A/N: I don't own Harry Potter

2 A/N: This is violent. I rated it R for a reason, dearies.

The black velvet of the sky stretched out endlessly overhead. Stars glittered across the heavens as though scattered by a careless hand. The dark, and the silence surrounded, the world hushed as though no creature had ever given voice to thought. A feeling of peace, but anticipation pervaded. It was a breathtaking, beautiful, deadly calm; the calm before the roaring fury of the storm.

Yet some were content to enjoy the calm, to revel in the peace, and not to seek shelter from the coming storm. Three, in fact, were stretched atop a hill, sprawled in the grass. Like the spokes of a giant wheel, they laid, heads together in the grass. Every few moments one of them would speak, hushed and awed, speaking of the sky, or their futures, or the feelings that could only be expressed on such a night.

Hours they had been there, hours they had spent in near-silence together, yet spoken volumes in closeness and hushed murmurs. They had been best friends their whole lives, and had never been apart, not until three years ago, when two had gone off to school, and one had stayed. It had been a test of their friendship, and they had passed. And so, every year for the last three years, they had met here, the first shared day of summer vacation, and renewed the bonds of their friendship.

Their lives had taken completely different directions, each of their experiences entirely different from the others, yet all knew the secrets of the others' lives. They would not sacrifice this closeness for any rule, for any reason, and so they told things meant to be kept secret. One, a child genius, a mathematician and a scholar. Another, the only male of the group, an artist, of a talent and skill seldom seen. The third, a witch; daughter of a world of magic.

They could, and often had, passed between the worlds of magic and non, for an outing or a day, or simply to prove that they could. And, as they grew in understanding of both ways of life, they grew in understanding of the world as a whole. These shared experiences, the shared adventures of muggle and muggle-born children in the hidden world, formed a bond that was truly unbreakable.

It was nearing midnight, but they did not worry. They were, after all, with each other, protected by the magic of the oldest, the witch. Their parents were aware enough of the girls powers to understand that, fourteen though they were, they were entirely safe from any of the usual threats. Their parents were also, unfortunately, ignorant enough of the other world as to be unaware of any additional dangers.

That is how three fourteen year old girls found themselves on a hill, in the middle of the woods, miles from any form of civilization, on the night of a full moon. Not that any of them didn't know the dangers of such a night, simply that, in true youthful style, they hadn't thought of it. Many powers of darkness, of night, are heightened by a full moon. It was truly ironic; that which was so insignificant to them this night, would, as price of their ignorance, take their lives.

Yet they were ignorant of good, as well as evil. They also hadn't realized that, this year, their first shared day of vacation was June the twenty-first, the summer solstice, the longest, and one of the most magical, days of the year. The day of the powers of earth, and the powers of a woman. Had they known, they would, perhaps, have realized the significance of the shared night of companionship. They might have done things differently, might have made the subtle binding ritual all the more powerful. They might have, but they also might have destroyed the power entirely.

It was no coincidence, that the silence was broken at midnight.

Broken by a lone howl.

Had they been found by an ordinary passer-by, they might have been taken to a hospital. Had they been found by the parents of any of the children, they would have been healed, and treated, and the answers and solutions found. Had they been lucky enough to be found by almost any witch or wizard, they might have made it to St. Mungo's soon enough to be not only healed, but kept from the curse. It would have been better had they been found, in fact, by anyone other than the disgruntled, werewolf-hating, head of the department for the regulation and control of magical creatures.

Unfortunately, said department head was, in fact, hoping for an instance very much like what had happened on that particular night. Unlike the teens, he knew the significance of the night; he had spent most of the evening searching for exactly what he found. There were a great many things true of a female wolf turned on the summer solstice, and all of them were to his benefit. The young man, of course, would only serve to keep his plans secure.

It was fortunate, indeed, that he had happened across them when he did. Any earlier, and he might have been forced to intervene before they were bitten; any later, and they would have been of little use. As it was, one of the girls would require rather costly potions in order to survive. There was no help for it; beast though she now was, he would have to waste his private stores. Oh, but she'd make it up to him. He smirked, then, drawing out an entirely legal portkey. The ministry had been content to turn a blind eye to his work, especially when it dealt with creatures such as these. And now, finally, he would make use of that blindness.

Hermione Granger woke to an ache worse than any she could ever remember. She tried to recall why her body would be a head-to-toe mass of misery, but couldn't remember anything specific. She'd been out stargazing, with Mark and Ambell, as they did every year. They'd been talking about their plans for after school, dreaming; both supporting and laughing as the others shared incredible hopes and wishes. She remembered hearing something, and then… she was here. Wherever here was.

It was cold, that was certain. Perhaps they'd fallen asleep outside? No, that didn't feel like ground beneath her, and she felt very…closed in. Like at Hogwarts, when the curtains were drawn around her four-poster. Yet the surface beneath her was no bed. Suddenly, it hit her. What if they were captured by death eaters? Her eyes flew open, and she bolted upright. Only to find a sight much like the one she was dreading; bars. A cell. Her friends, crumpled to the ground beside her, bloody and badly injured.

Only they didn't look beaten, and those were no marks of calculated torture. The ceiling in the room was too low, and the room too small, even for a cell; it was far more like a cage. The walls were solid cement block, the only bit with bars being straight in front of her. The room was barely large enough for all three to be lying down, the ceiling no more than four feet. They clothes were coated in blood, yes, but also in dirt; their clothes were torn, and covered in … slashes. Claw marks. Bite marks. From something downright huge. But what could have - ?

And then, it hit her. She remembered. The sound, the howl. Looking up to see the full moon floating above. The moments of panic, of running. Fumbling for her wand. The screams of her friends, as they fell. Her own screams, mingled with the horrid tearing sounds, and searing pain. The monster; the horrible, hideous, frightening beast – that she now was, as well. Because she failed, failed to realize the significance of the night, failed to be prepared with spell and wand.

And her friends – they were condemned to this hell with her, for her mistakes.

But then there was a sound, and she turned back towards the door. She caught sight of a man, before there was a blue light, and she knew no more.

When Hermione woke again, it was to a felling oddly similar the previous one. She no longer felt an acute pain, but ached unbelievably. A coppery taste was settled in her mouth, but she couldn't find a spot on her tongue or cheek where she might have bitten.

She didn't believe she'd ever felt dirtier. It was as though she'd bathed in the dirt, and left it to sit for a week. She couldn't find the strength to move. Oddly, something was both compelling her and restraining her from doing so. Deciding to get the worst of it over as quickly as possible, she opened her eyes.

And promptly clamped them shut.

"No." She whispered, the sound explosive in her ears. "Nonononono. It simply is not possible. I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare. There is absolutely no way. No." Shaking violently, she slowly opened her eyes again. The scene had not changed.

Right in front of her, not a foot from her face, was the body of one of her best friends. Coated in more blood than she had ever imagined one person to hold, flesh torn, and frighteningly still. She focused on Ambell a moment, briefly taking in the healed scars from the wolf, and the fresh wounds. They must have been unconscious a month, and this must be the remnants of a first transformation. Hermione's breath caught as she saw a tiny motion. Ambell was breathing, she was still alive.

She breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to look for Mark.

She felt sick. Violently ill.

Body wasn't even the right word for it. She was only barely certain it was Mark. He was torn, mutilated; shreds of clinging flesh were all that remained. White bone showed through in many places, some bits even looking gnawed. It was obvious that something had eaten away at both flesh and muscle. She suddenly realized that it was his blood she'd tasted on her tongue.

Nausea only gave way to her tortured screams.

It might have been moments, or hours, or days later. Someone came, and she caught the movement in the corner of her eye.

The blue light returned, and took her to darkness.

The next time she felt consciousness returning, she refused to open her eyes. There was no way she would seek out a new terror. Really, she was amazed she was still sane at all. Then again, how would she know if she were?

"He- Hermione?" A voice spoke tentatively. Ambell.

She knew she had to respond, but she was so afraid. At least, this time, Ambell was awake, and well enough to speak. "I'm here, Ambell." She returned, and cautiously, against her better judgment, opened her eyes.

She breathed a sigh of relief. No scene of nightmares met her eyes. Only the cage, and Ambell, who was carefully studying her, curled against the opposite wall. There were no obvious signs of blood, nothing to give hint of what had taken place. Ambell's clothes looked horrible, but she appeared to have been washed, at least somewhat. Actually, it seemed very much like someone had carelessly taken a hose to both room and girl. Hermione's own feelings of deep-down-dirt seemed to confirm the suspicion.

Hermione took careful stock of the situation. There was no way of knowing how long they'd been there, but it was at least a month. Lord only knew where "here" was, or who even knew they were missing. Hermione still hadn't ruled out the possibility of death eaters.

Yet many things didn't add up. Firstly, if they were death eaters, why hadn't there been interrogations? Threats? Torture? And even if they were death eaters, it didn't explain why Mark had died, or why she felt so oddly… un-wolf-ish. Hermione'd read about werewolves, many times, and she knew/knew/ what should have gone on in a first transformation. If anything, it should have been her and Ambell that died; females rarely survived a first transformation. And she should /feel/ the wolf, the change. Her senses should be heightened, at the very least. Yet she couldn't even smell the remainder of the blood.

It appeared there had been a fight between the three during the first transformation, but that didn't make sense either. They ought to have viewed each other as a pack, and had little more than a brief scuffle for dominance. And, had there been a fight, Mark should have won. Male werewolves were always, by far, stronger and more dominant than females. Even two-against-one, he should have held his own. And it appeared he'd been in human form when they… when they ate him.

She felt the nausea rising again, but firmly pushed it down. This was not the time for that. She had to figure out what was going on, and, more importantly, why. The visions attempted to overpower her, but she shoved them aside, sealing them behind a door in her mind.

Almost as though in answer to her question, the movement came at the door again, this time without the blue glow of the sleeping spell. A face appeared that Hermione might have found congenial, were it not for the evil glint in the eyes. Something in her screamed that she should run, and the feeling of being trapped became acute.

"Hullo, my pets. I see you've had a bath, since I saw you last. Yes, yes, much better than before. You made quite the mess when you killed your friend."

Ambell whimpered. Hermione refused to acknowledge his words at all, staring at him unblinking.

"You are mine, now. You will make me a great deal of money, in three years' time. Don't worry, I will send you back to your lives very, very soon. For the next three years, you may do as you please, providing one thing; you cannot tell anyone what you are, or that you are mine."

Hermione couldn't help herself, she made a noise of contempt. Like they would really go happily back to their lives, and keep quiet that some madman had captured them, and planned on using them for some freakish scheme. Like she would come back in three years; or, really, ever, should he let her go. But she hoped he was stupid enough to believe it. She would deal with what she was later; right now, she just wanted to get Ambell out of here, before she, too, died.

He appeared to understand Hermione's contempt. "No? You think you are not mine, little wolf?" He grinned sadistically "Do you know the penalty for a werewolf that kills? It's not death, little wolf. No, that would be far too kind. It's the Dementor's kiss. And I will make sure that both of you get it, for killing your little friend, should either of you disobey me."

Ambell, apparently, remembered what that meant. The prospect of losing her soul, on top of everything else, was apparently too much for her, and she broke into sobs. Hermione moved to comfort her, but Ambell flinched away from the touch, fleeing to the corner of the cage, and huddling in on herself.

Hermione swallowed. Yup, the bastard had her. Maybe, if it was only herself, she would take the risk. She could, perhaps, have escaped; Harry and Dumbledore would surely have protected her. But Ambell, in the muggle world – for this man would surely know better than to let Ambell flee with Hermione into the wizarding world – would be entirely vulnerable to a Dementor attack. But, surely, this man didn't think they could get away with this absence from their worlds being unnoticed.

How did he think she could hide it? When she got back, she'd still be a werewolf. Someone was bound to notice. All it would take is three seconds around Lupin; he'd smell the wolf in her, and the secret would be revealed.

"You don't really think that no-one will figure it out." Hermione said, condescendingly, "We must've been gone at least a month and a half. And how will we explain the fur, and the fangs, every month, without letting on what we are?"

"Your parents' memories have been adjusted. They believe you to be on an academic trip, together; they think you are coming home this week, early, because your friend died in a tragic accident. Any changes in mood will be attributed to his death."

"And the wolf?"

"You won't be turning. Not for the next three years, little wolf. The wolf will be so dormant, that not even another werewolf will be able to tell what you are."

"That's foolishness. It's impossible for a werewolf not to transform on a full moon." Hermione responded.

"Is that so, little wolf?" The tone in his voice frightened Hermione, but she refused to cower from him. She couldn't find her voice, but she nodded.

"Well, then, there is much for you to learn. I suppose you do not even know why you killed your little friend. Do you wish to know what happened? Do you wish to know why? I would tell you, but I think it would be more fun to let you read it for yourselves. After all, if I told you, you might just not believe me." With an ugly smile, the man tossed a thick tome in through the bars. "See you later, my little wolf."

With that, he turned and walked away. Slowly, his footsteps faded. Hermione wasn't sure whether to cry or to scream; things were so far beyond anything she knew how to handle. She'd seen more since June's full moon than she'd hoped ever to see in her life, even with the war on.

Hermione refused to let the situation beat her. Determination flashed in her eyes, and she balled her fists. She pulled the cloth of her untorn right sleeve over her hand, and scrubbed the tears from her face. She looked up. Ambell was watching her, from her position in the corner. She'd stopped crying, but the tear-tracks through the blood and dirt on her face still gave evidence to her pain.

Hermione crawled over to her companion. She reached out a hand, slowly, and Muriel nodded. Softly, Hermione rested her hand on her friends' shoulder. She gathered her courage, and spoke softly, but firmly "I won't say it will all be okay, Bell, because I don't really think it can be. But I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere just now. And… I'm going to read the book that beast left for us, but… just, whatever it says, that doesn't mean it's the only answer." Hermione wasn't sure she made any sense, even to herself, but she could see the comfort her friend took in her words.

Muriel copied Hermione's actions, scrubbing her face free of tears if not of dirt, and placed her hand, also, on Hermione's shoulder. They sat like that for a moment, just letting the other know that they were, well, not alright, but together, at least. Hermione forced a half-smile, and drew back. Not willing to stand, only to have to crouch, Hermione crawled over to retrieve the book. She returned to her friends' side, leaning against the back wall of the cell.

The issuing of a challenge: Hermione's Challenge.

It has always been my opinion that, powerful as I'm sure Harry is, the Dark Lord is lucky that it was Harry, and not Hermione, that prophecy chose. Were I a Dark Lord tempted to re-appear in the world, and should I discover Hermione as my adversary, I would flee, tail between my legs, and pray that she never take pity on whatever other country I went and decided to take over.

That said, here's the challenge.

Hermione is truly the future-savior of the wizarding world

This must, in one way or another, correspond with the prophecy. Ideas (though these are not your only options): Hermione is adopted, was actually born in July, the 'mark' is something that more obviously marks her 'voldemort's equal' (since when is a ligtening bolt was a mark of equality?) etc.; Hermione is actually 'the power' bit of 'the power the dark lord knows not'; Hermione and Harry were actually switched at birth, for Herm's safety, and no-one knew except their parents; any other method of making the prophecy accurate is encouraged.

Her destiny should be discovered in an appropriately horrifying way. (no "oops, we forgot to tell ya: you gotta save us all.") There should be a good reason why she didn't know sooner.

And then, at least one of the following must happen. All of them together would be fun, though.

Hermione must be required to form some sort of exceptionally strong magical bond with another main character(s) of your choice. Reason is up to you (suggestion, just to get you thinking: it's required in order to ground exceptional amount of magic that has been bound since her birth), but bond can be anything from the expected to something you create on your own.

At least one main-ish character must die, and at least one person assumed dead must actually not be (ex. Lily, random Founder, Merlin, Sirius).

Hermione re-discovers elemental powers. This plotline should involve the seeking out of other elementals, and the forming of some sort of elemental group. Up to you whether each person controls a single element, or a group of them, and whether Hermione has an element herself, or is simply the reason others discover