Hermione woke up to an unbearable ache between her legs. She was alone in bed. A beam of light filtering in from one of the windows caught in her eyes, blinding her momentarily before she could properly view her surroundings. As far as she could tell, she was still in the same room as last night. Now, in daylight, she could see the entire room more clearly. It was mostly empty; a few beds lined against one wall, a small table nestled in one corner, and a large barrel in another. The room had a vaulted ceiling with all the windows far too high to climb out even if she somehow managed to stack every piece of furniture one on top of the other.
She did not know where she was being held. The Death Eaters had portkeyed her in so she did not get a look at the exteriors, but based on what little she had seen and the grey stone surrounding her, she was undoubtedly in an old castle or something similar.
Since Greyback was around, she was most likely in the northern parts of England. In recent years, there were several reports of Greyback running wild in the area, creating a new army of werewolf soldiers for the Dark Lord, but never having encountered such an army, the Order had chalked it down to being a baseless rumour.
Hermione rolled over to get out of bed. She groaned. Her entire body felt sluggish and heavy while her pussy felt raw. There was semen and blood dried on her inner thighs. Disgusted by the sight, she fought the urge to throw up. As soldiers, Hermione and the rest of the witches in the Order were aware that the enemy might violate them in order to break them. Still, none of her training had prepared her to deal with being a willing participant in her own rape while she was fucked raw by a beast.
Shoving those unhelpful thoughts to the back of her mind, she focused on the room instead. There were three doors in all. Before giving any of them a try, she wanted to see if there was anything useful to be found inside the room. She moved to inspect the object closest to her, a table, which plain as it was could not have concealed anything. Propped on the side, it may have made for a decent shield if she wasn't up against wizards and werewolves.
Bracing herself against the wall, Hermione walked to the barrel. Thankfully, it held water. There was also a small basin and a washcloth placed on the half-open lid. She used the basin to scoop out some water, sniffed it to make sure it wasn't dosed with anything dangerous, then proceeded to drink the water. She was hungry, yes, but even more thirsty. Except for the potion, she was not given anything to eat or drink since being taken captive nearly two days ago.
Two days ago, Ginny and Hermione were out on a mission to confirm the possible location of one of Voldemort's horcruxes. They did not know it at the time, but they had essentially walked into a trap. Set by whom, was yet to be determined; the group of Death Eaters had appeared equally surprised to encounter such high value targets as Ginny and herself.
Ginny, Godric! How could she have been so selfish as to forget about Ginny?
She had not seen her friend or heard any of her captors mention Ginny, which Hermione hoped meant the fiery witch managed to escape during their melee with the Death Eaters. It would be terrible if Ginny were also captured. In Hermione's absence, Harry was likely to attempt a daring rescue plan that would undeniably put his own life in jeopardy. She needed to escape before her best friend did something extremely stupid.
Thirst quenched, Hermione moved on to the task of cleaning herself. She felt so dirty, but her muscles currently lacked the strength needed to climb into the barrel of water like she wanted to. She did the next best thing. Refilling the basin, she plunged the washcloth into the water and used it to wipe away evidence of the previous night from her body, even as she had repeated flashbacks of it. She rubbed her skin until it turned red and began to sting. It didn't help her feel any cleaner.
She tossed the washcloth aside and returned to exploring the room. In her state of exhaustion, it took a great effort to move around and for all her troubles Hermione found nothing she could wield as a weapon. However, she did find some discarded rags, which she was able to fashion into a shift to cover her nudity.
One by one, Hermione checked each of the doors and found them all locked. She tried to cast wandless unlocking charms, but, unlike Harry, she was never particularly good at those to start with, so now, in her exhausted state, they were wholly useless. Hermione believed her wand wasn't just a conduit for her magic; it was an extension of herself. She felt its absence in a way one might miss an absent limb. As part of their training, Harry had insisted they learn to fight with alternate wands. Should their own be destroyed on the battlefield they could not afford to waste precious seconds trying to become accustomed to a new wand. Unlike other members of the Order, Hermione struggled when using a different wand, even ones that had never belonged to anyone. She hoped her captors were holding on to it, and had not already destroyed her wand.
As there was nothing else to do and she was too tired to think of a plan, Hermione figured she might as well rest and recover her strength. She ignored the bed she woke up in since its smell served a reminder of what had gone on there. She climbed on top of one of the other empty beds and curling over the mattress, almost instantly she fell asleep.
The wolf watched the witch passed out on the bed. He could tell from her scent that her sleep was the result of the mysterious new potion she was fed and not exhaustion from their coupling last night. He had remained in an excited state all day long reliving their activities from the previous night in vivid details. When he sniffed at her intimate parts, he was disappointed to discover she had washed his scent off her. He preferred her sweet scent masked by his own as it would turn the others off her.
He ran his muzzle up and down her legs, and pushed them far enough apart to let him step between them. She was still asleep when he began to greedily lick at her nether lips to prepare her for the invasion. With the fertility potion running in her system, it took only a few moments for her to go from bone-dry to aroused.
Finding her ready enough, he mounted her, his mouth falling open at the pleasurable sensation of her cunt squeezing his cock. Thanks to the build-up all day, he'd barely entered her and already his balls were tingling, ready to release his seed into the fertile womb of the witch beneath them. Despite feeling confident she was already carrying his pup, he fucked her like he was trying to get her up the duff. The older wolves had explained that due to their biological differences, it was impossible for a witch to carry his pups to term. Even with the new potion, they said it would take several couplings for his seed to take root in the witch's womb.
His balls began to tighten and draw up and out of his sheath, sending bursts of pleasure through him as his knot began to catch on her cunt. He pushed her legs further apart allowing him to reach even deeper inside her. His hips jerked as his knot grew, making it harder and harder to force it past the tight, welcoming lips of her cunt.
The wolf threw his head back in contentment as he came, his knot rapidly expanding until it was too large to pull out of her. Her tight channel pulsed around his cock made him come again, but even as his orgasm crashed over him in waves, he made sure to swivel his hips to try to force his seed as deep inside her as it would go.
The ever-constant heat in the pit of his stomach roared back to life as his knot shrank. His cock, still out of its sheath, remained buried in her. As she began to stir and slowly grow conscious, he fucked her harder the second time, his grunting timed to the vulgar sounds of their skin smacking together. He pulled her close so he could fondle her breasts, knowing from last night it was something she enjoyed, and was immediately rewarded with the sound of her soft sleepy moans of pleasure.
As his knot swelled again, he wondered if Fenrir would let him continue fucking her, once her pregnancy was confirmed. Even though his human self had a complicated history with this witch and misgivings about taking her in such a manner, the wolf didn't care beyond satisfying its physical needs. He could just imagine fucking her after she birthed the litter, sucking her milk fattened tits while he fucked another litter into her. The wolf howled, painting her insides with his seed to the mental image of her constantly swollen with his pups.
He quickly knotted with her a third time, hips stuttering as he realised he was filling her up so much her stomach was bloating. It was a good thing the potion made her strong enough to take his assault, even if it left her barely conscious. He pressed himself even closer to her and came once more. Even though the female was not a wolf, she smelled and tasted so right to him, he was certain that the next time he was sent to her, he would need no potion to urge him on.