|springsmutfairy (springsmutfairy) wrote in hp_springsmut,|
@ 2008-03-10 16:15:00
|Entry tags:||fic, hermione/fenrir, het|
Happy Springsmut, redcandle17!
Title: Black Dove
Pairing: Hermione/Fenrir, suggestions of others
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: (AU: Voldemort wins) Fenrir has to prove his willingness to submit to new terms.
Warnings: dub con, manipulation, rough sex, s&m
Word count: 4860 words
Author's Notes: I think that your intention in asking for Hermione/Fenrir was for a different dynamic, but I was simply unable to come up with a passably original idea for that dynamic. However, I love the pairing. As a result, I've flipped the dynamic completely, and I hope that you enjoy it as much this way as the conventional way. Betaed by M.
He leaned his scarred back against the stone. His hands lay limp between his spread legs, his cock flaccid and hanging to the left side. The shackles were cold and heavy against his neck and wrists, and the chains draped over his body. If one of the Death Eaters had looked in, they would have seen the picture of defeat. They would not have known what they were seeing. Fenrir Greyback could not be defeated. He would simply bide his time. A wolf could wait. Months. Years. He could wait.
To tell the truth, he only half-expected that Voldemort would keep his end of the bargain. When he gave the man his allegiance in exchange for acknowledgement and respect, he knew that all Voldemort gave him was a show. But he had known the man's reputation for fulfilling promises to those who gave their loyalty completely and did exceptional work. And Fenrir did this, sold his pride to that serpent devil. And what did he have to show for it? A medal? Freedom and acceptance for his brethren? A simple thank you?
A prison. A cage, a collar, treated like a dog. No different from what had been his prospect before he gave himself to the Dark Lord. He should have known better than to trust a wizard, especially one as high-minded and egotistical as Voldemort. He should have seen the silver disgust in that man's eyes whenever Fenrir walked into the room, as though his form of torture was better than Fenrir's; As though pleasure in destruction was so plebeian; As though Voldemort himself never made a mess in his games.
Fenrir supposed he shouldn't throw stones – he hated Voldemort just as much as Voldemort hated him. Voldemort disgusted him as much as he disgusted Voldemort. But he thought the work he did for the man had been enough, had proved that he kept up his part of the bargain. Instead of giving Fenrir the fresh meat at the end of the last battle at Hogwarts and then the last battle at the Ministry, he gathered Fenrir and his brethren (pack) and threw them into the remnants of Azkaban. Of course, there weren't any Dementors there anymore, even though Voldemort had control of them. The man had other uses for them that were better than sacrificing their singular abilities on werewolves. Here, there were guards. The guards didn't do anything but throw water, bread, overcooked meat, overcooked vegetables, and potatoes into the cells once a day. They had been instructed never to interact with the prisoners. That was smart. The minute someone tried to rough him up as though he were some common criminal would find their throat in his gullet. They knew better.
He never expected another soul to walk within biting distance, which was why he was more than a little surprised when the door to his prison slid to the side. Fenrir leapt to his feet, crouching down so that he could have the power of his legs if he needed them. His chains did not allow for a great deal of movement, but it allowed enough. This was why he may not have been in the shape he had been when he ran free, but he had figured out a way to exert his excess energy, straining against those bonds. If he needed to, oh yes, he could attack. Even wanted to attack.
If he had expected a body to come into his cage, he would not have expected the wee girl with her dignified bearing and damaged innocence, a girl growing into maturity in the shape of her jaw and the line of her cheekbones. There was kindness in her expression, but also calculation. Fenrir was sure that he had seen her before under less collected circumstances. He was also sure that she had belonged to the other side.
She waved to the guard on the other side of the door. The heavy metal slammed shut behind her reluctantly. He wondered at the conditions that would lead anyone to let a little girl like this into his cage. He knew she was a witch, though, and witches and wizards tended to overestimate their power with a wand. He shifted on his toes agitatedly.
"Fenrir Greyback," she said. That was really all that needed to be said, and the name hovered between them, charged with electricity. There was intensity in her gaze, and Fenrir saw beyond the childishness and into the woman. She may not be his type, but he would eat her anyway, just to taste such an intensity in such a small body. So breakable. Who would throw her to the wolves?
"We have a proposition for you. If you take the proposition, I am assured that other werewolves will follow." She let the silence sit again. Fenrir was not interested in talk. Talk was cheap. Talk had him in this mess in the first place. "The Dark Lord put you here because he was uncertain of your loyalty under new circumstances. He wishes to allow a discourse in which to test that loyalty… under probationary standards, of course."
She deliberately gave him reason to question, and although Fenrir had the questions that she wanted him to ask, he was certain that she would answer them on her own. He pushed his hair back and continued to prove that he was at least listening. She was nice to look at, in any case.
"I am sorry to say that this test is entirely in my heads, and it will be unpleasant for you in some ways. In others, however, I expect you'll enjoy yourself just fine." She pulled her wand from her sleeve and smiled slightly. "You were far more talkative when I saw you last. Then again, I was the one bound at the time. I don't suppose you remember me. Back then, people knew Harry, of course. And they knew Ron because his family was old and large and distinctively red-headed. They didn't think much about me unless Skeeter decided to smear me across the pages of the Daily Prophet. And then they'd promptly forget about me again. Not that I minded. And I don't really have to worry about that now, do I?"
With a wave of her wand, the chains binding him yanked him against the wall hard with his limbs spread. He tugged against them reflexively, but they did not let him move much more than an inch. He growled with the effort. He was used to not wearing clothes, but he couldn't remember feeling so naked before.
"But you wouldn't know, would you? Locked up in here, you have no clue what goes on outside." She walked up even closer until she was standing just before him, staring up at him. He couldn't even lunge down to bite that pert little nose of hers. Her mouth curved in a smile far too cruel for her face, and she stroked the tip of her wand down his chest.
"Then let me put it into simple terms. The Dark Lord is everything. He owns everything, he rules everything. When people try and rebel, he either convinces them to repent of their ways or kills them outright. I tried to rebel, like most of us did. I was given a choice. I may have chosen wrong. Harry and Ron would have said I was wrong. But they're gone. They're not dead, but they're gone. And it damn well feels right to me. Everything's changed. I've changed. The Dark Lord has changed, or at least he's different than we expected. The initial impurity culling was just the beginning. He could have killed me with the rest. But he didn't. He recreated me – he filled me, he completed me, and he controls me as much as I allow myself to be controlled."
"So you're his concubine," Fenrir said. It must have been his first words in years. They felt unfamiliar in his throat.
She didn't even blink. She must have heard the accusation a million times before. "Nothing so crude." Her wand drifted along the line of his hips and stomach. In spite of himself (years and years of nothing but his hand and finding even that tedious), his cock began to twitch. "And I don't have a Dark Mark on my arm. There isn't much use in a secret society when we aren't secret anymore. Everyone belongs to him now. Even you. That's what I'm here to tell you. I volunteered to tell you that it doesn't matter if you're out there or in here. He owns you. But take heart – you aren't alone."
Her wand move away from his stomach, and she passed it to her left hand so that her right hand could encircle the rapidly swelling flesh of his cock.
"You've decided to stroke submission out of me?" Fenrir asked, almost disbelieving.
"Submission," she purred, and the sound went straight to his erection. He groaned as she tightened her grip. "That's such an excellent word for what I plan to do to you." She began to pull – no finesse, no sensuality, just pulling, almost painful.
"You're a pack leader, an alpha wolf," she continued. "And there's no room for those in the Dark Lord's regime. He needs someone who can take orders – and more importantly, someone who wants to take those orders."
"Do you like to take orders?" Fenrir asked. He hissed as she ran her nails up his length. His back arched as well as it could, and it felt like he was growing fur. So long…
"Depends on the order," she said, moving closer. Her robes licked his inner thighs, and her breath was warm on his chest. "There are exceptions to his preferences. You are not one of those exceptions."
He grunted as the rough treatment (always liked it rough) started to really have an affect. His cock was huge in her hand, red, turgid, and glistening at the head. The precome was not enough to lubricate him adequately; he chaffed under her ministrations. But her lips pressed lightly against his chest, nuzzling the hair there, laving at his nipples and the skin around them, contrasting with the urgency between his legs. He heard the clatter of a wand as it fell at his feet. Her other hand slid around his waist and down his back until it settled between his cheeks, her index finger pressing against the hole there. She wasn't… this bit of a woman with the cruel-innocent face was not going to… He could not suppress a moan, another, and another as she slipped into him dry and harsh. Pressed. There were no words as his vision darkened with his impending orgasm, quick and unexpected as the girl before him smiling into his chest.
He came onto her pretty robes, and when she stepped back, she smoothed those dirty hands on her hips.
"One among many days, Fenrir," she said. She bent down to retrieve her wand, and his eyes were drawn to the firm roundness of her arse. "I'll see you again."
"And what exactly do you hope to accomplish, little girl?" he asked as she walked back to the door. "You can't fuck loyalty into me."
This time, it was she who didn't say a word. She rapped on the metal door three times. Before she left, she released his chains to their normal length, and she looked back at him with an almost apologetic smile, as though she knew something he didn't.