Huge thanks to the wonderful CatherineMorgenstern for her endless support beta skills. You're the best of the best.
Hermione and the wolf reached the cage first. Beside the door, a Fey stood like a marble statue, waiting patiently for their return. The moment he saw them, a snow-white eyebrow crept up his forehead, bemused by the sight of a naked wolf walking towards him with a pissed off witch slung over his shoulder. When they passed him, a huff of disgust erupted from his chest, increasing Hermione's temper by a thousand percent. Silently, she fumed, eyes narrowed on the upside down view of the wolf's slim waist. He looked like he'd been wearing the Wolfsbane for some time as the green vine had burnt into his skin, leaving a line of swollen red flesh that leaked clear liquid. She had the absurd thought that the wound was crying, but quickly brushed it aside before it could soften her anger.
The moment they entered the cage, the wolf (she was refusing to ask his name) dropped her onto the uneven floor and stepped away. A particularly knobbly branch pressed into her hip, but she couldn't be bothered to move, content to watch through narrowed eyes as he positioned himself in the corner, seemingly unbothered by his nakedness. She wasn't fooled for a moment. There was a stiffness to his muscles that spoke of watchfulness. Almost like he was ready to jump up and attack at the slightest hint of danger.
There were a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue, waiting to spill free, but she swallowed them back down her throat, hiding them in the depths of her chest for another time. She didn't want the listening guard, only a few feet away from them, to hear and report back to the Fey Lady. Plus, she was afraid that once she started asking, she wouldn't be able to stop, not even to hear the answers.
Hermione couldn't remember ever having been this angry, afraid and embarrassed before. But the most mortifying thing was that her pelvis felt like it was on fire. It was pulsing and throbbing like a second heartbeat. And whenever she moved, a tiny frisson of pleasure made her twitch around a cock that was no longer there, but could still feel. It was maddening and the sole reason she wouldn't be looking or speaking to Fenrir when he came back to the cage. Especially now she knew that he had no problem with the others watching.
She huffed out a breath and picked herself up before making her way to the corner opposite the wolf, scowling when the action made everything between her legs flutter. This sudden craving for sex was absurd, it was almost like she was in heat or something. Hermione froze, her eyes darting to the wolf. Horror built in the pit of her stomach when she noticed how he was very deliberately breathing through his mouth and taking one shallow breath after another.
A blush turned her cheeks a brilliant red. "Am I in..." The word died in her throat, refusing to leave her lips.
The wolf turned confused eyes her way. His expression cleared when he saw her mortified face and flushed cheeks. "Yes."
"How? Why?" She pressed her hands to her chest, feeling the fierce beat of her heart beneath her fingers.
"Hormones." He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "And your wolf recognising the alpha and seeking his attention."
"But I don't want his attention!" Hermione all but wailed.
"Your wolf does and she'll continue to let everyone know it too." The amusement he didn't bother concealing chafed at her skin.
She swallowed down the urge to cry and turned away from him, pressing her face against the rough branches. "Is there nothing I can do?" she whispered.
"You could try fighting the wolf, I suppose, but it would be a miserable way to live," he said.
Hermione closed her eyes in defeat, knowing that such a thing was impossible. Remus had shown her that. Everyday for the last few years, she'd watched him struggling to push Moony into the depths of his soul, failing again and again as the wolf slipped free. It had made him miserable for so long, hating himself, hating the wolf. He'd never known a moment of peace. Hermione didn't know if she could live like that. She didn't know if she wanted to.
From the trees came the sound of muted footsteps. Darting a quick look over her shoulder, she saw the other wolves returning. She twisted around, muscles tense as she waited to see if they'd attack the Fey standing guard as she and Fenrir had discussed. Her eyes met Fenrir's as he led the way, naked and unconcerned. Very deliberately, his eyes flickered upwards towards the leafy canopy. Catching on, she quickly looked up, eyes straining to see beyond the constantly shifting leaves, her gaze finally settled on what looked like a dozen Fey sitting casually on the branches. Their legs were tossed either side like they were riding a horse.
The rising hope died when she spotted the slim bows and feather-topped arrows. She continued to stare at them as the other wolves entered the cage, when the door creaked shut behind them and when Fenrir stalked towards her.
"Have they done that before?" she whispered. The vow not to speak to him forgotten as more important things took precedence.
"No," he growled.
Hermione closed her eyes as misery threatened to press the air from her lungs. They were too late. Their chance had gone. She let her head thump against the side of the cage, defeat evident in every line of her body. Dimly, she was aware of Fenrir pulling on his clothes, muttering to the other wolves about staying alert. It meant nothing to her, his words rolling around her body like a cool mist.
"Hermione?"
She frowned, wondering if that was the first time he'd used her name. It couldn't have been, but surely it was the first time he'd said it with that faint edge of... gentleness. Regardless, she ignored him, clutching at the thick branches like they were a lifeline, squeezing until her knuckles bled white and each of her bones cracked. He came closer until no more than a breath separated them, his body encasing her with warmth.
The wolf inside of her longed to ease back, feel his hands stroke along her body and soothe the itch that she knew only he would be able to scratch. A hot breath touched her ear.
"Our chance will come."
She almost laughed. How? When? Where?
Instead she turned her face, giving him the tense line of her profile. "I hate you."
Fenrir grunted, his hands coming to rest on the curve of her waist. "That doesn't stop you wanting me though." His head dipped to the slope of her shoulder, lips brushing the bite and making it throb painfully with each soft contact. "I can smell your desire."
Something inside Hermione snapped. She spun neatly around and pushed her hands at Fenrir's chest. "It's not for you! It will never be for you!" she snarled, punctuating each word with a jab of her finger. "Now." Jab. "Leave." Jab. "Me." Jab. "Alone!"
She glared fiercely as she yelled, daring him to say something. Anything. She almost wanted him to. Just so she could remind him that she was Hermione Jean Granger; brightest witch of her age. Brave. Strong. Loyal. And Hermione Jean Granger did not let an idiotic man… wolf… push her about. She did not do outrageous sexual gymnastics in front of an audience. And she would not let a bunch of tree hugging Fey, throw her in a cage and treat her like a dog for the rest of her life.
Fenrir's lip twitched, almost like he wanted to smile, but wasn't willing to take the risk of tipping her into a fouler mood. His eyes darkened to fiery pools as they filled with an emotion she couldn't quite identify. It wasn't desire. Not quite. It was almost pride. Over what she wasn't sure, although she suspected it was because she was behaving the way he wished her to. Hadn't he said all those weeks ago that it was her bravery, intelligence, and defiance, that had first drawn the wolf to her?
She'd lost herself after the bite. Sunk into a place of fear and misery, wrapped it around her soul and sought to hide from the world. Well, no longer. She was back and she was ready. Crossing her arms, she tossed her damp hair behind her shoulders and glared at Fenrir. He merely returned her look, everything about him hard, everything, and allowed a predatory smile to curl his lips.
Hermione felt scalding heat fill her cheeks, but refused to be intimidated. Annoyed that even then, the area between her waist and knees pulsed and twitched, no doubt throwing her treacherous hormones around like confetti. Indeed, when she glanced at the other wolves they were fidgeting and avoiding her gaze, keeping as far away from her as they could possibly manage. All but their arrogant alpha, who continued to stare with an intensity that made her flesh twitch. His gaze held a challenge as he took one slow step towards her.
The fingers of her right hand curled, desperate to reach for a wand that wasn't there. Fenrir took another step, this one bringing with it his heat and scent. Hermione bared her teeth, her eyes flashing in silent warning. She had no idea what would have happened next. Their stand-off was interrupted by a Fey thrusting a wooden staff at the side of the cage. It clattered noisily, breaking the rising tension and drawing their attention.
"You." He pointed a finger at Hermione. "Come."
Every wolf in the cage bristled, quietly moving forward to surround her.
"Calm yourselves," the Fey hissed. "She is merely to be bound, as you all will be before the day is through."
"I go with her," Fenrir growled.
It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to tell him that she could go alone, that she would be fine, but one look at his impassive face told her those words would be ignored. The Fey cocked his head in consideration, an almost birdlike movement that made his long hair sway to the side in a silken sheet.
"Very well," he said. "But know that one wrong move will result in your deaths." He flicked his fingers towards the trees and the watching Fey they contained.
That one gesture was all that was needed to let them know the consequences of trying to escape. They would be picked off like fish in a barrel. Each of them decorated with the Fey's pretty arrows and then left on the ground to rot. When Fenrir nodded and began to leave the cage, Hermione followed. She was careful to make her expression cool and wiped of all fear.
They walked side by side behind the Fey and into the depths of the Fey village. Hermione had to fight not to tip back her head and gawk like an idiot. But the hanging tree houses and perilous walkways looked so magical that she couldn't help herself. Even the air had a different quality to it. A stillness that whispered of long held secrets and forgotten dreams. In the end she shamelessly stared, taking in every sight and sound. Stopping only when the back of her neck twitched in painful protest.
By that time, they'd reached their destination, a large area of exposed earth, circled by dove grey stones and scattered with thousands upon thousands of wild flowers. It looked like a deep purple carpet that smelt of burnt sugar and cool snow. The only sound was the constant buzz of insects as they darted about from flower to flower, stealing what they could before the sun dipped below the horizon and sent them scurrying to safety.
In the centre sat the Fey Lady, resplendent in a snowy white dress that hugged every curve and dip, sweeping down to the ground to pool at her feet. Seeing her again was just as startling as it had been the first time. Her beauty was too perfect, spiky-edged and cruel, so that rather than being in awe of her, you were left feeling unsettled instead.
Her emerald eyes flashed in the fading light. "There," she said, lifting a pale hand and pointing to the place in front of her.
They both made to step forward.
"One at a time." Her voice cut through the air with chilling force.
Fenrir dipped down until his breath touched her forehead. "I'll go first," he murmured.
Hermione bobbed her head in agreement, grateful to put off the binding for as long as possible, even if it was only for a few minutes. They were at least minutes she could spend studying the magic, the horrid woman was going to use. She watched as Fenrir stepped through the carpet of flowers, deliberately crushing as many of the blooms beneath his feet as possible. It was mean and petty and exactly what she expected from him. The twitch in the Fey's ivory face was the only outward sign of her displeasure.
When Fenrir reached the place just in front of her, she withdrew a small riding crop from the folds of her gown. It was no longer than the length of her arm, pure black and its surface was covered in a wet sheen, reminding her of tar. Hermione felt a frission of fear skid down her spine. Would she use that on them? Not just now, but later when they were wolves? She had a horrible feeling that the answer was yes.
With a deadly smile, the Fey flicked her wrist, the tapered end of the crop streaking a line of darkness into the air and landing against Fenrir's cheek with a sharp crack. Hermione flinched. Fenrir didn't. Not even when the Fey spat out a word that made the crop hiss against his skin, burning into his flesh to leave a permanent brand. Another word fell from her icy lips, this one seeming to suck the air from the clearing and steal the light from the sky.
The sudden darkness made Hermione blink, every muscle in her body tensed with the need to escape. Then a sound, an almost whistling breath, and a puff of iridescent light escaped Fenrir's chest. The Fey lunged forward, plucking the glittering light from the air and cradling it in her hand. She pulled the crop from the wolf's face and brought it quickly towards her other hand, drawing the tainted end through the now fading light. Before it could disappear altogether, the Fey brought the cupped hand to her mouth and sucked it into her lungs. The moment it entered her, the darkness left the clearing and all was the same as before the spell was cast.
Hermione frantically tried to recall every detail. To learn the spell, so that later she might unravel it. But there was so much she didn't understand. It was just so different to what she knew. Like trying to translate a language that left out the important words. And the light... no not light... her eyes widened… magic. The fey had stolen a piece of Fenrir's magic and taken it into herself. That was how she planned to control them during the hunt. Something tickled at the back of Hermione's mind, an insistent rub that nibbled at her consciousness.
She was so intent on trying to puzzle it out that she didn't notice Fenrir was now standing in front of her. His hand came up to stroke her cheek in a soft caress, shredding her concentration and dragging her back into the present. She tensed, eyes snagging on the raw wound that marred his face. It looked deep, painful and sure to scar. Behind him, one of the Fey stepped forward, a dagger glinting in his hand.
"No." A steely voice halted him. "Release him when the bitch has been bound."
Fenrir stilled. His body was ready to spring forward, to rip and tear until the ground was drenched in blood. Hermione's gaze dropped to the vine still circling his waist. Until it was severed, their chance of surviving any escape attempt grew slimmer by the second. And losing his temper would kill them quicker than a bullet to the brain.
"It's fine," she murmured, placing her fingertips against the thudding pulse of his wrist.
Hermione turned, her eyes clashing with the Fey woman. Everything became silent. She felt more than heard the thumping of her heart inside the cage of her ribs as her breath sawed in and out in a gentle hiss. The wind ensnared her skin in icy tendrils, chasing away the heat Fenrir's nearness was causing. She stepped away from him and onto the crushed flowers, not once dropping her stare from the Fey's glacial face.
The walk seemed endless. The distance between them stretching and contracting until she was close enough to see the fine, white eyelashes that circled those bright, jewel eyes. She pressed her shoulders into one hard line and thrust out her jaw. When the Fey began to tap the riding crop against her calf in a leisurely rhythm, Hermione almost smiled. Almost.
She wanted to tell her that once upon a time, she'd been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. And dear, sweet, insane Bella had been far better at frightening Hermione than this woman could ever hope to be. Even beyond the grave, the doll-like witch frequently visited her dreams to cackle in her ear and blow hot breaths against the sweat-drenched skin of her neck.
She was scared, of course. To say she wasn't would be a lie. But perhaps not as scared as the Fey in her slick, silk gown wanted her to be. When Hermione still continued to stare with unflinching intensity, the Fey finally lost her temper, bringing the crop up and striking Hermione hard across the face. The force of the blow sent her head swinging to the side as instant numbness seeped into her jaw. The rough edge of the crop returned, settling against her skin as gently as mist. Before she could do anything, the Fey whispered a word.
White hot heat erupted along her face, searing her flesh and melting bone. A gasp fell from her lips, the hands at her side fisted against the urge to reach up and cup her cheek. She'd never felt anything like it before, not even during those horrifying minutes spent under Bella's Crucio. At least then the pain had driven her to the point of madness, twisting and curling, until she could barely think. This time, she could think too clearly and every miniscule piece of her focus was fixed on her burning flesh. She could smell her skin cooking. A scream crawled up the length of her throat, hovering on the tip of her tongue and desperate to leap free.
The world went dark and she blinked in utter confusion as the pain suddenly stopped. A tingling sensation spread out from her chest, intensifying into a sharp prickle. Hermione shut down, her soul scrambling for a place to hide. She spotted it there. Deep, deep down in the very depths of her existence. Reaching down, she grasped at it, seeking to pull herself inside. Only she couldn't because something was already there. It filled the space with soft warmth.
The wolf.
Their eyes met and... then she was wrenched away. Dim light met her blurry gaze. She blinked, bringing the clearing back into sharp focus. The Fey Lady gave her a vicious smile. Hermione returned it. The movement pulled at her cheek and sent a bolt of pain along the side of her face. But that was okay.
Because now she knew.
Not waiting to be dismissed, she spun around and made her way back over to Fenrir. The closer she got, the more uncomfortable she became. Like a rubber cord was attached to her heart and each step she took away from her stolen magic pulled it tighter and tighter. But that was okay too.
Because it wouldn't be for long.
Fenrir looked furious. His eyes spitting barely contained rage at anything he looked at. When those dark eyes flickered over her from head to foot, lingering on the throbbing side of her face, she shivered. Not entirely from fear. Coming to a stop in front of him, she reached out and pressed her fingers to his lips. Knowing the freely given touch would cut through his anger better than any words ever could.
He stilled, eyes narrowing as he considered her calm gaze. "You okay?" he gruffly asked around her fingers.
Hermione dropped her hand. "I will be," she answered, giving him a small, secret smile.
Desire darkened his eyes but confusion still lingered.
But that didn't matter either. Because the moment they were alone, Hermione would tell him.
The Fey guard from earlier stepped towards them, dagger in hand and he used it to swiftly cut through the Wolfsbane.
"Go back to the cage," the Fey Lady ordered arrogantly in a voice reminiscent of cut glass.
Hermione felt something tug inside her. A small pull that demanded she start walking. When she didn't immediately move, it grew stronger, almost but not quite, to the point of pain. Seeing Fenrir grimace she shrugged and began to make her way out of the clearing and back towards the cage. It was odd, that feeling of being compelled to do something. She imagined that the Imperius curse would feel somewhat similar.
Half way back, Fenrir increased his pace until he was striding beside her. His large hand came up to rest on the back of her neck, his long fingers curling around the side of her throat to press on the steady throb of her pulse.
She searched for the urge to shake him off and found that it was no longer there, lost somewhere in the clearing, squashed amongst the flowers. Besides, she found that she liked the feeling of safety his touch produced. It was like being wrapped in her favourite blanket with a book she'd been desperate to read propped on her lap. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and found his features had relaxed. Not quite as stiff. Even the raw wound on the side of his cheek looked less angry. Perhaps the touch worked both ways, offering safety and comfort to him as well as her.
Well, very soon they'd be safe for good. Because now she knew. And pretty soon, so would he.
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