Torture

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Hermione

It was worse, now that she wasn't in heat. Objectively, it should be less humiliating, she thought. She wasn't leaning into him, desperate to be touched. She wasn't begging for it this time, and her robes fully covered her instead of leaving her body on display.

A wave of relief passed over her as Narcissa drew Lucius away, relief that his filthy hands wouldn't be touching her again. Relief that she might get to just wait to be executed instead of treated like a plaything for bored dark wizards on power trips.

The relief was premature. Fenrir Greyback wasted no time in taking his place in front of her.

"Don't fret, Mudblood, I have another set of boots for you to lick clean."

His grotesque smile curled upward, revealing the tips of his pointed teeth, which were encrusted with grime. She swallowed hard, her lips pinching together as she wished she could do the same to her nostrils as his stench reached her.

Could the hormones really mask that? His scent had reminded her of the forbidden forest in the middle of spring just days ago. Now he reeked of wet dog and sewage.

"Never," she spat.

The soft click of his tongue echoed through the cellar. "If you refuse, I can always cast the Cruciatus curse on your dear Alpha. His suffering has barely begun, after all. Or perhaps it would be more entertaining to have you cast it."

"Let him." Draco's voice urged in her head.

She focused on the strange tether that held on to her consciousness. A hint of magic she'd never experienced before flowed through her and the delicate thread vibrated as Draco's voice reached her. It felt powerful. It felt like it was strengthening.

Why was it strengthening? Why did it even exist?

Her arms shook as she leaned forward, shifting her weight to her elbows and forearms. Choosing the flat, dusty span of leather along the side of the boot, Hermione forced herself to run her tongue over its surface, collecting bits of dirt on her taste buds.

"Even now you're such a good slut for a mudblood," Greyback said, his voice like sandpaper scraping the inside of her ears. "Slower. There's no mercy to win for cleaning them faster."

Hermione obeyed, the thought of watching him cast another unforgivable curse on Draco too much to bear. Her eyes fluttered closed as her tongue gradually stroked the leather.

"Let him torture me."

The voice echoing through her head was soothing and frustrating all at the same time. She had to remember he wasn't her Alpha anymore. He wanted to send her away and never speak to her again. She needed to keep reminding herself, she'd decided, so that when this was all over, her own heartbreak wouldn't crush her.

Manage your expectations, Hermione.

She took a deep breath before responding to him.

"To be perfectly clear, I don't need anyone else telling me what to do at the moment. Thank you very much."

A tear streamed down her face and fell on the dirt below her.

Stupid. She was so stupid. She spent one heat, one week with one of her captors— her childhood bully, and she'd what— fallen in love with him? And expected him to want her when the hormones wore off?

Hermione allowed the tears to stream from her eyes, watching them drop onto the ground as her tongue reached toward Greyback's boot yet again.

"You'll ruin the leather, filthy little girl," he growled just before his foot collided with her jaw. Pulsing. Stinging. The taste of blood filled her mouth.

The rest was like a blur. Draco bounding toward Greyback. A flash of blonde hair, sharp teeth, and dust.

"No!" Hermione's voice pleaded through whatever this connection was. Panic coursed through her.

Draco clung to the werewolf's back, one arm wrapped around his throat, and as he tightened his grasp, Greyback gasped for air, roaring in a fit of rage.

The monster flung his back against the wall, successfully slamming Draco against the brick. She felt paralyzed as the sound of Draco's head bashing against the brick echoed through the room.

Greyback threw Draco to the ground, and Hermione scuttled toward him, as far as her chains would allow. How did he free himself?

Zabini and Nott positioned themselves in front of her. Maybe to block her from trying to interfere, she thought. But how would she? Their wand arms were outstretched and pointed toward the men grappling on the cellar floor.

Stumbling to his feet, Draco retreated from the stalking werewolf. Blaise was behind him before Draco could resist grabbing his arms and pulling them behind his back.

"I've got him, Greyback. Back into his chains, then." Blaise took a few steps back, dragging Draco with him, but the werewolf did not slow in his approach.

If she blinked, she may have missed it. The way Blaise held one of Draco's arms tight but grabbed his right hand, guiding it slightly down until Draco's fingers closed around the wand in Zabini's pocket. Then he let go, and Draco didn't let a single moment go to waste.

"Avada Kedavra!" he boomed, and a blinding flash of green light filled the dim room. Through the new tether between them, a wave of rage like she'd never experienced before flowed through her. Indescribable rage, and a surge of power. Then images.

Draco dabbing the blood from Hermione's barely healed scar in the cabin.

Greyback carrying Hermione's unmoving body, blood staining his lips and the corners of his mouth.

Hermione laying in bed as Draco lightly traced the remnants of the scar.

Greyback's boot colliding with her face.

The images flooded Hermione's mind as the blinding green light spread, disappearing as it met its target.

It felt as if the scene was a flash photograph that would preserve itself in Hermione's mind forever.

A surge of green light. The instantaneous clouding of Fenrir Greyback's eyes. The blank expression on his face as the spell propelled him toward the brick wall and he collapsed in the dirt.

When the light dimmed, she registered the satisfied expression on her Alpha's face as he crossed the room and spat on the lifeless corpse, then turned toward her and charmed her free of her chains.

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