
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/998294.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger_&_Fenrir_Greyback, Hermione_Granger_&_Ron_Weasley_
      (implied)
  Character:
      Hermione_Granger, Fenrir_Greyback
  Additional Tags:
      Language, Violence, Sexual_Violence, Bloodplay, Rope_Bondage,
      Morphophilia, Size_Difference, Non-Consensual_Voyeurism, Torture, Genital
      Torture, Masturbation, Forced_Orgasm, Cunnilingus, Crying, Sadism
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-10 Words: 3796
****** One, Two, Three ******
by Ambiguous_(Roomies)
Summary
     Greyback decides to have fun with Hermione, before delivering her to
     Voldemort on that fateful day.  Includes some copied text from actual
     Harry Potter book.
Fenrir Greyback liked children. To make a perfect cake, you started with raw
ingredients, blending together to make your flavor; with armies, it was the
same in concept. Greyback started with children because children had yet to
develop any real grasp of the world around them. Taint their blood with
aggression and animal instinct, throw them into a world of abuse, pain, and
nightly hunts, and eventually, they will become the animals they needed to be.
This worked almost one hundred percent of the time on male victims. Their
body’s natural testosterone blended beautifully with the werewolf pathogen,
creating big and strong werewolves. But the female ones… predicting how they’d
turn out always was a game of chance. Some of them were as aggressive as their
male counterparts, eager to shed blood, rape, pillage, and do the worst deeds
to whomever they fell upon during their moon cycle. Many of them, though, would
be any which way from a scared victim, terrified of her own mind, to a self-
styled vigilante justice, hunting down the males and killing them in some
misguided search for redemption. Females were always so interesting, and
Greyback couldn’t lie and say he didn’t enjoy the waiting game. God only knows,
he enjoyed the whole transformation process, starting back when their blood was
still pure, and their virginity intact.
This young woman was definitely not the sort of woman who’d adapt to the
werewolf lifestyle. Her spells were powerful and well thought out; she weaved a
perfect blend of protections, distractions, and slight offensives to send any
man or wolf wandering away from her, unaware they’d even crossed paths. She was
physically fit, and, as Greyback realized that it must have been her charm that
altered her own friend’s face into something unrecognizable, she held her own
mentally as well.
Intelligence, beauty, and a spice of sexual pheromones emitting from her… the
girl was just that sort of girl he was going to have to try out, to see how
well she’d adapt to the lifestyle of a wolf.
"All right!" said Scabior. "All right, we’re in! And what about the rest of
‘em, Greyback, what’ll we do with ‘em?"
"Might as well take the lot. We’ve got two Mudbloods, that’s another ten
Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they’re rubies, that’s another small
fortune right there."
The crowd roared and the prisoners whimpered. A few wolves started to step
forward, but Greyback raised his hand and stopped them in their tracks.
Scabior, who was recently so loud, was looking at Greyback with that same doe-
eyed look of awe he almost always wore. Greyback hated that look.
"We’re not taking them right away," Greyback spoke quietly, so that only
Scabior could hear him. The rest of the werewolves were excited – and
rightfully so – to have possibly caught the Dark Lord’s personal rival, Harry
Potter. "The thought of Lestrange having the first go at their flesh makes me
sick. She don’t know how to properly make them scream anymore. Azkaban made her
soft."
Scabior had a look of surprise on his face. “The Dark Lord will turn his wrath
on you if he don’t have a go at ‘em first.”
"That’s not true," Greyback frowned as he spoke, imagining the noseless dark
wizard having the first run with her. She was so beautiful. “He don’t have no
pecker, just like his nose. It’s gone. Besides, he’ll be wanting ‘The Boy-Who-
Lived’. I doubt that sweet thing is even a concern.” He then smiled. His brown
lips, already cracked, starting bleeding as a scab was suddenly reopened.
“Besides, if they’re not Harry Potter, that lot will Crucio them for a few
hours and then kill them. They won’t have no fun. He’s on a mission, and
useless kids won’t distract them long.”
Scabior looked as though he was seriously considering the options, before
nodding to his leader.
"But don’t we need her, to prove it?"
Greyback’s smile returned, only twice as wide, and twice as menacing. “I’ll be
right behind you.” He then turned back to the crowd, suddenly eager to be
alone. “Grab hold and make it tight. I’ll do Granger!” said Greyback, grabbing
a fistful of Hermione’s hair. Scabior grabbed Harry Potter’s, his face a
perfect expression of anxiety. “On three! One—Two—Three!”
The other werewolves Disapparated, taking the prisoners with them. Hermione
clearly preferred to go with them. When she realized that Greyback wasn’t going
anywhere, her breathing became rapid.
Greyback didn’t need to tell Hermione what was coming. Her eyes widened and her
cheeks flushed, a small quiver inflicting her lips as she struggled with her
fear. Greyback knew she was all magic and no physical might, so he tightened
his grip on her hair and pulled her off the ground by it. Her feet dangled a
moment before she started kicking them slightly, crying at the pain.
"You need me!" She desperately played her cards too early. "Nobody will believe
you without me!"
"I only need five minutes to make you scream, love. They won’t miss me for that
long."
With that, he dropped her to the ground and whipped out his wand. He waved it
at her. Unarmed and clearly shaken, Hermione was unable to block the nonverbal
Confundus spell. At full power, this would leave any subject too confused to
even register physical pain; at the nonverbal level, it would still confused
the victim, but leave her aware, at least, of physical sensation. Fenrir knew
it would work. He’d done it before.
Greyback used his wand to flip Hermione over. She screamed, fighting the air.
Greyback was impressed; she still had enough wit to register an attack. But it
wasn’t going to help her. He flicked his wand and Hermione went flying into the
side of the tent. A muggle structure would have crumbled, but Hermione just
rolled underneath the flaps and into the cold air of Dean’s Forest. Greyback
ran after her.
The air was bitter, but Greyback like it that way. He walked past a few
werewolves who’d stayed behind, unaware of the excitement from moments before.
They eyed him as he strode over to Hermione, who was climbing to her knees and
stumbling around, trying to figure out which way she needed to run. They knew
what was coming, and Greyback was proud to see a few of them leaning towards
him, excited for the show.
"Crucio!" Greyback yelled, aiming at Hermione’s back. She fell to her knees,
curling up into a ball and screaming in pain. Greyback had felt the curse once
or twice himself – it was nasty bit, making you feel a sort of pain you
couldn’t really describe; it wasn’t burning, it wasn’t cutting, it wasn’t
biting… it was just the worst thing you would ever feel in your life. Knowing
that the little girl was feeling this, watching her twitch beneath its power
with tears streaming down her face, was enough to inspire Greyback. He wanted
her.
He caught up to her and grabbed her hair again. He pulled her head back
sharply, just enough to let her see his smile before pushing it in the other
direction, straight into the ground. He heard the thud as it hit dirt, and felt
the energy leave the girl. She was stunned now, and starting to realize that
she was powerless.
With a pleased snarl, Greyback turned Hermione over. She was still awake. Good.
His claws snatched the folds of her coat. He ripped it open. Hermione seemed to
realize this, as she started to feebly struggle. Greyback laughed and gave her
the crucio curse again. Hermione screamed, her body convulsing beneath the
curse. She kicked both legs rapidly, like a small child throwing a temper
tantrum; it was sick to find that impossibly sexy, but Greyback was a sick man.
He grabbed her coat and pulled all the way off and discarded. Hermione didn’t
yet realize what was going on, as she was still preoccupied with some lingering
jolts of the curse. Greyback seized her shirt and tore it off of her, exposing
a creamy set of shoulders and two pleasantly sized breasts, protected by a mere
cotton bra. The crowd grew denser as news spread that Greyback was giving a
show. He could smell all kinds of his lot now standing around. When Greyback
slid a single claw under the fabric between Hermione’s breasts, the wolves
started cheering. He pulled at the fabric and it snapped easy. A second later,
Hermione’s pink nipples were stiffening in the winter breeze, completely
exposed.
She shivered, and Greyback caught a tear slip from the corner of her eye. With
a smile, he pointed his wand at her again, right up against her left nipple.
She started to move and get away, but another wolf helped him out, and
flattened her back against the ground. She was shaking as she tried to move,
but her limbs were unable to break the curse they were put under.
"No!" She cried out, finally forming words. "You can’t do this!" Her powerful
voice melted into a tiny quiver as she looked around, trying her hardest to
move her arms to cover her body. "You can’t do this to me."
Greyback seized her delicate chin in his free hand. He slowly turned her face
to his, forcing her to stare into his eyes. He wanted her to see into his soul.
She resisted, but soon enough, her face melted into ugly sobs. The wolves all
laughed, knowing the sight of a defeated woman.
"Engorgio," Greyback shouted, flicking his wand against her soft skin.
Hermione moaned and arched her back as her left breast started to swell. Like a
woman’s body naturally does when pregnant, her breast lost its perky shape as
it grew, but the size of it made up for it. Fenrir stopped it when her breast
was too big to fit in his palm. He then did the same thing to her right one.
Once they were both perfect, he pinched her nipples with his claws. She
screamed, but it was a pitiful scream. Fenrir could hear the change in tone as
he twisted, causing her body to react with pleasurable sensations. She gasped,
shook her head, and tried kicking. Another wolf added his spell to the others,
and her legs went flat against the ground.
"Stop strugglin’," the wolf added, as though instructions were necessary.
Fenrir conjured up a rope and tied them around her now voluptuous bosom. They
were surrounded by trees, but Fenrir dragged Hermione by the rope until he
found one of the perfect height. He then tied his end of the rope to the lowest
branch. Physics were a wonderful thing, as gravity pulled the girl’s body one
way, and the tightening ropes pulled her breasts in another. Hermione was now
in tears, as her swollen boobs were squeezed until they started to turn purple.
The wolves followed Greyback and were now standing around him in a circle. He
grabbed ahold of Hermione’s jeans and slowly unbuttoned them. Hermione started
kicking and screaming “NO!”, but a quick silencing spell went out. Hermione
closed her eyes as her body trembled; although Greyback loved hearing them,
watching her pain was even better, so he gave the werewolf an approving nod.
Greyback slid her pants the rest of the way down. He took them off with her
shoes – simple canvas things – leaving her in only a thin pair of blue panties.
Greyback had her dangling at eye level, using her short height to his
advantage. Because of this, he was able to step up to her and grab her head. He
positioned her where her back was to him, and pressed the growing bulge in his
pants right up against her. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt her jump as
he rammed his wand right where her clitoris was and started to push upwards,
regardless of the panties. He started to move the wand in a circular motion. As
he did this, he also let go of her hair and reached down to play with one of
her breasts. She shivered as he did this, though Greyback didn’t know if it was
because of the cold or from the loss of circulation, causing them to be
delightfully sensitive. Hermione’s hips were swaying as she tried to get away
from him, so he raised his wand up to her nipple.
"Crucio," Greyback whispered.
Hermione threw her head back. Greyback prepared for this and stepped aside. The
spell was gone in an instant, but Hermione’s quivering remained. He then
started playing with nipples again, feeling Hermione jerk backwards every time
he twisted it just so.
"Just fuck her already!" A voice cried out.
Fenrir shot the direction of the voice a dirty look, but from amongst the faces
of excited wolves, he couldn’t pinpoint an owner. Fenrir made a point of slowly
and delicately removing her last article of clothing.
Hanging from her breasts and now completely naked, Hermione’s face was twisted
into an ugly grimace. Greyback liked it. She had been on the run for some time,
he could see, as she had a curly handful of brunette hair sitting above her
lovely, youthful pussy. He gave her a quick feel with his fingers, pleased to
find her lips to be silky smooth. By the way she was now violently struggling
against him, he imagined she’d never made it this far with her ginger
boyfriend.
He grabbed one of her legs at the thigh and pinned it back against the tree. He
then thrust two fingers into her vagina. Hermione might have been resisting in
her mind, but her body was reacting positively. He could feel the moistness as
he wiggled his fingers, using them to stretch her slowly. She resisted, but the
wolves around him started to shoot random spells at her. Ropes went everywhere,
tying Hermione’s hands above her head, each leg as high up as they’d go on
either side of her – until she was doing the splits – and adding elaboration to
the bondage holding her to the trees. There were now ropes crossed under her
breasts, making an X across her stomach, and digging into her thighs right at
the hip. It strangely made her more beautiful, watching her become completely
immobile. Fenrir pulled his fingers out and brought them to his nose, to smell
her sweet sexual hormones.
"A virgin." This statement was met with a loud roar from the wolves. More pants
dropped, and they started working on themselves, knowing Fenrir wasn’t going to
share a virgin.
With a wicked grin, Fenrir undid his own pants; when his already endowed penis
was free, he placed an engorgio charm on it as well. His body tingled, and his
muscles burned as they suddenly stretched and swelled to unnatural proportions.
When it got to where Fenrir could barely stand it, he stopped growing it.
Hermione’s eyes widened, and her could hear her breathing grow faster.
"Now you see," Fenrir purred.
The bonds held Hermione in place, but he could see her muscles twitching and
watched as her mouth formed an “O” as he worked to slide his enlarged penis
inside. His head wouldn’t go all the way inside of her, so he pulled out and
tried to stretch her some more with his fingers. The third time he tried, her
body took the whole head, but none of the shaft. Leaves went every which way as
the captive tried to break the ropes with her strength alone, shaking them
free.
He reached down to get to her clit, and feverishly starting rubbing. Hermione’s
body was reacting as he’d hoped – natural lubrications allowed him to get up to
a nice inch or two inside. Her hips bucked as they did, and the feeling was so
good, it inspired him.
Again pointing his wand at her privates, he decided to try just
diffindo.Greyback heard a ripping noise, and Hermione’s struggle finally
ceased. He gave her credit: her spirit had remained strong through crucio,
multiple times. Blood splattered against the forest ground as her clit was torn
in two, followed by a long gash all the way down to her vaginal canal. Greyback
sighed contentedly as his girth was now able to freely go into Hermione up to
the balls. She squeaked as his gonads slapped against her thighs. Her eyes were
rolled up in her head, and her mouth was stuck in a silent scream for so long,
some droll escaped out of the corner.
Fenrir could smell the mixture of blood and other fluids, and the animal inside
of him liked it. The world around them didn’t seem to matter. Her body, even
with certain pieces split open, was warm. It was like a velvet sheath for his
impressive sword, slowly enveloping him. The pressure was building inside his
penis, until he was so sensitive that he could feel everything – the tiny bumps
and ridges from her wounds massaging him until he felt he was burst in record
time.
He thrust until the blood from her wound started to gel. Not yet ready to spill
but feeling all the softness become a sticky mess, he knew he had to stop for a
moment. He pulled out long enough to cast a siphoning spell on the blood, then
he re-entered.
Smack went his balls against her as he pounded her. A rhythm was building. In
spite of the silencing charm, Hermione was now making a soft ugn ugn ugn sound
every time his penis was fully enclosed. His already swollen cock tightened
inside of her, as he felt the end growing near. Greyback grabbed her hair but
kept pumping as fast as he could.
He felt the need to come, to release, but wanted to hold out. He wanted her to
experience him until she was numb. He wanted her to be subject to his control,
and not the needs of the body. She would not be relieved until he said so.
Knowing he wasn’t going to be able to hold it in too long, Fenrir pulled out
and then grabbed Hermione’s waist, angling her slightly in spite of her bonds.
With a wicked smile, he thrust inside of her as hard as he could, throwing his
hips forward until she was audibly striking against the tree. More leaves came
dancing to the ground around them, casting shadows across Hermione’s face. One,
two, three pumps in this manner, and his muscles tightened. He pulled on her
hair as he came inside of her.
He was getting old and felt himself tire, but he wasn’t done with her. This
wasn’t a proper torture session, he knew, but his men were waiting with the
alleged Harry Potter, and he’d already wasted enough time just playing around.
A spell repaired all damage. Fenrir watched as her beautiful flesh sewed itself
back together, seamlessly recreating the young, untouched vagina she had that
morning. Fenrir couldn’t resist feeling around it once more, enjoying how soft
it was. He cleaned her out completely, using a spell to eject the blood and
semen. It clumped together at the base of the tree, and Fenrir no longer found
it erotic to smell. It was… horrible. The moment was over.
The girl had passed out, though Fenrir didn’t know at what point. He took in
her features as they were slack with the beauty of sleep; she was delicate, but
quite elegant. Her lips were perfect, though chapped from being in the cold too
long. Her cheeks were just so feminine, alluring. He clasped her face gently
for a moment, admiring how perfectly the fit inside his hands was. She was a
tiny little doll, made just for him.
Fenrir slapped Hermione, waking her back up. “Your turn, darling.”
Greyback didn’t know what inspired him, but he knew he couldn’t let her go. Not
until she’d experienced all of him. He crouched down until he was staring into
her cunt. His fingers explored the pink folds, gentle and not at all like
moments ago. Feeling her moisten again, Fenrir smiled. He moved his hand
upwards until he could slide her clit between his index and middle finger.
Using a technique he’d learned many moonlights ago, when he was still a
teenager like herself, he began to massage the skin slowly. Hermione’s body
shifted and she resumed crying, although Fenrir imagined it was now more in
shame, as this wasn’t at all hurting her.
He moved his fingers back to her vagina. She was really wet now. Fenrir could
easily slide two fingers in, so he did so. He then leaned forward and slid out
his tongue. He had a rough texture, he knew; it was just like a dog’s. No woman
had ever complained about it touching them, though, even when it was forced.
Hermione gasped as he began to lick at her clitoris. He swirled his tongue
around in circles, then gently bit down and even sucked on it a bit, but what
Hermione liked most – he could tell by the way she was bucking forward and
moaning, in spite of herself – was when he flicked just the tip of it and
spread his fingers wide inside of it.
"Oh my!" Hermione said, breathlessly.
Hermione pulled up against her ropes, but that angled her more into his mouth.
Not losing the moment, Fenrir used his free hand to hold her hips in that
position. He turned away from cunningulus long enough to kiss her inner thighs.
He sucked on them; biting slightly and listening to Hermione go from painful
cries to sweet, high pitched groans of pleasure. He went back to her sensitive,
silky skin and did the same thing, causing it to swell.
"Oh, oh, oh," Hermione repeated, not even realizing that the sound was escaping
her every time Fenrir’s tongue made a complete circle.
She arched her back as she came, and Greyback smiled in victory. When he stood
up and looked at her, though, there was no trace of pleasure in her expression.
Instead, it was all shame. Silent tears fell from her eyes as Fenrir freed her.
She didn’t struggle as he redressed her. As soon as she was presentable, Fenrir
draped an arm around her.
Her hair no longer smelled like the ginger, or the trees, or her perfume. It
now smelled like him. He was all over her, mingling in her pheromones. She
would smell like him for days, but she would keep him, the memory of him,
forever. She was his, and she would never forget it.
"On three," He said softly, petting her hair. "One—two—three…"
The two Disapparated, right into the living room of the Malfoy Mansion.
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