Life in an Alien Land 2: The Werewolf Chronicles

The original story, Life in an Alien Land, was written in response to a challenge issued by Gryffindor_Clutz. This is a story that grew out of that challenge.

Please heed the warnings. This is a dark piece, it is not intended for minors and as such, if you are one, please leave this story. There will be descriptions of torture, rape and sexual debauchery. The sadism depicted in this story is not sexual in its nature and the characters upon whom the torture is enacted will not enjoy the fetishes of their captors, and there are no safe words used so that the characters might enjoy the freer relationship of the practitioners of S&M.

That being said, this story will not be a porn without plot. If that is what you are looking for, please turn around and find another story.

Now that the author is finished telling you what to do. The story awaits. Please read and let me know what you think.


Special thanks to Jilliane for her work to fix my comma and problems and for proofreading to fix my grammar.



Life in an Alien Land II: The Werewolf Chronicles

Chapter 1: The Colony

I always hoped to marry Harry Potter. I know what people used to say about me, that I was star-struck, hungry for his fame, a gold-digger. I wasn’t, and anyway, how can you say that about a ten year old? I never cared about the trappings of his fame, the way he looked, or even his money.

What I saw in Harry was a mirror of my soul. We both started out in this world as broken halves of the same piece. No, I didn’t share Harry’s unhappy childhood, his losses or his burdens. What we did share was the indefinable something, that ability to sense the wrong in a situation, to react in a proactive way and to love with our whole hearts. I wish I had known what a nightmare his childhood really was. The Dursleys and Dumbledore would have had more than they knew how to deal with. Even at a young age, I was a powerful and vengeful witch. I know you say that a ten-year-old girl is incapable of such deep feeling, but I was never a child, not really; especially after my first disastrous year at Hogwarts.

I grew up in a household of males, my mother the only female. She was never an ally. She worked, she fussed, and she scrimped so that my father’s meagre salary could cover the extravagance of seven children. She never had time to weigh in on my love life other than to shout up the stairs at the Burrow that I needed to keep both feet on the floor when Harry was in my room. As if, with Ron, the twins, and the occasional visit from one of my other brothers, I would have the opportunity to indulge in more than a raging case of unrequited hormones.

When Harry finally noticed me in my fifth year, he had the weight of the world already on his shoulders. I couldn’t burden him with the taking of my virginity, so I waited. Then by some illogical twist of fate, on the night when all was to be resolved and I would finally have him in my arms once more, he was denied me. He died because he could never summon the hatred needed to cast the curse that would let us win. He was a good and kind boy and I saw Voldemort kill him.

It took me days to find my mother after the battle and another week to find Fred. We knew that Ron and Hermione had fled to London. It was right that they left us. I can only regret that I did not burden Harry with my virginity, but Dolohov relieved me of that right after Harry died and then he passed me to McNair, Nott, both the Lestrange brothers, and several Slytherin students. After the torture inflicted on my body by the adult Death Eaters, my heart shut down. It didn’t much matter to me though. Harry was dead and my dreams died with him.

The list of our losses went on as a family. Dad and George were dead, Percy lost again to the Ministry and the Death Eaters that ran it. Once I found Mum and Fred, I convinced them to leave, and we did a Death Eater scramble to London—Apparating to one location then another until the Seekers could no longer find us.

When we found Hermione and Ron, we all stopped doing magic. I became a whore and was soon hooked on the quick escape of heroin so I could get through the day as best I could. Mum made a show of carrying on; Fred cried all the time and Ron...

Ron lost himself.

He blamed himself for Harry’s bravado and Hermione for Harry’s death. I told him often enough that we were alive to fight another day, but he wouldn’t listen. Why should he? I was a whore who didn’t curl up and die when I had been raped. I shamed my family by my very presence. That was the reason he gave me, but the reality was that he had started on his own road to addiction. The same road I travelled but with a different demon. He drank his meagre earnings away while Mum fretted, Hermione starved, and Fred sobbed.

The Seekers discovered our hiding place in wizarding London so we moved to Muggle London. When the war came to the Muggles, we tried to flee again, but our time had run out. Fred, Mum, and I were taken after a short battle. The only two to escape the sweep were Ron, who remained at the hovel for whatever reason they gave him, and Hermione, who was out scavenging.

I awoke in the back of a lorry, wishing for death. My body craved heroin and there was none to be had, not to a prisoner. I moved, feeling ill with the swaying of the conveyance and the absence of the drug, and looked around. I was in the presence of women, some old, some young, all in various states of shock and undress. Mum looked out the canvas back of the vehicle and when she turned to take care of the girl next to her that had obviously been raped, I saw that she had been hexed and probably cursed expertly. The Death Eaters that took me at Hogwarts gave me first hand experience with their methods. Mum looked at me and I saw that her face on the left side was a mass of black and purple. I cried out, or maybe I just thought I did, but she heard me. Her eyes, before so omniscient, now were dull as she looked at me.

I moved and felt the sticky wetness of some Death Eater’s spunk between my thighs. I had been used too, apparently.

Mum crooked her gaze back to the countryside streaming past us in sickening regularity. The dust of the road and the exhaust of the Muggle vehicle was causing all of us to become light-headed and so most of the women remained in a dozy, shocked state. I turned back to the misery that was my body, willing myself to die.

I was never lucky enough to get my wishes, no matter how many candles I burned and blew on my birthday, so why would now be any different?

By the time we stopped for the evening, every woman was in a state of near panic to get to the side of the road and make water. None of us had been given any type of sustenance for the entire trip and so the ammonia smell was strong by the time we finished. I helped Mum over the aching fire in my blood to the side of the road, and then I began helping the more abused women out of the back of the lorry.

I noticed Mum’s movements were stiff as we went back and forth, fetching the youngest. I whispered, “Mum, did they hurt you?”

“Later,” she returned with an Exploding Snap-stiff face and a straightening of her shoulders.

The guards, five Crabbe-and-Goyle-types, shoved us all back into the lorry after giving each of us a cup of pale tea and some week-old bread. Mum picked at her bread and finally dipped what she had left into her tea. She let the girl she had cared for earlier suck out the moisture. Most of what she offered was wasted on the girl’s face, but some got past her lips. We travelled until the moon came up and then stopped for the night.

The guards got us out again, and linked us to each other with simple Binding Charms. If any of us had our wands, we could have broken them with ease but then, if any of us had our wands we wouldn’t be in that situation to begin with. We were led into a small barn and left there. I looked around for Mum and saw she was still with the young girl near the end of the human chain. Mum settled in for the night with her arms around the little thing and a warning look at me. I turned to my neighbour. “M’names Ginny Weasley.”

The black girl stared straight ahead but answered through barely moving lips as she spoke, “You need to forget about names, Luv, especially famous ones. M’names Cheri, that’s all. You get me?”

I recognise her then as Cheri Olajewan, a distant cousin to Blaise Zabini, the newest Keeper for the Harpies and known blood-traitor. She had disappeared about two months before we were taken. I took her word as the voice of experience.

“Yeah.” I turned from her, worried about Hermione and Ron for the first time that day. If my name was recognisable, then surely their faces alone would endanger them. I twisted around to be away from Cheri’s war-weary caution.

I dreamed that night of Harry. He held me in his arms, kissing me, he ran his hands over my body and we both shivered with need. Suddenly we were in front of the Room of Requirement and Harry said, “I need a place to make her mine. I need a place to make her mine. I need a place to make her mine.”

On his third circuit, a small door appeared; the one to the hovel in London. His eyes crinkled in that way they did when he was especially pleased and he took my hand. “Come on, Gin, It’ll be fine.”

When we entered, I was suddenly nude and Dolohov, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott were all waiting, their cocks out like weapons. Harry started laughing as he stripped my clothes from my body. I tried to hide but they held me down and started fucking me in every way they could think of. Harry said, “Not her arse. That’s mine.”

Suddenly Goyle shoved his thick cock down my throat while he held my nose closed. He said, “So close!”

And he came, drowning me, suffocating me as I fought to keep from swallowing his spunk.

I woke with Cheri’s hand over my mouth. “Shh...Take this...It’s methadone from the clinic I worked in last. It’ only the one, so don’t ask me for more.”

She shoved a pill into my hand and I dry swallowed it. After a few moments, the dragon in my veins was soothed.

Cheri smoothed my hair and whispered into my ear, “Quiet, Gin. You’ll get us noticed. They took two women already.”

I gasped for breath to try to calm my heart that flittered in my chest as if it were a bird caught in a snare. Cheri relaxed her grip as she saw sanity return to my features. She lay down again as one of the guards made a sweep of the barn with his lit wand. He paused as he heard a sobbing cry.

He stunned the crier, a fortyish looking woman who was on the first downward turn in her looks. She was still lovely, but the day’s harsh treatment had turned her face grey. The guard didn’t bother Levitating her from the room; he merely took a handful of her ash-blonde hair and dragged her out. Cheri held my hand as the woman’s wails sounded just outside the door. We both dozed until the regular cries of the woman stopped suddenly as if cut off. Neither one of us slept after that.

When the sun rose Cheri kept her eyes downcast as the jailors entered. I followed her example. The oldest guard shouted, “Gerrup, you bitches! Day’s ‘alf gone.”

Cheri and I rose as if in a unit, as did the other women. My bladder gave a sharp ache and for a moment, I thought it might not be able to wait but I held on until the led us out to a ditch. The same guard shouted, “Piss and shit now, we won’t be stoppin’ ‘til we get to the compound. Any of you make a mess, you’ll be eatin’ it fer yer tea.”

Cheri dropped trou under the guard’s piggish glare and after small consideration, so did I. Most of the women finished by the time one of the younger guards came to help with us. He walked past Cheri then turned back. “I can’t wait to get some o’yer quim agin. Black cunnie is always sweet and hot.”

I heard him lick his lips with a wet and lascivious pop and watched as Cheri’s hands twitched. She held her eyes down and so I did the same, but fury boiled any fear I might have felt for the future away. I would kill him the first chance I got.

We were all loaded into the lorry again. There was a miasma of bowel, vomit and death smells as we assumed our positions for travel. One of the younger girls began screaming as the engine of the vehicle roared to life and she realised just what the guards had done to the three women that had been taken the night before. She raised a blood-covered hand and sobbed. There were blond hairs glimmering in the crimson. Another woman shifted away from the gore as she cried out. In the dim light of the canvas prison, I could just make out what was left of the three. I swallowed acidic bile even as my stomach heaved. I heard Mum give a swift gulping sob and then she was silent. My eyes no longer sought hers. I did not want to see her despair.

We stopped after a couple of hours of travel. I kept track of the time by the filling of my bladder. The canvas back of the lorry lifted, and new faces greeted us.

Two male death eaters in full regalia ordered us out. I thought I recognised one from his pale hair and masterful stance. He pulled Cheri, Mum and me out of line and took us to a small shack. I heard the other Death Eater sorting through the women saying, “Thrall, cull, cull, brothel, cull, breeder, cull, cull, brothel, thrall...”

I heard the Death Eater complain about the lack of quality before he continued his sorting. I wondered if Voldemort would someday develop a Sorting Hat for the enslaved.

Malfoy locked us in the shack with a small sack of food, a pot of water and an empty wooden bucket. Cheri portioned out the rations, and I noticed most of what she took went into folds of her clothing. Mum and I did the same. We shared the pot of water and then all of us sat quietly against the rough-hewn walls, wondering what would be our fates.

We waited three days, alternately freezing and sweating in the shack before the door opened. I squinted against the agonising invasion of the strong sunlight and attempted to move. The most I could do was crawl toward the voices that urged us harshly to our feet.

Someone grabbed me by my hair and the next thing I felt was the squeezing, pulling sensation of Apparation before the world went black.

I woke under a Blinding Spell to hands parting my clothes. I fought rabidly against another rough invasion. I could handle being raped; it was just that my bowels were full and I knew that if I were forced, I would let loose. I feared the reaction of my rapist if that occurred.

The hands shredded my clothes off me, and then I was Levitated over a toilet. I heard some words spoken, a spell with which I was unfamiliar, and suddenly I shat, vomited, and shat some more. More Charms were intoned to clean the mess I had made and then I was in a tub of hot water.

My hair was pulled back from my face and I felt it fall away as a Shaving spell was cast. I cried out, the pretty-girl in me horrified at the experience of losing my crowning glory. Tears leaked from my eyes as long fingers probed me for injuries and then healed them before beginning my ablutions. I was Levitated once more and then I felt the sting of the Shaving Spell on my body as I was further denuded.

Finally, I was placed on a soft surface. I waited, unable to move because of my own weakness, unwilling to move because of my blindness. Still the tears poured from my eyes and I gave in to despair.

After hours of silence, a harshly accented male voice sounded from a distance. I stiffened, willing the male to pass me without notice. I heard his heavy tread in an echoing (hallway?) area and cringed as the steady rhythm stopped near me. He said, “This un is whut Malfoy sent?”

Another lighter (female?) voice answered in a bored tone. “He thought she would be a good breeder. She’s a Weasley.”

“More Weaselys.” The male voice said with a disgusted tone. “Well at least these two’re female. Get ‘er a tunic, no smalls, an’ some grub. Whut we eat, not whut the thralls and whores get. I’ll send the Traitor in ter examine ‘er. Don’t leave ‘im alone wi’her. Our Alpha wants ‘im tonight.”

The Traitor. I knew of only one person in the last months to be given that name. My heart clenched as I thought of the dead man that Harry, Hermione and Ron had left in the Shrieking Shack. The Last Headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus Snape...

It couldn’t be...

My mind swirled around the hope and fear that he could have survived. Harry had announced to the world where Snape’s true allegiance lay. If he survived... Gods, if he survived, he would have been tortured beyond what my mind could imagine, surely. I turned the thought over in my mind until I fell into a fitful sleep.

I woke to gentle probing hands and the stench of unwashed body. I jerked away until the voice that I had nightmares about at Hogwarts said, “It would be in your best interest, Miss Weasley, to let me examine you thoroughly. You are to be kept well, and I need to administer several time-crucial potions for you to be efficacious in your endeavours at this post.”

“Professor?” I sobbed.

He cut me off with a hiss and then said, “I am only the Traitor here. Do not refer to me as anything else.”

I felt a wash of unfocused magic over my skin and I whispered, “They trust you with a wand?”

“I have learned a bit of wandless Healing.” His voice sounded rusty as if creaking from overuse. He continued, “Please, do not speak, it makes my job harder.”

I felt him move to my head and the brush of his thigh and unfettered cock against my cheek. He was aroused and nude. I tensed but opened my mouth and took his stinking penis in it. I would suck him off willingly before being forced to do it.

The (probably female) voice barked, “That’s enough, Traitor. Face the wall.”

I felt a new presence beside me, and then a booted kick to my ribs. The voice ground out. “You are not for the likes of him. Sit up and get dressed. Don’t act like the whore that you are.”

I rose achingly, gasping for breath around the fire in my side, worried about what I had done. I slid the cotton garment over my head and waited for the next blow, but none came.

I heard a cane whistle through the air and the sharp stinging blow fall on flesh, followed by a jagged intake of breath. The metallic smell of blood and sweat permeated the stench of unwashed flesh. The blows continued until I heard Snape’s hoarse cry for mercy. The caning paused, and then continued until he sobbed and I heard him fall to the floor begging, “Please, Mistress, no more.”

The Voice said, “Better, Traitor. Now fetch the potions you need and prepare yourself for our Alpha. He wants you tonight.”

I heard the mincing step of a wounded Snape leave the room and then the Voice said in a soft tone, “I know you don’t know what’s expected of you here, but never touch the Traitor. He’s not for you.”

I nodded blindly, wishing for the spell to be lifted so that I might see who spoke. I flinched as I felt a hand rub over my baldness and then another caress my breast. The Voice pushed me back against the pallet and soon I felt her fingers on my cunt, probing gently before she lifted my tunic and feasted. I heard Snape’s bare footsteps as the smell of male arousal and funk pervaded the room. His rapid breathing joined the pounding of my heart as I fought the climax that the Voice was forcing on me. She moved over my face, and told me to eat her and I did, the tang of her moisture bathing me as she fucked my tongue.

The Voice finished me off and then jerked away as she twitched from her own orgasm. “Leave the potions, Traitor, and go to the Alpha as you are. Keep that cock hard and maybe he won’t hurt you this time.”

He approached and his cock touched my arm, slimy with precum. I asked, “Is my mother here, and a woman named Cheri?”

The Voice said, “Your questions will be answered after we abort that thing in you. Drink up. You’ll have it out in an hour and then we’ll take you before the Alpha.”

I gulped the potions, realising that I had been much more careless with my body than I had thought. Immediately the cramping started from the abortifacient and I sank down on the pallet, gasping as I felt the first rush of blood out of my vagina. I drank another potion and the remnants of my addiction vanished

I felt Snape withdraw and heard another stinging blow to his flesh. “Hurry it up, Traitor.”

After an hour and several healing spells from the Voice, I was taken from my area (cell?) to a room that sounded large from the echoes that rebounded off the walls. I smelled Snape, sex, blood, shit, and strangely, dog. I heard Snape’s hoarse voice pleading for mercy over the slap of flesh on flesh.

The Voice guided me closer and suddenly lifted the Blinding Spell.

That was my first glimpse of Snape after so many months and I wanted to close my eyes against the horror of the scene as none other than Fenrir Greyback ploughed him from behind.

TBC


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