Hunter and Prey

The party had been fun Hermione admitted to herself and tried not to grin as Mediwitches admonished her. She was back in St Mungo’s after a delightful weekend regretting nothing but her participation in an impromptu drunken game of charades. She had been cold sober and swathed in a white sheet to help a sozzled Padma do an impression of Moby Dick. It was her happy hope everyone else had been too plastered to remember.

An artfully tousled Draco had dropped her off, sending the apprentice Healers into a tempest of teenage infatuation. They would have spontaneously combusted if they’d seen him and Neville doing a tango on a dare under the influence of brandy and chocolate cake. Those boys could dance. Hermione tucked herself into bed smiling.

The mists of sleep were thick even with the dream ward and she drifted lazily. The barn coalesced around her but it did not disturb her. Harry had said they had found enough there to put Basingly away for a good long time. Ritual circles, blood magic and a stash of Dark Arts tomes in a room beyond her cell that she had never seen. His research had been disturbing even to a veteran Auror.

Hermione wanted to see Basingly’s notes. There might be something that could help with a cure. As little as she wished to pander to his obsession, her former colleague was an accomplished wizard. Perhaps something could be salvaged from this that would better the lives of the werewolves, her children included.

With that thought, she could view the barn somewhat dispassionately. Perhaps when the trial was over she would put the worst of her memories in a Pensieve to get them out of her head. Hermione did not like doing that. Dismissing any knowledge was a loss. She had not made up her mind yet. She would give herself some time to make the right decision.

“I know you have the wizard.” Fenrir growled, emerging from the trees. He was himself again; the ropes and puppy mindset nowhere to be seen. Hermione studied him for a moment. He looked scruffier and carried himself with shoulders braced, feral and watchful. Some restraint on him had gone. Had Basingly used magic to control him? He would have been a fool if he had not.

“Good for you.” Hermione smiled at him and quick as thought summoned ropes. She could cast a spell but Fenrir would believe more in the physical bindings than the mystical ones. He tried to throw himself aside but she caught him. He squirmed on the ground but she held him. He didn’t beg though and that was disappointing.

Hermione hooked a finger in the mesh of ropes then took them to the distillery, to the little room in the dark where she had woken and escaped. Her memories of this place were hazy so the walls receded into blackness but she was strong here. They would not be disturbed.

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how to kill you.” Hermione began conversationally. “My favourite is a slow flensing then curing your hide as a rug.” She sat down beside him cross-legged so any mental lapses about the presence/absence of her pregnant belly would not put her off balance. “But that is messy and leaves evidence. I certainly don’t want to go to Azkaban for your miserable hide.”

“You are my mate.” Fenrir gnashed his teeth, thrashing in his bonds. He was not taking his imprisonment lightly. Hermione stared at him and the ropes tightened. He was in human form so could not bring his claws to bear nor could he move enough to gnaw. She had thought about this a lot too.

“I said no.” Hermione snapped then calmed herself. She was in control here. “I could leave you like this to slowly wither and die. It would take a long time.” The witch was not certain how long. A Dreamer was in a state of near hibernation and werewolves were notoriously tough. He had lasted ten days without evident physical damage. “I am under medical care. We could sit here for weeks. More than long enough for the Aurors to find you.”

“You think that is enough?” Fenrir’s face twisted as he shifted form. Hermione concentrated as fiercely as the werewolf. A few of the ropes snapped but the rest held, leaving them both breathing hard. As incongruous as it was with purely mental exertion, she felt winded. His tongue lolled as he panted.

“It is not enough, no.” Her wand appeared in her hand. Hermione tapped him on the forehead with it. He snapped at her hand growling like thunder. “I picked up many useful interrogation spells when I helped the Order. Mad-Eye Moony was always happy to teach.” She warned him. “Though I expect you’ve seen them all.”

“More than you know, bitch.” He bared his teeth and flexed his shoulders trying to wriggle free. Hermione jabbed the end of her wand sharply into his solar plexus making him wince involuntarily. Then she put the length of wood away. There was little point in torturing him magically. Her efforts would never compare to what he had done with the Deatheaters and she did not want to go there herself.

So she smoothed her fingers over his penis instead. He reacted, jerking his hips away from her but lying on his back he could not move far. Hermione pulled her hand away and regarded Fenrir coldly. She imagined a pair of surgical gloves, donning them then repeated the touch, slowly caressing him until he was hard. Then after conjuring a handkerchief she folded it into a wide band and tied it around his erection behind his balls. He grunted.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Hermione remarked still smoothing her hand over him. She pictured a pair of scissors, holding them up so he could see them. “Imagine what I can do with these.”