AU! Sequel to Right Into His Trap. Can be read as a stand-alone.
Warnings: Voldemort wins, death of characters, dub-con, mention of generation-gap in a relationship.
Written for Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
House: Thunderbird
Class: Charms
Task: Expelliarmus: disarming someone/someone being disarmed
Bonus Prompts:
(Character) Hermione Granger
(action) duelling
(spell) Expelliarmus
Word Count: 2944/4500
Manipulation Tactics
He just couldn't stop touching her; it had taken all of his strength to step out of her tent a few minutes before she had woken up. He hadn't left her side ever since he had captured her in Strathspey the previous night, but he knew he needed to manipulate her into staying. She would be his perfect mate, but he had to show it to her.
When Hermione opened her eyes, she frowned. She was lying on a hard bed in a small room — a room she didn't recognize at all. She tried to sit up but was unable to. She glanced down at her hands and gasped in shock and fear.
The ropes that bound her hands and feet to the bed were thick and gnarled. Hermione wriggled around, trying to loosen the knots but to no avail. Still, she didn't give up; instead, she continued to yank on the knots and flail her legs around.
"You'll hurt yourself, pretty," a man said as he walked into the room, his dark hair matted to the sides of his face. He pushed his dirty hair out of his face as he walked closer to her. He noticed she had managed to loosen one of the knots a bit and chuckled. "Alpha was right about you, wasn't he, girly?"
"Wh-what are you talking about? Wh-who are y-you?" Hermione asked, flinching away from him, terror rising in her chest. She whimpered when the man reached his hand down towards her, but to her surprise, he didn't hurt her.
He carefully untied her hands and then, he moved towards her feet. "You can't run, girly. We've got all sorts of wards around the camp — not to forget the number of werewolves around." He chuckled at her terrified expression.
"What do you want?" she asked as she pulled her legs up to her chest when he finally untied her. She crawled backwards, trying to stay as far away as she could from him.
"Me? I just want a good cheeseburger," he said with a hearty chuckle. "Oh, you meant what I want to do with you? Eh, nothing. Alpha's waiting for you, though. Come on."
Hermione slowly rose to her feet, wrapping her arms around her chest in an attempt to look even smaller than she was. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a way to escape her situation, but she couldn't come up with anything.
Ever since she had been on the run, she had been eating less and less — on account of not having enough time to forage for food before Fenrir Greyback's pack would find her. And now that she had lost her wand too, there was no way she could survive another encounter with the Alpha of the werewolves; she was just too weak for any sort of fight.
The man stretched his arms overhead and yawned. "Girly, do you want me to carry you or something? We've all been running after you for days — don't get me wrong, it's great capturing you and all, but I just want to get some cheeseburgers and go the fuck to sleep. And I can't do that unless you cooperate."
Hermione scowled at him and grumbled, "I can walk on my own."
The man nodded and said, "Alright, Pint-Sized. Let's get you to the Alpha."
Hermione tried to stall as she walked behind the man, but he didn't allow her to look for any possible escape routes. She realized she had been in a tent — and not a room as she had assumed. There were numerous tents lined around them, and people in various states of dress hurried past them, occasionally glancing over their shoulders at Hermione, who felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny.
The man understood how she felt, and in an attempt to make her more comfortable — for reasons unbeknownst to her — he growled at their audience, and they immediately turned away and went back to their business.
Finally, they reached another tent, which was situated at a distance from the others, and the man said, "Wait out here, will ya, girly? Don't try to run — Alpha will just track you down again."
Hermione understood what he was trying to tell her indirectly. He didn't want his Alpha to force him to run after her again; the man was seriously exhausted. She rolled her eyes but nodded, aware she didn't have anywhere to run off to.
Everyone she had known and loved was dead; she had seen their corpses in the courtyard after the Battle of Hogwarts. The only reason she had survived that long was because of Ron. He had hit her over the head and shoved her unconscious form into the nearest alcove to hide her from the view of the Death Eaters. Although he had died right afterwards, Ron's actions had helped Hermione find a way to escape.
But then, she had been captured by the werewolves. By Fenrir Greyback, to be exact. She was confused why he hadn't killed her yet, but she didn't want to find out his true intentions either.
The man came out of the tent and motioned for her to enter. She walked inside and found Fenrir Greyback standing in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, his corded muscles bulging under his thin shirt.
"You're awake," he said, walking closer to her. He lifted his hand and cupped her jaw, and Hermione tried not to wince and pull away. "How you feeling, little witch?"
"Like I need to get out of here," Hermione blurted out, and Fenrir threw his head back and laughed. She swallowed nervously when she saw the thick expanse of his neck.
"Oh, you make me laugh, witch," Fenrir purred, leaning closer to her. When she accidentally took a step back in fear, he grinned deviously and caught her by her waist. "Where are you going?"
"U-uh, I…" Hermione trailed off when she saw the glint in his eyes. She took a deep breath in and tensed her shoulders. "What do you want, Greyback? Why haven't you given me up to the Dark Lord by now?"
"Eh, finders keepers," he said offhandedly, waving a hand at the man who had brought her to him. "Grayson, go patrol the area. Make sure no outsider's lurking around."
Hermione could hear the audible sigh that left the man's lips, and she was secretly amused by his reluctance to do anything. Of course, she didn't say anything; he was one of her kidnappers, after all.
Apparently, Fenrir heard the sound too, and the next thing Hermione knew, the man was lying on the ground behind her with Fenrir's fingers wrapped around his throat. "Did you say something, Grayson?"
"No, Alpha," the man choked out, his face slowly turning red due to the lack of oxygen. "I'm sorry."
Fenrir stepped back after a couple of seconds and kicked the man out of the tent. He turned to Hermione and said, "Sorry about that, little witch… Now, where were you?"
"You were about to let me go?" Hermione cautiously hedged, but Fenrir smirked and yanked her against his chest.
"Hmm… how about I make you a deal?" Fenrir drawled, cupping her face again. His eyes landed on her lips, and he let his fingers graze her mouth.
He just couldn't stop touching her; it had taken all of his strength to step out of her tent a few minutes before she had woken up. He hadn't left her side ever since he had captured her in Strathspey the previous night, but he knew he needed to manipulate her into staying. She would be his perfect mate, but he had to show it to her.
"Wh-what kind of deal?" she whispered, staring up at him with trepidation, and Fenrir felt his cock twitch at the sight. He lusted for her — hungered for her — and needed her to submit to him. He would be her Alpha; she would belong to him for all eternity.
"If you duel me and survive for longer than two minutes, I'll let you go," he said honestly. He omitted the fact that he would let her go but would also track her down once again. "And if you give up or lose the duel, you'll be mine. Forever."
"That's not fair!" Hermione cried, trying to push him away but failing. "Not only are you stronger than me, but I don't have a wand, and I haven't eaten in days!"
Fenrir suddenly realized she was right. She felt so fragile in her grasp, and he was tempted to squeeze her even tighter, but he stopped himself just in time. No need to scare her off already. She would be his, and he'd even force himself to play fairer than usual. "Alright, how about I give you a wand? And feed you before our duel?"
Hermione looked at him suspiciously, wondering what tricks he had up his sleeve. She had no choice but to accept his proposition.
Hermione stared at the wand in her hand with uneasiness. The wand didn't feel too bad in her hand, but she still missed her own wand. She'd had that wand for the past eight years; it had become a vital part of her.
Fenrir hadn't been lying when he had promised her he would feed her and get her a wand. He had even postponed their duel until she was healthy enough to fight back, and Hermione had a feeling there was more to his decision than she could see.
It had been a week since she had been brought to the werewolves camp, and to Hermione's stunned disbelief, the werewolves had treated her with the utmost deference and respect. Grayson had been assigned to her as her personal guard when Fenrir wasn't around, and he wasn't as terrible as she had thought he was. And neither was Fenrir.
The werewolf's treatment of her was most perplexing. He didn't hurt her, raise his voice at her, or even hint at throwing her to the wolves — so to speak. She had tried to goad him into doing something, but he hadn't budged.
He was unable to keep his hands off of her, and it confused Hermione to no end. He was always touching her, caressing her jaw, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb, pressing her up against the nearest surface, burying his face in her hair, and purring low in his chest. It always startled her, his behaviour, as she wasn't used to physical displays of… should she even call it 'affection'?
Hermione had always been drawn to a good mystery novel, and there was nothing more mysterious than Fenrir Greyback. As she stroked the wand slowly, she wondered what the Alpha's motives were. Why was he keeping her there? Why hadn't he given her to Voldemort? Why hadn't he tortured her yet? Why was he constantly touching her? And what was up with that purring? Not that she was complaining about that last one. For some reason, his purring always managed to calm her nerves.
"Are you ready for the duel, girly?" Lance Grayson asked as he peeked into her tent. "I've got places to be."
"Where are you going?" She followed him to a small clearing they had chosen for their duel.
"Got a hot date, girly," Grayson boasted, puffing up with pride.
"With a girl?" Hermione couldn't help but ask. In the short amount of time she had known him, she had learnt that he rarely completed his sentences.
"Do I look gay to you?" he asked her with a roll of his eyes. "Of course, it's with a girl! Merlin, you're supposed to be the brightest witch of your age. Looks like not everyone got to vote for that title."
Hermione scowled and turned away to look at the clearing. She knew it was warded, so there was no chance of her escaping. But as she watched the younger werewolves laugh and run after each other, she wondered whether she wanted to escape… or not.
She didn't have any family or friends left, and the war had been over the moment Voldemort had killed Harry. The Death Eaters assumed she was dead too, and Fenrir — and his pack — hadn't bothered to inform them that she was, in fact, alive and well. As far as Fenrir was concerned, she was his, and no one would take her from him.
"Okay, don't tell the Alpha I told you this, girly," Grayson murmured under his breath, "but I think he's crushing on you big time."
"Wh-what? What are you t-talking about?" Hermione asked, whirling around to face him.
"He's like a little puppy around you," Grayson said, glancing around them. Werewolves had excellent hearing, and if anyone told Fenrir what he had just said, it would be 'Goodbye, Grayson!'
Hermione shook her head, unable to believe him, and said, "That's not true."
"It doesn't matter if you believe me or not. I just wanted to get it out in the open. Merlin, do you know how long I've been waiting to say that out loud? My stomach had started hurting!" Grayson exclaimed, gasping with relief. "Oh, look! Alpha's coming! Let's shut up now."
Hermione gawked at him with disbelief, but when Fenrir walked straight up to her and hauled her close to him, she wondered if Grayson was right. Did Fenrir… like her?
"Remember, little witch, you have to last two minutes in the duel," Fenrir said, running his fingers through her curls slowly. "Are you ready to take me on?"
"Yes, I am. Where's your wand?"
Fenrir smirked and let go of her. He took a few steps back and pulled out a wand from his pocket, and Hermione gasped. It was her wand, the one she had lost.
"Hey, that's mine!" she cried, lunging at him, but he easily caught her by her waist. "Give it back!"
Fenrir chuckled darkly and purred, "Not yet, darling. Come on, let's duel, little witch."
Hermione swallowed nervously as she pulled out her wand. She crouched down in a defensive fighting stance and waited. And Fenrir struck first.
The spell he sent her way was silent, but Hermione was good at recognizing the light. She stopped it with a quick Protego, which seemed a bit weak to her for some reason, and cast a Hex at him. But he managed to easily evade it by ducking under the light and rolling on the ground.
Hermione soon became offensive with her spells. Keeping her shield around her, she hissed, "Impedimenta!"
She was surprised when the spell didn't even work on him; he simply shook it off and kept advancing on her. Her eyes widened when he raised his wand and slashed it through the air once.
The spell hit her shield with full force, and she stumbled backwards as it flickered in and out of focus. She didn't know how he had done that, but she wasn't going to let him win. She silently calculated the amount of time that had passed since they had started duelling and realized it had only been ten seconds. She tried to cast more curses at him, but Fenrir was more than capable of deflecting all of them. Some of the spells hit him in the chest, but nothing even worked on him.
To her surprise, Fenrir didn't try any dangerous or illegal curses on her; he only deflected her spells and continued to move closer to her with every spell she cast. And then, once he was close enough, he pounced on her, knocking her onto the ground.
Hermione cried, "That's not fair!"
"Who said I'd play fair?" Fenrir questioned, pinning her down with his hips. He smirked when she tried to wriggle away from him, leaning down to inhale her scent. She smelt of the woods, river-water and fear, a combination that caused Fenrir's heart to pound in his chest. He licked his lips and purred, "Oh, Merlin, you smell so good, little witch. I could just… eat you up."
Hermione panicked at the desire in his tone and eyes and cried, "Expelliarmus!"
Instead of getting thrown off, Fenrir threw his head back and laughed. He plucked her wand from between her fingers and tossed it behind him. "Expelliarmus," he murmured, leaning down to press his nose against her pulse. "I win."
She whimpered as he trailed his hand down her body and wrapped his large hand around her thigh, pulling her legs apart. "You're mine now, little witch."
"No, I'm not!" Hermione cried, bucking under him in an attempt to get away from him. "Get off of me!"
He laughed as he held her down. "You didn't even last two minutes, darling. I've disarmed you, haven't I?"
"Time's not up yet!" she barked, grabbing his shirt and trying to shove him away, but he was too strong for her. He held her down, refusing to budge from his position, and soon, Hermione grew weary and exhausted.
"Are you giving up, darling?" Fenrir purred when he saw her arms slacken.
"I…" Hermione's heart thudded painfully as she started to come to terms with her situation. She had no other choice. She whispered, "I give up."
Fenrir smirked and rolled off of her, his hand still wrapped around her thigh. "Come on, little witch. I'll show you to your new living space," he purred, and Hermione tried to swallow the lump in her throat when she saw the feral glint in his eyes. "Let's see how fast you can bear me some good pups."
As he led her towards her tent, Fenrir signalled to Grayson to get rid of the fake wand they had given to Hermione. He couldn't believe she had fallen for one of the fake wands his boys had grabbed from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes a few months ago. If the Weasley twins had been alive, Fenrir would have even commended them on a job well done.
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