It was well past two in the morning when Kai and Silena parted ways with Draco and Hermione. They had left looking deeply troubled. Kai had assured them that they would be discussing the issue of the rogue wolves with other alphas, to decide a course of action.
"Wolves like this are not only a danger to Wizards, but to our own kind as well. It would be imprudent to let them run wild." He turned and ushered Silena out of the cabin and into the night, leaving them with those words.
Draco sat sprawled out on the sofa, eyes closed, and gently massaging his temples with his pointer fingers. Hermione had put a kettle on, and was rummaging through cabinets in search for tea.
"Would you like any tea?" Hermione threw over her shoulder as she opened up a drawer.
Draco paused, momentarily, opening an eye. "What are the options?"
Hermione closed the drawer and opened up another set of cabinets. "I'm not sure yet." She replied, dryly.
Draco groaned, before dropping his head on the back of the couch, and resumed rubbing his temples. "Then why the bloody hell are you boiling water?"
Hermione paused her digging to glare at Draco. "I have a stomachache, and even if there isn't any tea, hot water will still help."
Draco didn't change his position. "Stress?"
"Yes." She said, tersely.
Draco was silent for a moment, seeming to debate whether or not to question her further. In the end, he simply said: "Earl grey, if we have any."
Minutes later, Hermione gave a quiet but victorious "Yes!" She proceeded to pull out two tea bags. "Apparently, that was the only option. So, that works out."
After another three minutes or so, she placed a mug in front of Draco, and sat beside him on the couch. They sipped their tea in silence.
Draco was the first to break said silence. "So… what do you make of all this?"
Hermione chewed her bottom lip as she processed his question. "There are two parts to the answer…" she started, quietly.
Draco waited patiently for her to continue.
"On the one hand… the researcher in me is thrilled. So much new information! So much we didn't know! I'm brimming with questions. I don't want to be disrespectful. Certainly, they want to keep some things to themselves, but I'm so curious. And their society? Wow. I'm envious of how they live… of the love and respect that just oozes from their community! How could we achieve such a thing in the Wizarding world? Is it even possible? I'm just in awe." She took a long sip of her tea.
Draco placed an empty mug on the coffee table and sat back, looking drowsy. "And the other part?"
Hermione took another sip before answering. "I'm… scared that they won't help. I'm scared that they have been too mistreated by wizards to ever want to help us. I'm scared that Kai's plan won't work… I'm just… scared." She lifted her mug to her lips, and glanced over at Draco.
His eyes had closed, but he murmured sleepily. "We'll find a way 'Mione." His head fell to the side as sleep overtook him.
She smiled softly before reaching over to the basket beside the sofa, and pulled out a light throw blanket. She laid it across his chest as he slumbered. She too, was rather tired. She finished her mug, and placed it on the coffee table beside his, before settling back into the sofa. She stared at the side of his face as he slept. Draco had always been strikingly handsome, but his selfishness, spoiltness, and haughtiness, were overwhelmingly unattractive. But now, as she looked at him, knowing who he had become, warmth bloomed across her chest. Her fingers started tingling as drowsiness crept more rapidly through her.
How odd, she thought to herself. She had always struggled with insomnia when she was amped up like this, but that tingling shushed her anxiety as it spread from her fingertips to her elbows. Her eyelids, drooped. She forced her eyes open. Hermione sat up to grab the mugs.
"These should at least be in the sink." She muttered, to no one in particular.
The tingling tried to ease her anxiety. Sleep. It said. Hermione fought the laziness. She forced herself to stand. Instantly, she understood what her subconscious had been trying to get through to her for the better part of ten minutes. She gasped in horror as she dropped the mugs. She desperately fumbled for her wand as her body began to shut down. She barely mumbled expecto patronum before hitting the ground. She saw her wand sputtering wisps of silver before hearing the front door open and heavy boots trodding across the room to her. She realized at that point that her eyes were closed. Her wand was wrenched from her hand and she became airborne. The heaviness that had closed her eyes, closed around her mind and she knew no more.
Hermione awoke strapped down. She twisted her head around and realized that she had been tied to what looked to be a kitchen table, with an incarcerous spell. She tried to twist her hands and shoulders, but the ropes only tightened further as she struggled. She heard a chuckle that turned her blood cold. Her eyes searched desperately around the room, before settling on a face that she'd never thought she would see again.
Fenrir Greyback glared at her with enough hatred to power London. As she recovered from her shock, she realized that he was confined to one of those automated muggle wheelchairs. He rolled toward her, snarling. Despite realizing that he was essentially helpless, she still cringed. He stopped only when her table was pressing into his own chest, his face a mere hands-breadth from hers. "Miss Granger. We meet again." The words were slightly mumbled, as though the act of releasing them was difficult.
"Father…" A voice floated weakly from the other side of the room.
"-SHUT IT" Fenrir snapped. His words labored and slurred. "D'you see? See what you did to me? Ffff yerr gonna kill smmmone, do it prpperllly… don't leave 'em brrken n suffrrn." Malice and loathing emanated from him, filling the room as he glared at her.
Hermione remembered blasting Fenrir off of Lavender Brown, and into the ravine. She had assumed that he had died from the fall. His vitriol suddenly made sense.
A tall, lanky, young man entered her line of sight. "Father, please." He whispered, excitement brimming in his face. "Allow me to punish her for you."
Fenrir grunted before rolling away, apparently done with his labored monologue.
Hermione's insides recoiled as she looked up at Fenrir's son. As she searched his face, she did not see a hint of humanity - only cruelty, and an insatiable desire for pain and bloodshed.
A whimper escaped her before she could control it. She righted her head, forcing herself to stare only at the ceiling. She struggled desperately to keep from trembling. He only smiled, pleased and aroused by her fear. He walked past her, and she heard him pick up something that sounded like a heavy bag, then metal clanging against metal, as he returned to her. He began to talk as he pulled things out and placed them near her head.
"You know… many people find muggles inferior. Like stupid, dirty animals. I have to say… I disagree. They have so little, yet they are so… creative." Clink. clink. clink. He set down more and more objects beside her head. "For example: I am rather fond of the way that they torture. They really take their time, savor it… Wizards are so blunt and crude. How enjoyable is the cruciatus curse, really? Sure… you pour your hatred into it, but muggles make torture an art form. I admire it."
Hermione felt sick as she listened to him, knowing full well what he was leading up to. His face popped in front of hers, his hot breath on her. "You're muggle-born. Surely you know of what I speak." A disgusting smile crept across his face. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Do you know what the best part is?"
He grabbed her hand and twisted it slowly. She struggled weakly, trying to pull her arm away, but to no avail. Pain bloomed through her wrist, then elbow, then shoulder as his iron grip continued to twist her arm. Don't scream. She pleaded to herself. Don't give him the satisfaction.
The crack of her wrist snapping dissolved any determination she had. The pain of her scream tearing apart her vocal chords was nothing in comparison to the pain in her wrist that was soon followed by her forearm snapping away from her elbow. Nausea rolled over her in overwhelming waves.
Warmth suddenly flowed through her arm as healing spells were cast over her. She hadn't realized that she was still screaming, until, all of a sudden, she wasn't. Her breath rasped as she shuddered.
HE, whatever his name was, still hovered near her.
"The best part…" He whispered, panting excitedly. "… the best part is that, unlike muggles, I can continue to heal you until I'm done with you. Death will not take you, until I decide that death is allowed to take you."
For the first time in her now clearly, pathetically naive life, Hermione felt truly, entirely hopeless.
The man turned and grabbed something from behind him. "Let's begin.," he said, before bringing a large mallet down on her knee.