Game of Thrones-esq shit up in here, y'all.
Violence is never the answer, until it's the only answer.
DEREK LANDY, The Dying of the Light
Hermione stared at the house elf in confusion as he walked over to a small fireplace in the wall and snapped his fingers, igniting a flame.
"I'm sorry, but… what did you say your name was?" she asked, closing her eyes for a moment so she wouldn't have to look at the elf's bum. He turned back to her, firelight illuminating his small form. He was an odd looking elf, a scar down one side of his face and less clothes than she had ever seen; even on Dobby.
"Pip, Mistress! And you is the Mistress Nathair. You is here to free Pip from the tower the Lord Slytherin imprisoned him and the last Mistress in!" Pip looked at the skeleton next to her, running his fingers over the ribcage of the skeleton, tears in his big green eyes.
"I'm… what?!" Hermione cried, trying to stand. Immediately Pip was at her side, helping her, his emotions forgotten with a few blinks of his eyes to make the tears go away.
"Mistress is here to free Pip from the tower that Slytherin imprisoned him in," said Pip, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, "Mistress must move to the fire, soaked she is."
Dumbfounded, Hermione let the elf lead her to the fire and sat next to it, waiting for warmth to seep back into her body. Pip began undoing her cloak, but she stopped him when he went to remove her shirt.
"No, you really don't have to—," Hermione began, Pip shushed her.
"Nonsense; I serve the house of Nathair and Mistress is the last of her line, she must be cared for," said Pip as he tugged her shirt off and hung it by the fire.
"Pip," Hermione said with a shiver as her body began to warm up, "I'm a muggle born. I'm not the last of any line. I don't have a line."
Pip made a 'humph' noise before he threw a worn, well used fur around her shoulders. "Mistress will learn in time. But now Mistress must eat."
Pip disappeared with a pop, then reappeared a moment later with a small bit of dried venison. Hermione looked at the meat then at Pip, questions swirling in her head at rate that was making her skull throb. She reached forward and took the bit of food from the elf's fingers, examining it before biting into the flesh. It tasted dusty and old and took a full minute to chew and swallow.
"Pip, you need to answer some questions for me," said Hermione as she crossed her legs and leaned forward. The action made her stomach lurch, but she swallowed a gulp of air and willed her muscles to relax.
"Pip will answer Mistress as best as he can." Hermione ignored his title for her and pulled the most logical question to the forefront of her mind. Pip didn't look at her, but began to examine the wounds she received before arriving.
"Where are we?"
"We're in Alba, Mistress. But you would call it Scotland." Hermione frowned at the elf.
"Why would you call it Alba? What does it mean that Slytherin imprisoned you here?" she asked in a lowered voice, preparing herself for a bomb to be dropped. Pip looked up at her again and the serious look on his face would almost be comical if Hermione wasn't feeling like throwing up the bit of venison she just ate.
"Pip has been frozen in this tower for a very long time. Too many winters and summers Pip sat and watched the world change."
Hermione leaned forward and touched the elf's shoulder. "What happened?"
"Mistress loved another… a muggle… when she was bound to Lord Slytherin to be his concubine. She dishonored her family by conceiving a bairn. Lord Slytherin imprisoned her in this tower when he learned of her betrayal, and Pip along with her. Lord Slytherin took her wand and presented it to Lord Greyback and told him to guard the tower, to have his ancestors guard the tower. But Mistress would not be cowed. She used the last bit of magic she had and gave up her life so Lord Slytherin would never find the child, for he would destroy it, and she wove a spell into the magic of Slytherins wards so that only a true Nathair could cross the wards and break my imprisonment," Pip looked down, tears falling freely off his cheeks. Hermione pitied the elf, and resented the cruelty of Slytherin.
"If I am a Nathair," she began after taking a deep breath, still not believing the elf in front of her, "then are you now free to go? Could you apparate us from here?"
Pip shook his head and began sobbing, "No! Mistress must reclaim the late Lady's wand! It is her birthright, but the Wolf has it!"
This time Hermione couldn't control her stomach's reaction and vomited all over the floor in front of her. Pip said Lord Greyback. The elf sniffled as he held Hermione's hair back before waving his hand, vanishing the venison filled bile. When Hermione could breathe again she lifted her head and looked at Pip.
"Is the wolf Fenrir Greyback?" she whispered.
Pip shook his head, "I know naught of the name Fenrir. I know the Wolf will come when the moon is full, and Mistress must be prepared."
"And you cannot leave?" Hermione swallowed, trying to keep whatever bile she had left in her stomach at bay.
"Nay. Not until the Mistress has her wand in hand will I be free to leave with her."
Hermione wanted to curse her bleeding Gryffindor heart. She couldn't leave the elf there, alone, probably to starve to death once the venison ran out. Perhaps he would want true freedom if they both came out of this situation alive. Or he'd try and slam his head in an oven at the mere suggestion. Either way, she had to at least get him out of the tower.
"Alright," she sighed, "what do we need to do?"
The arrow landed with a thwack in the target, but still missed dead center.
"Shit." Hermione swore as she walked forward and pulled the arrow from the target. Her hands were slowly getting stronger, despite the fact that they were bruised, calloused, and bloodied from all the chores that Pip had Hermione doing. The elf was a task master.
"Try again, Mistress. Remember to breathe outwards when firing the arrow," said Pip as he brought up a small bucket of oil that Hermione was to pour over the gorse she collected over the past weeks. Hermione hated gorse, and if she could ever drop Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle into an endless patch of it she would. She'd even risk the broom ride to make it happen. Or a plane; perhaps making them skydive without a wand or a parachute was what those boys needed to really open their eyes. Hermione smiled to herself, fantasizing how they would scream when she pushed them out.
"Mistress! You must keep practicing. The Wolf will be here in a few days! You must save us from being eaten!" Pip admonished.
"Sorry, just… got lost in my head for a moment," Hermione nocked the arrow and drew back, remembering to correct her stance and breathe as she loosed the arrow. It flew across the yard from where she and Pip stood in the doorway of the tower and smacked into the wooden board she erected as a target. Still, it missed dead center. Pip shook his head.
"Mistress must attack first from a distance. The Wolf will be big and Mistress is very small." Pip began to correct her stance, going so far as to climb on the rocks of the doorway and grabbing her shoulders and pushing her into a better position. Still, he couldn't entirely leave the door frame so it made Hermione's task of learning archery and general weaponry more difficult than it had to be.
"Mistresses muscles aren't used to such a stance. But this will be the best." Pip hopped back into the shadows of the tower and gave her a swift nod.
Again, Hermione nocked the arrow and took aim. A tingle went up her spine as she let released her breath along with the arrow. This time it hit home, vibrating in the center of the target.
"Yes! That's the way, Mistress!" Pip said, jumping up and down behind her. Hermione smiled over her shoulder.
"Thanks, Pip." She moved to put the bow down.
"No Mistress, now you must learn to nock the arrow faster." Pip darted back into the shadows then returned with a quiver of broadheads. Hermione groaned and resumed her stance. Her fingers ached, but she would have this down to an art form when it came time to face Greyback. There was nothing that couldn't be done if you put your mind into it.
"Who taught you archery?" As Hermione attempted to keep her movements fluid; from picking up an arrow to making it sure it was on the bow correctly before shooting. The arrow hit its mark. Pip clapped. She loaded another one and shot.
"Pip is a War Elf. He served the last Lord Nathair before he served Mistress," said Pip, bumping her leg in encouragement, "you have the late Mistresses talent! Pip is proud to serve you!"
It took Hermione a few days to become used to having Pip at her beck and call. Now, weeks later, she hated it still, trying to convince the elf that it wasn't necessary to be so devoted. When she began to mention his freedom from servitude a few days into her stay, he began sobbing so hysterically and tried to throw himself in the fire; she did her best to drop the subject at that point but it was still an irritation sitting in her head.
Hermione got a few more arrows in the target before she went to collect them. When she returned Pip was gone. The clatter of broken crockery echoed down the stairwell and she knew that Pip was preparing an evening meal with what they could scrounge up. She rolled her shoulders then walked down to the stream beyond the crumbling wall.
The thought of Fenrir Greyback ripping her to shreds always set a chill in her stomach. It was hard thought to digest that he would eat her if given the chance. She shuddered and stuck her hands in the ice cold water, rubbing them together to wash some of the blood off her fingers that were raw from hooking around the serving of the bowstring. Then she stood and began to pull the dormant bulrushes surrounding her from the mud, rinsing the plants off in the water.
Her days camping with her father, learning about wild flora kept her and Pip alive while they prepared for Fenrir to make his appearance. In the mornings Hermione would cut down the gorse, putting the plants in the bottom of the tower for Pip to dry before she scattered them around the base of the fallen wall outside the tower and covered them in oil. Then she'd forage for roots that had no taste but enough nutrition to keep her and Pip up in calories.
The most disgusting thing though, was to scavenge the deer carcass for food. She spent a painstaking day carving off the meat that clung to the skeleton, carefully avoiding anywhere werewolf saliva could have touched before salting and hanging strips outside the tower in the frozen winds.
Hermione hurried back to Pip and the thought of a warm fire, a handful of rushes pressing against her bruised palms. When she arrived at the top of the tower, Pip was sharpening a knife. He looked up with glowing eyes and hopped to his feet, scurrying over to Hermione.
"Good, Mistress has brought food!" Pip took the rushes and tutted when he saw the state of Hermione's hands. "You work hard Mistress. Once Pip is free, he'll make sure that Mistress never has to do chores again."
Hermione smiled, "It's an honor to help you Pip and it keeps me busy."
Pip blinked away the tears in his eyes and nodded. "Mistress is too kind." He turned to the fire, where water boiled in an old pot, and picking up a rag dipped it into the liquid before shaking the excess out. He returned to Hermione and cleaned the dirt off her hands while Hermione hissed at the sensation of wet heat warming her through to the bone.
"Oh, that's nice," she muttered. Pip kept quiet, though the corners of his mouth quirked up at her reaction. Hermione moved towards the fire once Pip was done cleaning her hands and sat down to re-braid her hair. Pip took up his knife and began chopping up the still edible parts of the rushes. This was their routine every night. Pip insisted on feeding Hermione as much as he could so she would remain strong for the encounter with Greyback.
"I'm really not looking forward to fighting him as a muggle would, Pip," Hermione said as she braided her hair off her face, "I wish I had a wand. I feel… naked without it. Like something is missing."
Pip dumped the plants into the water and pulled the venison from a pouch next to the fire and placed it in Hermione's lap. "Mistress must focus on the getting the wand back from the Wolf. Then she and Pip can leave."
"How am I supposed to get it off his person if he's transformed into a wolf? It's not like there's a pocket I can reach into." Hermione lifted the meat and bit into it, shredding the fibers between her teeth before reaching for a horn of water.
Pip smiled into the fire, showing his rotted teeth, and tilted his head. "A Wolf such as Lord Greyback will be capable of many things. The Wolf can control his change. He may only partially transform."
Hermione stopped eating and stared at Pip.
"Werewolves can't control their change. Not any that I've ever met," she said. Pip shook his head.
"Wizards write the books Mistress, not the wolves," said Pip, before snapping his fingers making the tender part of the reed fly out of the water and onto a wooden trencher. He handed the plate to her and then went back to sharpening the knives.
Guilt crept into Hermione's conscience. Despite her best efforts with S.P.E.W. she was still laughed at when she even brought the subject of equality up. Her heart broke for Remus Lupin. The man could barely hold a job despite being more than capable, all due to prejudice.
Hermione sniffed, picking up the reed and biting down.
"Pip," she said after chewing and swallowing her food, "would you ever want to be on an equal level with a wizard?"
Pip looked at Hermione and immediately shook his head so hard that his ears smacked about his face.
"No. Pip likes to serve. Pip knows his place and is happy." The house elf leaned back against the stone wall. "Mistress must stay strong for the battle to come. Eat more."
Knowing that the house elf was encouraging her to drop the subject, Hermione turned her attention to her meal and her reflections.
The blood that coated his tongue tasted of rich iron and life cut short. Some would consider it too soon but he didn't. The child was ill, smelled ill, looked ill, and acted ill. He was just helping natural selection along.
It was his role after all; to mete out Death. It was his honour and privilege. The Dark Lord just made it easier to access prey. Though Fenrir considered this a mercy killing; this one time. The little girl, barely two, wouldn't survive to three; and her parents wouldn't care at this point anyways. Their limbs and internals were strewn about the front parlor downstairs.
That's what happens when one defies the Dark Lord.
Fenrir looked at the little girl, her form already pale against her red dress. Blood blossomed like a rose from the rip in her neck. Her death was swift.
"Ready, Greyback?" said Antonin Dolohov as he stepped from the shadows, "I hear you've got a busy night ahead of you; something to do with having a mudblood for dinner?"
Fenrir smirked and stood, tossing the toddler in his arms onto the bed before looking at the wizard. "Yeah, going to enjoy it too. The Malfoy boy said that he broke her wand, can't wait to see if she's even alive or half frozen. I hope she's still got some fight. They taste better seasoned with fight."
Antonin grinned and clapped the blood covered wolf on the back.
"Well mate, take a good look at her for me, see how she's doing with that cursed scar on her body. Tell her I said hello while you rip her throat out."
Fenrir nodded at the wizard, and gripped his wand. The Nathair Wand.
"I promise to say hello while I rip out every vital part of the mudblood. 'specially her cunt. Bet that'll be delicious if she's as… interesting as you say," said Fenrir, his voice in a low growl as he thought of the feast to be had.
Antonin laughed as he moved towards the door, "Oh, she's a feisty one. Pretty; long neck, brown eyes, hair that radiates magical energy… and power. So much power." His eyes glazed over for a moment as he thought of the night he encountered the mudblood. Quickly he snapped back to reality.
"Shame she isn't a pureblood. The Dark Lord would be fucking her simply for the sake of continuing the Slytherin line. Hell, I'd be fucking her for the sake of continuing my line, all that power…" said Dolohov as he stepped into the hall. He turned back to Fenrir with a wave and a jovial smile, "have fun."
The dark haired wizard disapparated, leaving Fenrir alone with his latest meal. He looked at the little girl once more, her brown curls covering her face. He shrugged and walked over to the body, pulling it up by the arm and back into his arms. He sniffed her hair, his eyes flashing iridescent blue before he sunk his fangs into the girls arm, pulling her flesh and bicep from bone. His eyes closed as he relished the taste again as the muscle and skin became a ground glob in his mouth. He swallowed and opened his eyes again.
After dumping the body back onto the bed, Fenrir stepped back and disapparated.
Tonight promised to be delicious.
Full Moon
Hermione groaned as Pip shoved yet another knife onto her belt. "Pip, I won't be able to walk with all this metal on me." Pip scoffed and tightened the leather sheath on the belt.
"Mistress' ancestors handled a full metal suit. Pip's doing the best he can to make up for lacking in proper armor." He pulled on the strings of Hermione's bracer before stepping back and looking at her.
The amount of blades that hung from her hips, tucked into her trainers, and strapped to her arms were staggering. Still, if she didn't land a good hit, Fenrir Greyback would be tearing through the worn leather before she could blink. He may even rip through her regardless of how much she tore at him.
Her hands shook as she padded the arrow filled quiver looped over her back. It wouldn't be as practical to have it there but she could always take it off if reaching arrows became hard. She held the bow in her other hand, the grip slipping in her sweaty palm.
"We may not make it out of here Pip," she whispered, staring into the fire. Pip stepped back and looked at his mistress. He wouldn't tell her, because she hated blushing, but she looked formidable this night. Her hair braided back from her face, leather and metal reflecting the firelight.
"The Nathair have a saying Mistress," he whispered, grasping her hand and squeezing it with his own small digits, "Exeo bene."
"I die well," Hermione whispered back. Opening her mouth to take a deep, shuddering breath, Hermione looked down at the elf.
"Alright. For you, and what is right… I'll defend or die well."
Pip patted Hermione's knee, his eyes glinting with tears, "That's the way of it, Mistress."
The taint of the child's blood still lingered on his tongue, arousing an interest for more. More blood, more death, more destruction. The Greyback line would be honored this evening when he killed the impure, and the line of Slytherin's beliefs upheld.
The cold air of the harsh highland whipped at his face as he appeared in the gorse. He knew this land well, his ancestors having hunted on these grounds for the Slytherin line for the last eight hundred years. He sneered at the thought of the Gaunt line, attempting to control his family two hundred years ago. It hadn't ended well for the Gaunts, with nearly every male being wiped out. But the Dark Lord, he promised to bring glory back to the line of Slytherin and as a result, Fenrir would hunt for him. Fenrir would destroy for him; the Dark Lord promised Fenrir blood and savagery. Tonight Fenrir would embrace his ancestor's traditions.
Tonight he would devour the impure.
The ice on the ground stuck to his bare feet as he walked through the gorse towards the Nathair tower. The thorns pricked at his skin, drawing spots of blood against his lightly tanned figure.
He wondered how the mudblood would taste; if she'd ever been fucked or if she was a virgin. He could smell her on the wind, lilies and lavender all with the undertone of fear. Fenrir swallowed the saliva that overwhelmed his mouth and finally pushed his way through the brush.
Fenrir expected a lot of things. A fight, perhaps a half starved mudblood, maybe even her body already given into frostbite and death. What he didn't expect was Nathair tower to have the wards broken, a fire lit in the room at the top, or to take an arrow to the chest.
Roaring in pain, Fenrir stumbled back and pulled the offending object from his flesh, ignoring the grating feeling of the broadhead on the bones of his ribcage. He snarled and tossed the object to the side, staring into the gloom of the tower base, able to make out a feminine shadow lurking in the dark. He went over the possibilities of the mudblood being able to break down the wards without a wand. Many tried through the centuries while being aided with a wand and none had succeeded. But this girl, this… wandless cunt of a mudblood, did. Fenrir snarled, his quick thinking arranging a change of plans for the wily female; one that would involve the Dark Lord having final say on the witch, if she survived.
The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, calling at his wolf. The animal reared up on hind legs, begging to be released, begging for blood. Fenrir let his mind reach out, running his hand down the flank of the beast that lived within him. Soon enough he would unleash himself. But first he had to see the mudblood.
A small flicker of firelight appeared in the dark of the tower, illuminating the doorway with a brilliance that blinded Fenrir's preternatural senses. He blinked once before the fire flew from the doorway and into the dried gorse that surrounded the tower. The plants lit up, a circle of heat and light irradiating the feral looking girl who stood in the door way with another arrow aimed at his heart.
'She was a clever thing, though perhaps naïve,' thought Fenrir, 'to be using old muggle tricks to defend her space.' He grinned at her, letting his canines elongate to sharp point that glinted in the rising moon. Flicking his wrist, his wand dropped into the palm of his hand. Another arrow shot out at him, disintegrating as it slammed into his shield.
"Silly mudblood wants to play," he growled, extinguishing the flames that hindered his progress to the tower.
Hermione gasped as Greyback began to walk towards her. His eyes were electric blue, nearly white, in the firelight. His scar covered face was framed with hair that looked as if it'd been styled using blood. Hermione stepped back into the tower, feeling Pip's presence just behind her knee.
"Upstairs, Pip," she whispered, though it wouldn't have been a surprise if she began screaming her orders, "hide."
Pip disappeared with a POP and Hermione drew her sword just as Greyback entered the tower. Taking the high ground, Hermione moved towards the stairs, slowly backing up them with the tip of her sword pointed at the half changed werewolf.
"Stay away from me!" She yelped out, raising the sword as Greyback drew closer.
"Now pet," he rumbled through the snout that was fast forming, "is that any way to talk to your benevolent executioner? I wanted to make this easy."
It was a moment's pause before the werewolf lunged at her, taking the tip of the sword through his bicep. He snarled, smacking Hermione down to the ground with a swing of his good arm. She landed on the steps with her head cracking against the stone. Dark spots floated in her vision, dancing in circles before disappearing when a burning pain exploded in her shoulder.
Rearing up with a scream, Hermione kicked out at the werewolf mauling her shoulder. Greyback barely moved before he let go, blood dripping down the white fangs. A brief thought of a fucked up candy cane flickered through Hermione's mind before the teeth were coming at her again. Thankful for Pip's training, Hermione pulled one of the small daggers from her side and slammed it into Greyback's cheek and twisted.
Greyback howled, backing away to try and pull the knife free. As he turned from her Hermione saw the wand slipping from his shredded sleeve.
"PIP!" She screamed, lunging forward into the werewolf, barreling into his knees and knocking him off balance.
Hermione knew house elves were loyal to their masters to the point where it was a fault. But she was certainly thankful of that fault when Pip practically flew down the staircase, a large dagger in his hand, and his mouth contorted into a vicious snarl. The elf landed on the werewolf's back and began stabbing wherever he could. Hermione heard the metal grating on Greyback's ribcage and nearly threw up at the sound.
The ebony wand fell to the floor as Pip screamed in Scots at his victim, twisting the knife in his back. Fenrir howled, fully becoming wolf before he reached behind him, attempting to pull the small elf off his back with his bloodied maw.
Dizzy, Hermione crawled forward towards the wand, slipping across the floor that was now slick with blood. Just as Pip was flung down next to her, bruised but certainly not bleeding, Hermione wrapped her fingers around the wood. A loud clap of thunder shook the tower, like a shockwave spreading from the point of Hermione's wand hand and outwards across the Scottish countryside; an announcement that the spell on the tower was fully broken. Pip grabbed Hermione's hand, sneering up at the werewolf. Greyback snarled before lunging at the witch and her elf.
"Exumai!" Hermione shrieked, pointing her wand at the creature. Immediately he flew through the door and out into the gorse. His enraged howl ripped through the air and Hermione looked at Pip, who offered a grim smile before snapping his fingers making them disappear.
When a quickly healing Greyback padded on four large paws into the tower, the only thing he found was a pool of his and the witch's blood on the floor, and a note written in their blood on the stone steps stating:
"Your move, arse–face. - Pip."