Chapter Text
March 31, 1998, Forest of Dean
5:58 PM, Moonrise: 21 min
Hermione
“-Voldemort,” Harry finished.
Cracks rang in around the clearing. Hermione only had time to get a stinging jinx off on Harry before breaking out in a full sprint, firing hexes off behind her.
It was only a minute or two into the pursuit when she realized not only couldn’t she see Harry or Ron, but five snatchers were chasing her. Her heart beat hard in her chest.
With an impedimenta, one dark figure hit the ground behind her with a thud. Trees started to blur together. Hermione knew she had at least 100 yards to the edge of the anti-apparition wards.
A curse grazed her knee; she looked behind her to aim when the Muggleborns foot broke through the ground below her with excruciating pain and an ominous snap. A moment later, her brunette mop smacked against the hard stone below.
6:08 PM, Moonrise: 11 min
Hermione knew she was in dire trouble when she came too. Assessing her physical state, she noted painfully tight ropes binding her wrists, an undoubtedly broken ankle, a cursed knee, and a pounding head from a concussion. Her hands were unquestionably tied down to something.
By her positioning on her back on cold, damp, and uneven ground, the smell of pine, and the sounds of birds, the witch deduced it was likely she was still in the Forest of Dean.
At least four men surrounded her based on their voices and had yet to have identified her as undesirable number 2. Whether Harry and Ron escaped had yet to be disclosed though they had snapped her wand.
It became readily apparent by their alarming vernacular the men had only the vilest of intentions for their captive. Trying to veil the sliver of a cracked eye with her lashes made her groan involuntary as her head spun.
The rapists surrounding her now knew she had woken.
All in all, this qualified as a clusterfuck.
“Well, well, well, our little sleeping slut is finally awake,” one gravelly voice to her two o’clock said. A shiver of disgust and fear shot down her spine.
“Please, my name is Penelope Clearwater. I’m a half-blood. Please, let me go,” Hermione begged, vision still swimming.
“She’s not on the list, boss,” a scruffy brow man to her left informed the grimy man next to him in a grey jacket. Grimy Grey must be their leader. Shadows deepening indicated the sun was nearly down.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t still have our fun,” putting a scarred face to the gruff voice of the man to first greet her only compounded her panic.
When the war broke out, the women amongst the Order discussed and tried to prepare for the possibility or even likelihood of being violated if the Death Eaters were given the opportunity.
That training did nothing to comfort her.
“Please, we are out here because we’re in quarantine for Gilding Flu,” Hermione tried to convince them to let her go. The powerful witch tried to call her wandless magic to untie her, but the terror of the situation caused her to freeze.
Several laughed. Grimy Grey came to stand just a step or two from her. Hermione screamed for help at the top of her lungs.
“No one’s coming to help you, Luv,” he assured condescendingly. His breath smelled horrific. Hermione flailed, trying to kick him, continuing to scream. Landing a blow to his stomach, he grunted in pain.
“You shouldn’t have done that, you stupid bitch,” he slapped her hard.
“Crucio!” The Golden Girl screamed in agony an eternity or seconds later it stopped, and each of her feet were spelled to the ground with a sticking charm, legs spread wide.
6:15 PM, Moonrise: 2 m 11 s
“Please, stop,” she sobbed when he ripped her top open. Hands groped her small breasts after her bra disappeared. Hermione had to survive. Harry and Ron need her; the Order needs her, so she forces her eyes open to try to find anything to prevent this.
The ring leader vanished her jeans. As the monster unzipped his pants, a near-naked figure with a shock of white blonde hair entered her eye line. They made eye contact, Draco fucking Malfoy.
Watching the gears turn in his head Hermione started screaming insults at them to ensure the ratty group of men was focused solely on her.
Two green flashes, two thumps, the man nearly on top of her got to his feet and turned only to be hit with Malfoy’s Imperio. Two left.
Malfoy let out a scream, and the sickening breaking of bones made her stomach drop. The full moon.
Grimy Grey fired off deadly curses at his fell compatriots, felling them both as they ran. In a true feat of endurance, Malfoy had managed to hold the Imperius through his transformation thus far, but just before her would-be rapist was going to finite her restraints, Hermione’s luck ran out. The man snapped back into himself and ran, leaving her behind.
In a movement nearly too fast to see, a blur gave chase to the escaping man.
Once again, Hermione tried to call for her magic, but it was no use. The witches' only hope was that the blonde had taken his wolfbane. A scream and vicious tearing rang through the night and stymied her slim hope.
Over the small ridge came a massive wolf, twice Lupin's size. The color of its beautiful fur left his identity readily apparent.
The Pureblood Scion of the Noble House of Malfoy is a werewolf.