense. Her wand appeared in her hand. If her suspicions were correct, she was speaking to a living projection of Fenrir not a shadow in her mind. Harry got flashbacks sometimes of Voldemort but they were fleeting. This was a little too real.

“I do not think so.” He growled, padding around her. Fenrir stepped in quickly and put a hand on her stomach, forcing her again to show herself as heavily pregnant. Hermione gritted her teeth. Her subconscious was not helping there. Her body knew she was with child. She tried not to wince as he ran his hands over her. “They’re werewolves. I’ve bred true.”

“What did you bloody expect? Kittens?” Hermione slapped his hands away. He fisted a hand in her hair to still her. The werewolf caught her by surprise not because of his speed, he was slower in the dream than in the physical world, but because she had noticed difference. Fenrir twisted his grip, making her grimace. The pain felt quite real.

“Do not snap at me, bitch.” The werewolf grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed hard. That really hurt. Hermione concentrated. Her fist shot out lightning quick, connecting with his stiffened penis. He howled and flung her away from him. Hermione let out a cry of delight. She had wanted to do that for months. Fenrir clutched himself in agony.

“Give me a name.” Hermione ordered. “Who is working with you?” She skipped away from him as he straightened with rage burning in his eyes. “Touch me again and I will drink Snape’s potion to rid myself of your litter!”

That stopped him. Fenrir Greyback was a murderer but not a cold-hearted one. He had killed in the hunt, in anger, for the thrill of it but he was not a calculating killer. To beat him, she needed to out think him. Here in the dream world was the ideal arena because she was brilliant and he was a dumb mutt who thought with his now bruised genitalia. Hermione showed her teeth at him.

“You want these cubs. Fine. I might decide to carry them to term.” She might decide to let the sun set, she had about the same amount of control over either prospect. “But I will have something I want first.” Hermione caressed her stomach as she arched her back to flaunt his litter. He growled deep in his throat. “Who is helping you?”

The werewolf gave her a name.