WARNINGS:
Not for the squeamish Angsty from the get go, depressing at best, very dark at worst. Occasional bits of light but this is a GYTO story. (Get your tissues out).
Not Happy Ever After, but bittersweet ending in a way.
There will be Graphic Torture / Death / Abuse / Angst /Animal Abuse / And a smidge of Bestiality (if you squint) though that's debatable, you'll understand more as you read.
PART 1 OF 2
HERMIONE
For a time she had wished she knew what it was that the mad woman had cast upon her, shortly before her own gruesome death at the hands of Molly Weasley, but when Harry fell she simply stopped caring. When Harry fell, then Ron and the others in short order afterwards, she didn't care. In fact she was almost grateful. Grateful for the mad bitch that had tortured her half to insanity and then cast whatever the hell this was upon her. Thankful that 4 legs moved faster than 2, thankful that no one, not even a death eater, cared to look upon something so mundane as a big frightened dog fleeing the battle with it's tail tucked between its legs.
All eyes were upon him, upon Voldemort and his victory to care about something so banal as a dog.
Even if that dog was her.
She allowed herself a moment to whine as she passed the fallen form of the headmistress, but no longer. A Canine tongue lathed her hand in apology, regret and farewell and then she was gone into the forest.
They burnt the bodies of the fallen with fiendfyre and the smell lingered in the air for hours, choking all of her heightened senses. It was a cloying and awful smell and she could practically taste it as it swamped the forest with its vileness. She watched the smoke as it rose above Hogwarts so thick it blacked out the sun, turning day into horrific night. Ash fell from the sky like snow flakes and she was reminded of photographs and films she had seen in muggle school of camps and stars and swastikas.
The centaurs found her, and brought her to their camp in the forest that night. They tried with their magic to do what they could, but nothing worked. Centaur magic was so different to wizards after all, but she was grateful that they tried.
For a few days she waited around the forest, edging closer and closer to the castle. Hoping to see someone, hoping for an ally, a straggler, a friend. The smoke billowed for days and prevented her from getting too close, it made her eyes itch and her throat hurt.
When at last the smoke abated enough for her to reach the grounds, she was struck by the cloyingly sweet smell of decay. Of rancid and rotten meat. It confused her at first, for she thought all the bodies had been burned. Though she got her answer when she approached the wrought iron gates of the School.
They had burned the bodies.
Just not their heads.
She wandered through Hogsmeade, staying in alleys and out of sight. She had thoughts of going to Aberforth at the Hogs Head, only to find it as desecrated as Hogwarts itself, with the head of the man himself guarding the outside as much as the rest of the order's had guarded the gates of the school.
Hogsmeade burned as Hogwarts had, with few businesses left intact. Those that were intact flew Slytherin Colours in the windows, and had drawn the morsmorde on or about their doors.
A death eater in the street threw a hex at her that sliced her flank, it would've disembowelled her had she not jumped evasively to the side admist the amused laughter of the Death Eater who amused himself by hexing stray animals. As it was, her side burned and bled, and when she finished running she attempted to clean it as much as she could with only her teeth and tongue and she promised herself she would not get so close to another death eater again. That she would not be so careless.
She moved on and away, leaving Hogsmeade behind and moving to the muggle villages, in her attempt to make her way to London. The only thought she had of finding Grimmauld place, and perhaps an ally to change her back.
It was hard to comprehend the distance for a dog to walk from Edinburgh to London, it would take her weeks, months perhaps. But what else had she to do? So she walked. And walked.
Food was scarce and for the first time in her life she felt real thirst. It was easy to imagine the sensation of going hungry, as her stomach rolled and gurgled in a way that had become achingly familiar this last year, but there had always been wands and an aguamnenti before, so there was nothing worse than when she went a day or more without finding safe water to drink, it was unfamiliar, unpleasant and at times when the days stretched on...terrifying. That she would survive all that she had, to die of exposure and dehydration.
For weeks, perhaps a month she did little but walk. She learnt to quickly avoid most muggles, and a quick growl was surprisingly enough to deter any who wandered too close. She had been walking for about a month at her best guess, as it was difficult for her to keep track of time, when she caught an issue of a daily prophet that stopped her in her tracks.
She saw the wizard that sat on the park bench, the prophet held in his shaky hands. It was Terry Boot, Ravenclaw and halfblood. Before she could approach him and hope to be recognised, whatever he was reading made him turn white as a sheet, before he cast the paper down and apparated away. She approached the discarded paper and was grateful to see that even as a dog she was able to read the words on the pages, though the colours weren't quite right, and the charms on the paper did not make it appear plain as it would to a muggle.
Though it was the contents that made her reel in shock.
"Last Rebels rooted out and Hideout Burned! "
And there in black and white was Grimmauld Place. In all its grim old glory, burning as the still bodies of Kingsley Shackelbolt and Andromeda Tonks lay out on the ground before it.
It was a special edition and after ripping the front page off so that she could read the rest, she sat down before she fell down, at the feeling of her legs giving out from under her.
The next two pages were a photographic checklist. All...Crossed...Out.
Every order member, every light sympathiser, every one who would defy the dark.
Every safe house.
Dead.
Burnt.
Gone.
She wandered in a daze then, aimlessly travelling wherever her nose or her feet led her. When the hunger in her rose so high her stomach cramped in pain, she tried more than once to approach friendly looking muggles thinking that even the life of a house pet might be better than this. Though she discovered that they would flee from her or shoo her away. A look in a shop window gave her the reason. Of course she'd known that she was a dog and a large one at that, but beyond being the colour of honey that was all she was able to discern. Looking at her reflection in the shop window she realised she was in fact a large and threatening looking bull type breed. Perhaps a big Bully or a cane corso or some mix therein. With her scarred flank, she looked dangerous and didn't begrudge the muggles who fled.
It struck her as odd though, her form and she often wondered if Bellatrix had intended to turn her into a dog, or if it had been random, or perhaps she had been forced unknowingly into her previously undiscovered animagus form. Though it didn't seem to sit right, for she had no discernible link to the large dog that she saw before her and had always thought that if she were to study to become an animagus as she had planned to, that she would be an otter like her patronus or perhaps even a Gryffindor lioness, so the dangerous looking dog before her was a mystery.
As the weather got colder it became harder and harder to find food. Her weight she had clung to in the summer, began to fall from her at an alarming rate and though she still avoided the dog wardens that would attempt to capture her (She did not come as far as she had to be put to sleep as an un-adoptable stray in a muggle kennels)
She was thankful that her tastebuds were those of a dog and as such certain things smelled somewhat appealing. It was useful when picking up old pieces of mouldy food from the ground, that she could not taste it as a human would, though it did nothing to stop the mental aspect. We eat with our eyes after all, and her sight was still very much human. So despite her dog form finding those scraps of food perfectly palatable, her human mind would often rebel and cause her to feel nauseous when she ate.
As far as she could tell by the accents she was somewhere in Lancashire, when a muggle finally approached her, long after she had given up hopes of finding one sympathetic to her plight. He passed her in a white transit van, and had stopped, reversed and after a few moments gotten out not far away from her. He had an Irish accent and called her a "bonny lass" as he held out something that smelled divine. Roast..Beef..
She was determined for this man to take her home. She would do whatever it took to convince this muggle that she would make the perfect pet for him. If the choice she had was starving to death on the cold streets or eating this mans leftovers. She would happily chase balls, do tricks or whatever else he wanted her to do for the privilege of sitting by his feet somewhere warm.
Trying to think of everything she could to show she was friendly, that she was a good girl, she'd be his bonny lass, she crawled over to him on her stomach making herself as low as possible in the hopes that he wouldn't notice how large of a dog she really was and be put off by her size. Her tail wagged faster than it had ever done before and she offered her paw in exchange for the meat that he handed over freely.
He continued making coaxing noises, carefully slipping a lead over her head and offered her more pieces of the meat that she willingly gobbled up without even tasting them. It didn't raise in her mind to question why he had so much meat on him, or a dog lead but no dog. And why did he keep making those coaxing noises? Did he not realise she was sold on him the minute he offered her that beef? I am yours mister, just take me away somewhere I don't have to think about any of this anymore.
The meat had a soporific effect after going so long without food and she began to feel content and drowsy. Very drowsy. In fact downright exhausted. It was only when she vomited and her legs couldn't hold her weight anymore that she realised he'd slipped her something in the meat.
As she felt him lift her, she wondered why he'd need to do that, when she would've happily gone anywhere he asked her to as long as he fed her that meat.
Then everything went black.
She knew something was wrong the second she woke up.
The sounds and smells of other dogs surrounded her and the deafening cacophony of barking made her head hurt as she panted in anxiety.
It was obvious she was in a kennel, outside. And by the barking surrounding her she wasn't alone. It was by no means warm but it was not as cold as outside which was one thing.
The barking was really getting to her, and she backed herself into a corner as much as she could once she realised there was no way she could get out of the gate by herself. Despite the months now spent in the form of a dog, she had tried her best to avoid others on the streets and now she was surrounded by them.
Voices roused her from her thoughts and the Irish man that had brought her here, appeared at the gate of the kennel with another man. They were speaking Irish, Gaelic and Hermione had no clue what they were saying though it was clear they were talking about her.
He approached her making those coaxing noises once more, with a handful of meat. Despite the growling of her stomach she ignored them and instead growled at him. She wasn't going to fall for that again.
The other man laughed at the first man and they spoke something quickly but still she was unable to discern their words. When she refused to touch the meat, they left it on the floor and left the kennel, leaving her once more alone.
She ignored the meat, despite her growling stomach, she knew it was tainted. She sniffed it delicately and sure enough the harsh chemical smell shone through. She had missed it before when she had trustingly wolfed down what she was given, but now that she took her time it was clear to spot. Committing the scent to memory, she made sure she would not be caught so unaware again.
When the men returned hours later, his pleasant manner disappeared on finding the food untouched. This time when he entered the kennel he tried to force the meat down her throat, so she bit him. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood.
The man screamed in pain and rewarded her with a harsh kick, even as his friend laughed at his misfortune.
"Have it your way then Bitch" She heard, in English this time, as the disgruntled man spat at her.
When he came back there was four of them. And once more they were speaking fluent Gaelic so she had no idea what they were saying. She was backed into a corner and grabbed by two, then three of the men. They used their body weight to pin her down, she was a large dog but the three of them dwarfed her and she was flattened to the ground with little effort. A muzzle was shoved on her face and a knee pressed between her shoulder blades to keep her head to the ground.
Then there was only pain.
She cried and whined when they cut her ears, the initial sharp pain jolting through her until it faded to a vicious burning as a hot iron was used to cauterise the wound. Rivulets of blood fell into her eyes and down her muzzle and the smell made her think of those fires at Hogwarts once more. There was the vague sensation of something being pushed underneath her and the sound of wood scraping on the stone floor. Silence for a moment, and another as she held still in fear and anticipation. Then there was the whistling sound of the air parting, as something passed through it at high speed. Them the dull thunk of metal embedding itself in wood. Then the pain. Blinding, Debilitating pain. The pain in her butchered ears and the cries she had made as they cut them was nothing to compared to the way she screamed when they cut off her tail. They had used a hunting knife to crop her ears but they used a meat cleaver to dock her tail in one fell swoop. She barely registered the burning as they cauterised the stump the same way they had her ears, none of that registered beyond the pain of that cleaver going straight through muscle, tendon and bone. They released her and she backed away from them as quickly as she could, only to start screaming and attempting to climb the walls at the sight of one of them walking out with her still twitching tail grasped in his hand.
From the sound of it, he threw it to another dog when he left. She felt the blackness rise up to meet her once more.
For days after she would randomly whine and cry as she choked back the hysterical thoughts that when she regained her human form she might have elf ears like Legolas. Though she had no idea what the docked tail would do to her human form and tried not to think about it.
The pain in her tail drove her to insanity, until despite knowing it was a bad idea she found herself turning and gnawing at the wound until it bled. When they brought her the daily food, she was muzzled. And it wasn't removed until they came back with food and water that she greedily lapped up, having been unable to do so with the muzzle in place.
Though her wound healed over a few weeks, they kept her muzzled for a different reason now. She would not let any of them near her, any who approached were subjected to her teeth and growls though it often didn't garner the responce she wanted.
Instead of being frightened or angered, they seemed pleased.
The more she growled, the more they smiled.
The more she raised her lip and bared her teeth, they threw her tasty cuts of meat or cheese. Not tainted with drugs.
Despite the fact they seemed to encourage her anger, and use every opportunity they could to taunt her into lashing out, they fed her well. large meals, twice daily every day. She was dragged out of the kennel, muzzled and on a chain that choked her if she pulled too hard.
They would drive round the entire camp holding the lead outside the window so she was forced to run alongside the car as they laughed.
She gained the weight she had lost, and became fitter as time went on. Soon she could easily keep up with the car at speed, and she almost escaped. Almost. She'd managed to build enough muscle that she almost managed to scale the walls of the kennels, but was caught at the last minute and then moved to one with a roof.
They continued to hit her, kick her, taunt her. The man always carried this coloured stick and she soon learned that the more she snarled, the more she bit and lunged, the more food he gave. None of it was drugged, so she gave him what he wanted. For she needed her strength if she were ever to escape this place, but she never let him touch her willingly. More than happy to take a chunk out of whatever part of him came close enough in the few moments when she was not muzzled.
Weeks later the time came that they took her and some of the other dogs away from the kennels and this time into the back of a van once more. She was shoved into a cage and then swamped in darkness as the door shut with a click behind her. The panicked barks and cries of the others, the only thing disturbing the darkness.
They arrived somewhere in the country and the dogs were pulled out one by one. Some were brought back alive but most weren't. The ones that came back alive smelled of blood, piss and fear.
He was angry when he came for her at last, it seemed he wasn't too happy with the amount of dogs that had not returned in one piece to the van and so she was the last that was grabbed and pulled out. She had learned the hard way not to fight against the pronged collar when it was on, and instead went where he led her. Unlike the normal chain that pinched and tightened, the prong collar embedded itself into her skin if she pulled against it. A feeling she was not keen on repeating.
It was only when she was thrown over a fence and into the middle of what appeared to be a sand pit that she realised where she was. Understood the bodies that had returned to the van. The muzzle was promptly removed as she took in her surroundings with dawning horror.
This wasn't a sand pit, it was a ring. And suddenly she realised why so many dogs had not returned alive.
They were dog fighting, and she was next.
First she attempted to climb her way out, only to be hit on the nose when she tried. And then all thoughts were drawn to the other dog that was being thrown over the fence and into the pit as she had been only moments before. It was larger than her, bulkier, male. And it was already fighting the hold of its master, with her set in his sights. And then, he was released.
He barrelled towards her, but she dodged him easily. He was large and strong, but she was faster and more agile, easily evading his attack. The screaming, cheering and jeering of the men was fading into the background of her consciousness and she dodged and weaved as the brutish beast perused her. She didn't want to hurt a dog, even as a dog herself. She tried every trick she had learned, every piece of body language, every cry to show him that she did not want to be here. Either he didn't hear her, or he didn't care. The whites of his eyes were showing and saliva and foam dripped from his face only adding horror to his visage.
Her plan to avoid the inevitable fight until he became too tired to pursue her, was thwarted by the angry men that were not impressed by her avoidance tactics. She was hit with sticks, and once with an electric prod that shocked her, every time she got too close to the edge. The space she could use without injuring herself became smaller and smaller, and as it did his size an bulk began to give him the advantage.
She caught a glancing bite to her leg which bled profusely, then screamed in pain when the jaws locked on tighter and she felt something give. She tried to remain docile in his hold, hoping he would give up his attack but then at a shouted command from outside the ring, he let go and grabbed hold of the flesh at the back of her neck.
Everything that she once was, was pushed away then as fear and instinct took over the second he had her by the neck. The next few moments were a blur and when she finally regained control of her senses, the other dog was dead on the floor with a neck wound reminiscent of the one he'd tried to dispatch her with. There was a coppery taste of blood in her mouth, and she was vaguely aware of the cheering and laughter of the man who brought her here.
Something was wrong with her leg though, it wouldn't take her weight and when the man walked in with the prong collar, she ambled towards him.
She wanted her kennel, she wanted the wooden crate that passed for her bed, she wanted the familiar smells and walls.
Better the devil you know.
Her leg didn't heal the way he wanted it to. He never took her to the vet of course, merely strapped it up with some vet wrap bandage and cleaned it with alcohol and not the medicinal kind. Eventually it healed, but she was lame on it. She could walk but little else without a pronounced limp in her gait.
She never thought she'd long to race beside the cars as they drove rings around the caravans, but she did.
It became harder and harder to concentrate on who she was at times, she would internally recite pages and tomes of books from memory but more oft than not her thoughts were giving way to instincts that belonged to the body and not to the mind.
He never took her back to the fights. Instead he started taking her to another dog. At first she snarled and threatened him as she'd been taught, her injury making her more and more aware of her own fragility and that base and subconscious instinct to just survive that plagued all creatures on the planet. Though she soon realised this dog had no interest in fighting her. He'd approach her with interest, sometimes sniff her and she allowed it with a growled warning, then ignored it, when he showed no further interest in her. Eventually the other dog would back off and leave her, and she'd stare at the man, her captor, as if to say "what now?".
She wondered if this was some training she wasn't grasping, what did he want from her? He didn't want her to fight because she was muzzled.
It was confusing and she didn't understand. If Hermione hated anything in the world, it was not understanding, not knowing the answer. The gap in her knowledge infuriating and unsettling her.
This process repeated, day after day.
Until one day she finally understood. And wished fervantly that she didn't. They say that ignorance is bliss, and she had never understood why anyone would wish for ignorance. But now she wished for it, longed for it, would've prayed for it, if a single ounce of her thought that there was any deity out there that would listen, for if there was any deity out there in existance, she had certainly done something in her life to offend them.
The first time the dog jumped on her back, she tried to kill him. Would've killed him if it wasn't for the muzzle. She guarded her neck and back viciously after her time in the ring. The scar upon her neck, never regrew it's fur so it was a patch of dark grey skin that mottled her otherwise golden coat, along with every other scar she wore upon her hide.
Despite the muzzle though, there was no mistaking her intention and the other dog had quickly backed away as the swearing man yanked on the pronged collar she wore, in punishment for her actions.
It was soon apparent to her though, the second time the dog jumped upon her back.
He was not trying to kill her, no.
This was worse.
What fresh new hell was this?
She fought then. Fought more than she had ever fought in the ring, in the war, but it was useless. Eventually she was tied down by two of the men and all she could do was be thankful for those fumbled nights in the tent with Ronald, that this poisonous, degrading and vile act she was being forced to endure was not the only one of it's kind she had to remember. She vomited and they just laughed.
For the first time, she let the instincts take over. Allowed her mind to cloud and wander, and afterwards she wished once more for her human form, if only to have the emotional release of tears.
Instead, she longed for the concrete floors and walls of her home.
They took her twice more to the other dog and each time she fought until her legs could barely hold her from the exhaustion, and was thankful for when the time came that they took her to the dog and he no longer showed any interest in her once more.
The first time it happened she thought that she had somehow missed them tainting her food. They fed her more now than they ever had, and it has always been free of the drugs that had landed her in this hell. Her stomach lurched again and she once more waited for her legs to go from under her, awaited the blackness that came last time...a part of her even longed for it.
But when the blackness didn't come, the nausea didn't come, but the feeling didn't stop... she finally understood.
For the first time that night she howled. Howled out her horror, howled out her anguish and just howled. For the first time she felt the madness creeping up on her she finally understood the term "lunatic" as she continued to howl her anguish to the moon above.
She felt them within her. Her children.
Moving and wriggling and briefly she wondered how they would be when they were born. Would they be half human, grotesque monsters? Is this perhaps where the original werewolf came from? At first she attempted to fight the madness that rose within by simply ignoring those thoughts, and allowing her mind to drift away as the instincts took over. Find somewhere, make it warm and comfortable, make it safe.
Though when her labour finally came, she didn't know in her delirium if she was relieved or disappointed that they were just puppies. A part of her had wanted them to be grotesque, to make the men, her captors, fear and suffer and scream as she had. She had wanted the horror.
But no...they were just puppies. As though she was any other dog, and not a witch cursed this way by another witch.
It was then she finally understood the depth of her situation as the hormones flooding her system drove her to care for and clean the lives that she was bearing to the world. She had finally got her answer on whether or not this was her Animagus form. For if it was, this would have not been possible, Could not have been possible. She was not an animagus at all but something else entirely. More than that... she wasn't certain she was human any more at all. And that frightened her so much that she withdrew into herself once more. Better not to think, not to dwell. Feed the young, care for the young.
Do not think about it...
Do not think about it.
Do not think.
They were just puppies. Cute puppies even. Were she still human, she could've appreciated that. But, she was not. Not anymore.
And they were just puppies. Her puppies at that, and once more felt the insanity bubbling up within her at that thought. But they never spoke to her, never heard her when she tried to make some sort of mental connection with them.
She named them all the same.
And her firstborn, Hugo, barely left her side, and she loved him with all that remained of her heart.
They were just her puppies.
Until they weren't.
Soon they were his, as much as she was his.
The boys were taken from her, including her sweet Hugo who screamed and cried for his mother, and she fought, fought harder than she had in weeks. She managed to get the muzzle off when she realised what was happening and she took off the man's finger and swallowed it like such meat as it was. It took two of them to kick her into submission.
They starved her for a week for that. She was no longer feeding her children, so they simply muzzled her when they ate. Until they came once more for the puppies, but this time took her aswell.
She didn't understand until she and the last of her brood were taken into a car and driven to a small house up the road. She didn't understand why, and thoughts of escape were fleeting. Because of her children. Her puppies. But even if they didn't understand her words, they understood her body in a way she didn't fully understand herself. To them she was mother, and she felt the instinctual pull to them, they were here children as much as it broke her mind to think on it too deeply. The gryffindor loyalty ran deep.
She soon understood, when people came for the remaining puppies. Unlike the boys, who she could still smell and hear as they already began the same rigorous training she had endured. The boys who howled to her on a night, her sweet Hugo who cried and she answered their calls until the men came and kicked them into quietness... The girls were valuable. The girls could be sold.
She heard the man warning someone that she was protective, that she was a mother and would guard her puppies fiercely. And though her first thought was to fight, to shred and to tear... she didn't. Not when she was brought into a warm little living room, with a warm little family.
Not when her puppies were playing with the smiling children.
When the young girl picked up the smallest of her brood, a girl with honey blond hair who in her mind she'd named Luna after her friend, she saw it for what it was.
Hope. Family. Love.
It was the best she could hope for her children. To be pets. To be loved. To have family.
So she made the decision then and there to let them go. She wagged her tail and used every piece of body language to portray that she was happy, she was friendly and the little girl stroked her and hugged her and if she could she would've wept at the feeling of a friendly touch.
And the parents handed the money to the man, and took Luna with them when they left.
It is for the best. Her mind said.
Even as her body shuddered and a whine trembled through her throat when the car pulled out of sight.
It's for the best.
The cycle repeated itself.
5? or 6? more times she could not recall.
She was lucid less and less, and allowed the dog's instincts to take over more and more.
Each time the process would repeat itself. When they came for her sons, she would fight. Like a hound from hell she would fight, would tear into any and all who came close to her, even though she knew it was hopeless. That Gryffindor loyalty. That Mother's love, she would fight until her last.
But when they took her to the house, she would do everything she could to ensure the smiling couples and families would take her daughters away. She would beg them with her eyes and with her mind. Please take them. Save them. Love them. Please.
And she would watch them drive away, hoping that their lives would be better than hers.
She had stopped fighting. It took too much energy and her leg pained her as much as her joints ached from the cold. She felt older than she sure she was.
The only time she fought was when they took her sons away, and she no longer entertained thoughts of escape. Not when her son would call to her in the night.
Other men had come and taken most of her sons to places unknown, but her eldest, her firstborn, her Hugo. He was still here. And despite his size and his strength and his muscle, for he was bigger now that she had ever been, he still called to his mother at night and would kiss her through the bars when they walked past each other. She would answer. Would always answer. She would give him whatever comfort she could.
Until one night they took him.
They took him with the others in the familiar and beat up van and she screamed and howled and panted until she was sick. A man had come to release her, to walk her up and down the kennels to try and calm her. She was no longer muzzled as she no longer fought her captors, however her howling was annoying the man but they never kicked her when she was pregnant. Instead this young man walked and walked with her hoping to calm her restless nerves, to no avail.
And then the van returned. She stopped dead in her tracks as the van pulled into the camp, and she heard the young man behind her breathe out a "finally" at her silence. She watched them unload the van, the injured and anxious dogs being returned to their kennels as the others were cast to one side. She howled once but got no answer.
Until she got her answer.
When Hugo, her Hugo...was thrown on the pile with the other dead.
When his sightless eyes met hers across the camp. Eyes as green as Harry's had been.
Time stopped.
Until with a rush it started again, and she had turned to the man holding her.
Her teeth sank into his neck like a hot knife through butter, and she shook as she had been taught to do. He fell lifeless to the floor.
Then she was running towards the van, and the driver ran screaming into the camp.
She ran until she came upon the van, and Hugo... her poor sweet Hugo.
She kissed him upon his brow as she had when he was small, but his eyes remained unseeing as he lay on the pile of likewise un-moving bodies.
There was a commotion coming from the camp, and she acted with war honed instinct.
Already blood coated her, and she rolled in more that had pooled around the pile of the dead so it covered the honey of her coat. Then she laid down upon the pile of the dead, beside her sweet Hugo, with her back to the camp...and waited.
She heard the thundering footsteps and the cocking of the shotgun. Heard him calling and whistling out for his bonny lass, swearing and searching.
She waited until he was...just...close...enough.
Then she lunged and connected with his neck. Before he could raise the shotgun, her teeth connected with the side of his neck with surgical precision and she felt as his arm dropped dead and useless to his side, unable to hold the shotgun as it fell to the floor.
His panicked eyes met hers, as she held him within her grasp. But her weight was upon his chest bringing him to the ground and her teeth around his throat, and he was going nowhere.
He seemed to be waiting for the moment she shook and broke his neck, but he would be waiting a damn long time. As with a final sinking of her teeth...she let go.
His eyes widened in realisation then, as she sat upon his chest keeping him on the ground. Blood gurgled up into his mouth and came out in bubbles as he attempted to breathe.
He did not deserve a quick death, and she sat upon his chest for 5 minutes as she watched him slowly suffocate on his own blood. Until his eyes were as lifeless as her poor Hugo's.
And with a parting kiss to her Hugo, she turned and walked away.
AN: This story, from the dog's perspective, was mostly based on the real life of a rescue dog we once had called Hope, who came from a raid on a dog fighting ring / puppy mill in my area.
She had multiple litters of puppies, had her ears cropped with a machete and tail docked by a butcher's knife. Along with mutliple injuries from dog fighting.
Anyhow, this was something I just needed to get off my chest, thank you for taking the time to read. Severus will be introduced in part 2