Hermione stood still, doing her best to maintain an uninterested expression on her face and ignore the monster standing in the dungeon cell with her. Not even an hour ago, she had been enjoying an afternoon nap in her room, when suddenly she was shaken awake and rushed out of the room by one of the female werewolves, who urged her to hurry along. When they reached their destination, the castle dungeon, she was still given no explanation as she was made to sit on the floor of a cell before being locked in. Overwhelmed by the stench of blood and feculence thick in the air, she stayed frozen in place, wondering about the sudden turn of events.
She could not have been in there more than a couple of minutes before the cell door flung open and Voldemort himself walked in. He looked pleased as he took in her position on the floor as well as her dismal surroundings. The arrogant look he wore propelled her to finally stand up. She could not fight him but she wasn't going to sit there in the filth and let him look down on her.
"So, do you like what I've done?" Voldemort asked with a smile, his nose-less face looking more disturbing than usual; the poor lighting in the cell didn't do him any favours either. He made a great show of rolling a vial of potion between his fingers. Hermione squinted to get a better look. It looked familiar, though definitely not one of the potions she had studied in school. "Ah, but you probably have no idea what I'm talking about, right?" he asked in a condescending tone. "It's my solution to the low birth rates and shrinking Pureblood population."
From the, what could only be described smug, look on Voldemort's face she had a growing sense of foreboding over whatever it was he had accomplished. She wasn't even aware there was a problem with the birth rate. They were living in a period of great strife, if not outright war, it was only natural for their numbers to dwindle. She doubted many people were feeling up to the task of having children while worrying about their survival.
"The Purebloods were already a small group and a declining growth rate is grounds for concern we may soon cease to exist altogether—"
Hermione repressed a snort at Voldemort's continued pretence of being a Pureblood when, thanks to a brilliant effort on Luna's part, most of England now knew the story of Tom Riddle. Perceptive witch that she was, Luna believed the Order needed to do something to counter the anti-Order propaganda being dished out by the Prophet. At great personal risk, Luna, along with a handful of others, effectively hijacked control of The Daily Prophet for long enough to print Riddle's story and mail it to the Prophet's readership using the paper's own owl post service. Even though the Prophet printed out a special edition the very same day decrying the story and calling it yet another act of terrorism by the rogue group, The Order of the Phoenix, the damage was done. People began to question Voldemort's authority to lead the Pureblood cause, if not question the ideology of blood supremacy itself.
"It was always the prime motivation for the policy of tolerance adopted by the Ministry and others for so long. Instead of focusing on growing our numbers by improving the birth rate, they threw open the doors to our world, allowing an influx of inferior creatures like your kind. But, what did we gain from this assimilation, apart from an erosion of our culture?" asked Voldemort spreading his hands dramatically. "The consequence of sanctioning this invasion of our society by magic-stealing beings like yourself—was Purebloods producing even fewer children and more squibs."
Although her Muggle education was limited to her pre-Hogwarts years and an odd class or two during school breaks, Hermione knew enough about genetics to see how the practice of inbreeding followed by the Purebloods would have led to problems due to their limited genetic diversity. It made more sense to expand their gene pool by introducing new bloodlines. It explained why many in wizarding society superficially accepted Muggleborns even if they were secretly prejudiced against them; it was a matter of their survival. Of course, Voldemort was ignoring the actual problem of inbreeding and choosing to scapegoat the Muggleborns instead.
"Naturally, I went to the heart of the matter. I've had one of my most loyal followers work tirelessly for years to create a potion to improve fertility and ensure successful births... Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the improvements I made to his potion."
Hermione did not miss Voldemort's taunting reference to Severus. When the old Potionmaster's secret was found out, Voldemort made quite the example out of him for the rest of the Death Eaters—if his mutilated corpse was anything to go by. The Order received a deadly blow that day, losing their only man on the inside. While there were those who admired Severus for being one of the best potioneers of their times, and others who respected the man for the dangerous, albeit crucial, role he played as their spy, yet it was Harry who was most affected by the death of their former Potions professor. Harry, who had come to see Severus as a hero after learning of all of his sacrifices, thanks to a pensieve and several vials of Albus Dumbledore's memories, felt deeply the loss of yet another decent soul in the fight against Voldemort. Despite his surly nature, Severus was a good man at his core, genuinely wishing to bring an end to Voldemort's reign. It made her heart ache, knowing Voldemort had in all likelihood corrupted whatever it was Severus created.
"With this potion, I can begin the production of the next generation of my soldiers ready to conquer the world for me. You and the rest of your little group of friends in the Order fail to grasp the concept of immortality. You don't realise that as an immortal I have all the time in the world. I could do nothing and still emerge victorious. I just need to wait till each one of you insignificant insects dies and that will be the end of the resistance," Voldemort, maliciously hissed out the words. "But, long after you all are gone, I'll still be here. I'll be here for eternity. Unlike you, I am not racing against the clock to make my vision a reality. Be it ten months or ten years from now, I will rule the world."
If Harry were here, he'd valiantly shout, so long as there were tyrants like Voldemort there would always be those who would resist; but Hermione lacked her best friend's optimism. She knew her history well enough to remember humans were adept at wilfully ignoring evil. Just as the Germans pretended to be unaware of the atrocities committed by the Nazis, so too would their society turn a blind eye to Voldemort's evil agenda while his ever-growing army ensured the normalisation of his oppressive regime. She feared his plans gaining critical mass; if the Order failed to turn the tide in their favour now Voldemort would succeed in his grandiose ambitions.
"However, let no one say that the Dark Lord is not generous. Not only did I spare your worthless life, Mudblood, I chose you to be the first to test my incredible potion. You should feel honoured to know it was I, Lord Voldemort, who made your filthy womb fit to carry the seed of my follower."
The sinister and knowing manner in which he stared at her belly told Hermione all she needed to know. Sick with the realisation, and not just hormones this time, she threw up right there, hoping there was enough projectile to land some on Voldemort.
Merlin! Her chest heaved as the information sunk in. She was pregnant.
"I knew just those watery meals could not be responsible for this—" Hermione pointed to her stomach. "Did you know?" she asked Zoey, who arrived immediately after Voldemort's hasty departure, to walk her back to her quarters.
"Of course, you knew... You all knew." For the first time she understood why the werewolves were treating her as well as they were.
Pregnant.
She had to repeat the word over and over in her head to convince herself this was truly happening. She was pregnant. Because of Voldemort, and his Death Eaters and werewolves, she was going to become a mother.
Godric, save me, she cried out, though in her panicked state the words didn't escape her lips.
She wasn't ready to be a mother. There was a war. Maybe after this was all over, she could think about starting a family; not now, not when Harry still needed her. She needed to get back to the Order, not become a mother.
How was she ever going to convince Ron to reconsider a relationship with her if she had someone else's child? She wanted another shot with Ron once the damned war was over. She did not want to have someone else's child, especially since the father of said child had raped her.
The father...
It had to be the white wolf, right?
She didn't remember being visited by anyone other than the big white wolf. While there may have been others who raped her, she did not recall anyone other than the big white wolf.
So, who was the white wolf? Walking back to her quarters she watched the faces of every male she passed by, wondering which of them could be the father of her child.
As usual, Malfoy was around, watching her, only he looked... concerned? ...for her?
Questions began to rush through her head all at once. Why would Malfoy feel concern for her? What was Malfoy even doing here? Why was he living with the werewolves like he was one of them, unless...
No!
Of course, Malfoy was a werewolf. He had to be! In all her time at Bleidd Castle, which was well over a month now, the werewolves didn't bristle at his presence like they did with her or any other outsider or visiting Death Eater. Malfoy was a werewolf—that is why he was so large now. It wasn't just because he grew up. He was a werewolf. She turned to get a better look at him, only to find him staring right back at her. For the first time, looking into his eyes, she thought she could recognise one of his usually indecipherable expressions.
Remorse.
From somewhere within her, the memory of words whispered to her in a dream bubbled to the surface
I'm so sorry, Granger.
Malfoy was a wolf ...and his hair, his hair was the same shade as the fur of the white wolf. Gods, she was going to be sick all over again.
Leaning against the wall for support, she dry heaved; there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up.
I'm so sorry, Granger. The voice had sounded familiar, but she had been too drugged to recognise it then.
Malfoy was the wolf. Malfoy had raped her. Draco Malfoy had turned into a wolf and raped her ...and now, now, she was pregnant, carrying his child.
Hermione grew dizzy with everything she was coming to realise all at once. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and focused on steadying her erratic breathing—she could not though, not when she could still feel his eyes on her.
Why wasn't he taunting her? Why wasn't he boasting about how he'd got the worst kind of revenge on her? Could it be that he regretted his actions?
I'm so sorry, Granger, the wolf-turned-man had whispered to her after he was done; she remembered now.
But why was he always there... following her, watching her? Why did he look at her with such intensity at times? Merlin, she could feel his gaze burning the back of her neck making her itch with the need to pull down the neckline of her blouse and expose her neck to him.
I need to get away from him.
Hermione dreaded what she would end up doing if she were around Malfoy much longer. Overtaking Zoey, she rushed back to her quarters and ran straight into the bathroom to douse herself with cold water.
AN: Poor Hermione's clearly suffering from 'baby brain' which is why it took her longer than you to figure out that she's pregnant. Also humans and wolves can't even mate, let alone produce children, so there was no need for her to suspect.