AN: I will be away for a bit, so thought I'd post this now as opposed to later. Thank you all so much for your support. I'm curious about your thoughts after this chapter. I'm predicting it will go either one of two ways. (Shrugs) Here we go…
Chapter Twenty-One
"Zachary, stay by me, okay?" Hermione pleaded as she pulled the boy behind her. Too young to have a wand, the young werewolf whipped around frantically as he watched his pack members huddle in attack formation.
Hermione strained to hear what everyone around her could, but all she could hear was the howls as they inched closer.
The solider within had truly never been buried, and loathed as she was to revert to old habits, the situation demanded it. She readied her wand and shouted to those around her.
"Those without wands get behind someone who has one!" she shouted sternly, as Zachary clung to her shirt. "The Council and Elders will strike first, but we will give them cover."
"In formation now," another yelled. "We have incoming!"
That was the only warning they had before a jet of green sailed through their ranks and snapped the branch of a tree behind them. Out of time, the pack rushed forward or crouched down behind what cover they could find.
Hermione saw the masks of bone and ivory as they materialized from the undergrowth and knew Voldemort's forces had found them. They were too late.
Howls morphed into cackles and taunts as the pack split into smaller units and went on the offensive.
"On your right!" Hermione shouted in warning before she fired over the shoulder of a young werewolf, who clearly not seen battle before. But she would not reprimand the young girl as she turned to fire at a man who charged with a terrible scream. But neither the first, nor the second strike brought him down. She had to shout Stupefy once more before the burly man fell forward, skidding close to her trainers.
Pushing Zachary behind her, Hermione threw up a shield to stop another jet of black ink from hitting them.
"These are werewolves," the crone yelled from beside.
It was no wonder the man did not go down with the first hit. Looking around, Hermione saw how the pack fared against the attackers. Backed by Death Eaters on their side, it seemed as if they were unevenly matched. She cursed as she looked around desperately for her friends, for her mate.
"I'd suggest the slicing curse," the crone advised, as she took her walking stick in both hands and shoved the stick into the earthen floor.
The earth bubbled beneath its point as the crone's magic caused the ground to swell and grow. The earth fanned out like a mighty tidal wave and spread outwards. The magical wave did nothing to her pack, but the attacking werewolves and Death Eaters were thrown off their feet as the wave of earth and rock barreled them over, growing the further away it travelled away from its epicenter.
The crone met Hermione's stare of amazement with a toothless grin. "Get to the trees, dear." She pointed the old, large trees that stood almost as tall as Hogwarts' itself. "That boy of yours would hate to see you hurt."
Though Hermione countered, "I can't leave you, any of you!" She knew in her heart of hearts that she had to get to safety. Further up the line, some of her pack, though strong, had fallen to the Avada. Tears blurred her vision as the white-hot shame of retreat stung the back of her mind.
The crone snapped at her indecision. "We can't afford to lose you or the pups you carry. Now go!"
Conflicted, Hermione watched as the young werewolves around her disarmed and bound the fallen in the resulting chaos of the crone's magic. She belonged with them on the field, but the babes shifting in-utero demanded she flee.
Dodging a volley that sailed over her shoulder, Hermione fired the slicing curse as the crone suggested, her aim precise and calculated. Then brushing off the sting of cowardice, she fled the battle for the tree line. She clung to Zachary's hand the entire way. The young and innocent had to come first. They ducked around the base of a large tree just as a wayward spell rained chips of tree bark into her hair.
From her vantage point, she watched as Sari tore down Death Eaters and werewolves alike. Just where had the other werewolves come from? Lavender provided backup to Sari, but the strain and fear was plain to see, even from a distance. Hermione's heart rent in two as she watched those she cared for fight for their lives while she cowered and hid.
Further down the line, she spotted Draco and her heart stitched as one of the babes in her womb rolled. Her mate masterfully dueled two Death Eaters who eagerly sought to personally deliver the Dark Lord's retribution. But he avoided their aim as supernatural instincts gave him the distinct advantage. She held her breath as the duel heightened. Slowly, the two Death Eaters closed in.
Something tickled her hand as her wand flew from her grip. In a heartbeat, the distraction turned into a costly mistake.
Beside her, Zachary slumped to the ground unconscious as an invading presence slid up her spine and across her mind. There was a cold moment of dread before she drowned under the invader's will.
Back away from the tree, Hermione. Nice and easy there. Do not make a sound.
Her stomach rolled with nausea as she struggled to break free of the curse. The only part of her that moved of its own volition were the babes she carried as she followed her captor's commands. Her children rolled, flipped, and pushed against her womb as she was forcefully led away from the battle, the pack, and her mate.
That's it, carefully over the tree root. Continue walking.
Hermione struggled to break free until the sounds of battle were nothing but din in the background. Whoever controlled the Imperious walked behind her as they guided her through the thick of the forest. Their magic was strong as she helplessly watched her limbs move of their own accord.
She fought to pry open her mouth, but her vocal cords betrayed her will.
Quiet, dear. Step lightly, we're almost there.
Magic settled in the hollow of her throat and she knew had been Silenced. The invasion into the sanctity of her mind was absolutely revolting as tears of anger began to fall. She had started the morning in the warmth of Draco's tent, and now, it had come to this.
After what seemed like hours, Hermione and her captor emerged from the forest close to Hogsmeade. The village was nearly deserted. If anyone remained, they chose to shut themselves inside shuttered homes rather than investigate the pregnant witch mechanically walking along High Street. Hermione scanned the village for any sign of the Order, but distantly remembered they had abandoned the village after Alberforth's demise earlier that year. With Voldemort's re-taking of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade was as good as enemy territory.
Open the door to your left, the voice within her mind ordered. Wait inside. Do not move.
Though winded from the journey, she did as commanded. Shaking hands twisted the door handle to reveal the filthy interior of the decrepit Hog's Head Inn.
Greyson, smirking at her entry, sat on a barstool as if he had been expecting her.
"Masterful use of the Imperious, Clara," Greyson complimented her captor.
Rolling nausea made her pause in the doorway as the Imperious curse lifted. She nearly sagged at the revelation, as Clara, the woman she thought a friend, caught her from behind.
"Uh-uh. None of that, dear," Clara cautioned as she steadied her. Magic warmed her wrists as binds ensnared her wrists. "Don't worry, the binds aren't tight enough to constrict blood flow, not that you're escaping anytime soon. Now settle down, or I'll be forced to put you under again."
Hermione's automatic instinct was to fight, but the symbolic and physical weight she carried forced her to comply … that is, until she could think of a way to escape.
Greyson laughed as he walked forward to tuck a curl behind her ear. Hermione pulled away in disgust. He chuckled before pulling her forward. "Can't keep our distinguished guest waiting, now can we?"
"Mss. Granger." A polite whisper had her eyes widening in fear. In midnight floor-length robes, the Dark Lord emerged from the shadows to greet her. Red eyes swept the length of her, lingering briefly on her middle. "My, you've been a busy thing, haven't you? Greyson and Clara have been so kind to keep me abreast your plans, feeble as they were."
Hermione struggled against her bonds as she was pushed to her knees before the Dark Lord. Voldemort gave her a pleased grin when she lifted her chin proudly, terrified, but ready to accept whatever they had in store for her.
Voldemort's lips lifted in something akin to a smile. "But as always, I remain several steps ahead of your pathetic resistance." He stalked around her, not caring if his robes brushed her face. She flinched from the stench of ozone that clung to his robes, a tell-tale sign of dark magic. "Tell me, if I killed her now, what would happen to Mr. Malfoy?" he asked from somewhere behind her.
She swallowed deeply, but held her head forward. She wanted to curse him where he stood, but she would not give him the satisfaction. Focus, she bade herself. Think.
Meanwhile, Greyson answered with supreme satisfaction, "He would fade and die."
Hesitantly, Clara spoke from behind her, "But there is the matter of our repayment, my Lord?"
Hermione struggled against her bonds, sick at what was to come.
"Yes, yes. You have been most faithful." Voldemort appeared in her vision to stand before her again. "You see, what you failed to calculate, Mss. Granger, is that Clara resentss the very world you are so eager to protect. Fenrir, while his crude in his methods, brought our Healer here to our way of thinking after your world cast her aside long ago. Long before Mr. Malfoy came and killed her Alpha, she, along with Fenrir, pledged their loyalty to me. She brought Greyson to me after Fenrir had been killed. They remain, and always will remain, my most loyal soldiers."
He paused to consider the Yew wand twisting between his fingers. "Honestly, I want to strike you down now and be done with it. It would give me great pleasure to do so. Malfoy would pay for his betrayal and your Order will lose his alliance. Fenrir'sss pack once again becomes mine and slowly, but surely, your side will fall. The offer is tempting, I must admit. But I am if anything, true to my word." His eyes lowered to her protruding stomach and she looked away, disgusted.
"Apparently, you carry something of importance to their kind."
Hermione screwed her eyes shut, unwilling to hear any further.
However, Voldemort continued, "Werewolves and their lore," he chuckled, amused, as if discussing mere objects and not her flesh and blood. Draco's flesh and blood. "I find it fascinating, admittedly. But what are the lives of … what did you say, Greyson, three was it … three werewolf pups in the scheme of things?"
The fire behind her eyes forced them to open. Promise dripped from every word, "I will kill you if you touch …"
With a wave of his wand, Voldemort silenced her the rest of her threat. "That is enough." Gesturing to the werewolves behind her, he ordered, "You may take her." Rough hands lifted her from the floor, as Voldemort outlined her fate, "You will live long enough to deliver the pups to Greyson and Clara, and then you will die." Voldemort stepped around her as she was pushed towards a fireplace that whirled to life with green flame.
"They will be soldiers in your army, my Lord," Greyson promised. "If nothing, her offspring with Malfoy will be powerful." He met her scowl and intimately conveyed his own promise as he lowered his lips to her ear. "After I rip them from your arms, maybe then you will know what it feels like to lose someone you love. Then I will kill you myself," he growled.
"Let's go, Greyson!" Clara called as she shouted an unknown location in French into the flames. "Malfoy and the pack will have caught wind that she's gone by now. We have to move her, now."
"Tell me, Hermione," Greyson asked, though she remained silenced. "Have you ever met the loup garou? You fought some earlier in the forest, you know. Nevertheless, they are ever eager to meet you." With a shove, he propelled her into the fireplace that transported her away from Hogsmeade.
an: The Loup Garou is a French legend of a magical humans who can change into a wolf at his/her own will. In the legends, the loup garou is said to be someone the victim knows, such as a jealous former lover. We'll explore them, Draco's reaction (spoiler: he'll be right pissed), and the Order in the coming chapters.
So, uh … what do you think? (hides from thrown shoes and rotten fruit)