HARRY POTTER

A Bad End to the Battle of Hogwarts - Hermione (18+)

(Note: This will be a series of oneshots featuring Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Cho)

Night pressed down, thick and wet, the air itself a bruise. The castle's stone bones were split and bleeding, corridors crawling with the stink of rot and ozone. Shouts echoed, but never the shouts she wanted to hear. The sky above the shattered towers was still smudged with smoke and spellfire. The banners drooped, burnt ragged, the House colors all the same charred gray. Sometimes a scream, thin and lonely, would slip out from some lower corridor and vanish. Sometimes it was a laugh—a giddy, breaking sound.

Hermione surfaced from a black, stinging sleep onto the cold flagstones. Her cheek was stuck to something tacky, her lips gummy-dry. Her body trembled in little jerks. She tried to move and her head spun. There was a taste like metal and dirt in her mouth. She blinked, and the blurred world resolved into Fenrir Greyback crouched over her, arms folded on his knees, grinning so wide she could see the chipped yellow daggers of his teeth.

He looked at her as if she were a puzzle almost solved. His hands hung loose, but his nails were already dark with blood—someone else’s, she hoped, and then hated herself for hoping. He waited. She saw the tip of his tongue flick out, wetting his lips, a quick pink dart. She tried to push up but her left arm buckled under her. He did nothing, just watched her struggle, eyes bright with something unnameable.

Her wand was gone. She remembered clutching it, remembered the last spell—Protego, she thought, or maybe Expelliarmus—but it had been battered from her hand in the crush near the marble staircase. She remembered Neville’s voice, high with panic, then a flash, then nothing. She tasted blood and felt a cold breeze on her legs and pussy, like she was naked from the waist down.

“Morning, princess,” Fenrir said, voice thick and wet. “Time for breakfast?”