Hunter and Prey

She woke on a mattress feeling hung-over. Hermione moved her tongue in her mouth, grimacing at the nasty taste and rubbed her face. For some reason this surprised her and she stared at her hands. She waggled her fingers, noticing without understanding the red abrasions around her wrists. They looked like friction burns. It was so odd that she frowned. Ron and she had tried a few things to spice up their love-life but nothing so wild that it left marks.

Hermione rolled onto her side, blinking at a flat stone wall. Her nice terrace house had pale blue walls downstairs, except for the study which was green, and wallpaper upstairs. Was she in the basement? Why would she be in the basement? She rolled over again and looked at the other wall. It was stone too. Stone, not concrete like her basement. It seemed very tall. Stretching down a hand, she realised the walls looked tall because the mattress she was lying on was on the floor. A floor with square cut flagstones.

Her heart thudded. She remembered those flagstones. Her head felt stuffed with wool but she was suddenly very alarmed. Wool. Sheep. Sheepfarmers. Hutchins. Hermione started to hyperventilate as her sluggish mind wound up to speed. Hutchins’ farm. Werewolf. Fenrir Greyback!

She sat up quickly and nearly choked herself as the collar around her neck brought her up short. Hermione turned around, yanking wildly on the leash that tied her to a metal loop in the wall. The leash wasn’t leather. It was some kind of brightly coloured rope. She stared at it fiercely. It was lime green with red and yellow checks, almost a houndstooth pattern. Who would buy such a garish thing?

Climbers. The word insinuated itself into her thick head. It was climbing rope. Hermione pressed the heel of her hand against her temple. Why was that significant? Bloody hell, it was like she was stoned!

She was drugged. Hermione rubbed her backside and the little sore spot where that fucking asshole had jabbed her with the dart. They were contact release, only a little pressure needed. All the field agents had to be very careful with them. And he’d stuck her with one. A doormat was too good for him.

Hermione thumped her fists on the mattress in sheer impotent rage. If it was climbing rope, she wasn’t going to break it. The high tensile material was specifically designed not to snap. Damn it! She punched the mattress again then grimaced when her hand came away damp. Why damp?

Already revolted, she looked closely at her hand. There was a pale residue on it. She’d touched a wet patch. Taking a deep breath, Hermione touched herself between her legs. Gorge rose in her throat as her fingers found stickiness.

She frantically wiped her hand on the mattress, instinctively moving away from the spot until her back was against the cold wall. The serum would have had her out for hours. The usual range was six to ten depending on bodyweight. And that was for werewolves. The zookeeper who’d breathed in some of the vapour when he’d pulled the dart out of the elephant had been woozy for nearly thirty minutes on a trace amount.

He had raped her again.

Hermione could not help it. She leant over the side of the mattress and was violently ill. All that came up was bile but she retched and retched until she was sobbing uncontrollably with nothing left to bring up. There was a pitcher of water next to the mattress, next to a matching chamberpot with a pattern of daisies. Grabbing the pitcher, she gulped down several mouthfuls to get rid of the taste. Her stomach revolted but she kept drinking to flush the serum from her system.

Pouring a little of the water on her hands so she could clean herself, Hermione noticed there was a faint blue tinge to the liquid. Oh shit. She started breathing fast again, her throat tightening as she gasped for air. He’d broken open one of the darts and put the serum in the water. She dropped the pitcher to put her fingers in her mouth, remembering her first aid training, trying to make herself throw up. It had seemed so easy a moment ago!

But her Department had worked hard to get a serum that was very fast acting. Against a werewolf in full bloodlust seconds mattered. Serum 42 was volatile, made to disperse into the bloodstream quickly. She had just filled her empty stomach with it. Hermione choked trying to gag herself but already the room was spinning. Before she blacked out, her last coherent thought was to knock over the pitcher and spill the water. One less dose.