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Trick or Treat!
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Title: I’ll Fill The Graveyards
LiveJournal username: Strawberry_kait
Prompt: Horror
Rating: M
Word Count:2,187
Summary: All of her friends were dead. He had sworn she would be his at any cost. She was stupid enough to resist.
Warnings: Violence, Main Character Deaths
Author's Note(s): Inspired by the song, The Horror of Our Love, by Ludo. As always, I want to thank my betas, mccargi and Misdemeanor1331. I really do appreciate you guys! And I’d like to especially thank the incomparable RZZMG. You are my Mr. Miyagi. I take responsibility for any/all mistakes.
Hermione wasn’t prepared to die. Not yet. Not yet.
He was coming - he was always just paces behind her. There was no escape. Utterly exhausted, all she could manage was stumbling through the woods, terrified and desperate. She’d hoped here, far from everything she knew, he’d lose track of her. She’d been wrong. He was hunting, always near. He’d said he could smell her through the pines. Hermione thought she could hear his breathing, his howling, even now.
He was coming.
Hermione wished she’d died the day Voldemort had killed Harry, then she wouldn’t have had to know how truly terrifying the world could be without hope. No one was safe anymore, not the half-bloods, or Muggle-borns; not even the pure-bloods were safe from the wrath of the Dark Lord and his minions. In the beginning, many of those who had opposed Voldemort had gathered together, intent on making a stand, but that bravado had cost them dearly. The Death Eaters ransacked homes in the dead of night, dragged their captives out of their hiding places and murdered them before killing the witnesses. Avada Kedavra was a merciful death compared to the tortures inflicted upon the resistance. Witches and wizards were decapitated, their heads then staked outside their homes, not so much as a threat to those who would oppose the Dark Lord, but because it amused them to do so.
Not even the children had been spared.
Several months on the run had turned her practically savage: stealing what she’d needed, skulking about in the dark, occasionally sleeping. What little energy she’d had was often been spent literally running for her life.
Then Hermione had become the chosen prey for a werewolf.
She wasn’t absolutely certain if it was Fenrir Greyback that hunted her, for she’d only seen him once and in his lycan form, but something in his eyes was so familiar. He’d killed the others, one by one; left her notes and mementos, the last one just now, where she’d been sleeping for the first time in days. She’d woken up from an uneasy sleep to find her wand snapped in two, discarded like kindling beside her miserable pallet, and another demented love letter, written in blood. She couldn’t bear to read them anymore. Her horrific tormentor was deranged, and he was slowly turning her mad as well.
She’d been so stupid to resist. She should have learned her lesson the morning he’d killed Ginny. He’d left long bloodied strands of her girl friend’s fine, red hair for Hermione to find that morning nearly a year ago, along with the first of his notes.
I’ll fill the graveyards until I have you.
None of them were match for him. Ron had tried, damn him, and when he’d failed, she’d wanted to die, too. The werewolf had ripped Ron into slivers of meat and bone; he’d torn his throat out and had left him to drown in his own blood. There was nothing she could have done to save him.
After that, she couldn’t stay with anyone - not Muggle or Wizard. She knew he’d slaughter them all, just to prove his desire for her.
He was going to kill her. He would love her to death and beyond, or so he’d promised her with every letter and mutilated body.
Blood surged through her weak body, urging her to move, to run, but she could hardly walk. With Voldemort in control, she was unable to use her wand for even rudimentary things, such as shelter, let alone defence. The trace would lead the Death Eaters straight to her. Using magic wasn’t something she feared would lead him to her, for her relentless pursuer was always with her. Yet now it wasn’t even an option. Although she likely wouldn’t find another wand, Hermione refused to lie down and die, so she continued through the woods as fast as she could manage.
The Burrow stayed in the forefront of her mind. She didn’t dare Apparate there, not only because the Death Eaters would follow, but mostly because he would only tear the remaining Weasleys apart. And in her current state, Hermione would most likely splinch herself if she tried anyway.
Knowing that her extended family was safe from her cursed existence offered little comfort. When their paths had last crossed, Arthur Weasley had been adamant that she return with him. She’d tearfully refused, grateful that no explanation had been necessary. Her insane suitor was everywhere, violating every sacred place that remained, wreaking carnage through Scotland and England to claim her as his own. She knew Molly would have refused to accept her decision to run, but Arthur had understood, and he’d let her go, promising to never tell his wife they’d met. She’d had to let them all go.
I can smell your softness…
The werewolf enjoyed taunting her, playing with her fears, and keeping her separate from all others. He was in complete control.
She was too exhausted to cry anymore. There was no one but him to hear her, anyway.
But Hermione wasn’t about to give up. It wasn’t in her nature. She refused to be bested by an animal. If the werewolf was going to kill her, she was determined to take him with her.
A sudden burst of energy returned to her when she heard rustling nearby. She darted through the undergrowth, rushing forward into the darkness, barely avoiding trees and roots. The forest itself seemed to be on his side, hindering her at every turn. With grim determination she ran as fast as she could. Her heart felt like it would explode through her chest. She almost wished it would; it would be a kinder death.
Nothing can stop me, love. You belong to me. I want to stuff you in my mouth, to taste your sweetness...
Ron… Ginny… Neville... Luna… her parents - almost everyone she had loved, gone but for the “tokens” of his sick affection left behind, haunting her every moment. No one could stop him, Hermione least of all. He held her life between his caressing, squeezing, poisoning claws until she bordered on madness, only to release her long enough so she could try to escape all over again. It was the chase he savoured, she understood that now, but what else could she do?
I won’t let anyone come between us.
Hermione tripped and fell into a creek bed. Her hands squished beneath her and she swallowed murky water, choking and sputtering. When she tried to raise her body up, she screamed in pain. Her wrist was certainly broken.
It would be the least of her worries shortly.
Resting on her elbows, far beyond exhaustion and on the brink of starvation, Hermione prayed to God, to Merlin, to whoever might be listening. Her prayers were for her own benefit, for no one ever answered. Saying her prayers was the closest to companionship she’d had for more than six months. She would continue to pray, even if no one was listening other than herself.
As carefully as she could, she rose up on her knees, tears clearing streaks through the grime on her face. Blood filled her mouth as she bit her lip in pain, refusing to let him hear her scream again.
For a moment she thought she’d finally succumbed to the madness, because not too far away she could see a light through the brambles. Forgetting her wrist, Hermione crawled through the underbrush on her remaining hand, relying on her elbow for balance. Soon she found the edge of the forest, which opened up to an expanse of well-kept land. There stood a mansion, mostly dark but for a few lit windows.
Without any hesitation, she scrambled to her feet and ran for salvation.
Somehow she’d managed to reach the nearest door without incident. No wards screeched upon her approach, so she assumed it must be a Muggle home. God help us all. She used what little strength remained to bang on the door, all the while whispering prayers that he wouldn’t find her here, and that no one else would die for her sake.
Strong arms grabbed her from behind and she collapsed. Unable to fight her stalker off any longer, she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped it would soon be over.
“Granger?”
Hermione’s eyes flew open at the familiar voice. She was almost willing to believe Draco Malfoy was a figment of her twisted imagination, brought on by fear and utter exhaustion, but it wouldn’t wash. He was there, staring down at her, his grey eyes nearly as wide open as his gaping mouth.
It can’t be Malfoy Manor. Where were his wards, and the Death Eaters?
Hermione couldn’t find her voice.
Draco bent to lift her beneath her knees and carried her through the door and into his home. Never in her life had she been so thankful to see a familiar face, even if it belonged to her childhood antagonist. As dreadful as Malfoy had been to her through their years together in school, he was a welcome sight. For just a moment longer she worried about his connection with the Death Eaters, or what his parents might subject her to when they found a Mudblood sullying their home, but ultimately trusting Malfoy was the lesser of two evils.
There was no other choice.
Her former classmate set her down on a plush settee in a dark parlour. With a flick of his wrist, he aimed his wand at the enormous fireplace across the room, setting it ablaze. He then reached for an afghan to cover her. The heat was slow building and she realized just how cold she had been. Assuring she was tucked in, he sat beside her, conjured up a bowl of warm water and a cloth and set to cleaning her up.
“He’s coming,” she stuttered, eyes wide and body tense.
Malfoy soothed her, promised her with reassuring words that she was safe here. How desperately she wished that were true! When he reached for her hand, she sucked in a sharp breath at the pain his touch caused. She watched him as he carefully set her arm straight and attempted to mend the broken wrist. It still hurt like the devil, but it was better afterwards.
He left her then, and she passed out for a time.
When she opened her eyes sometime later, she smelled that Malfoy had brought something to eat. Her stomach growled; she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.
Still, she wasn’t willing substitute a hot meal for vigilance. “There isn’t time for food and comfort,” she insisted. “I’m being hunted. I think it might be Greyback. I’m not sure, but… He’ll be here soon. We have to leave, right away!”
Her saviour urged her to hush and be still. “You have nothing to fear from Greyback, Granger. He’s not after you.”
“You’re wrong, Malfoy,” she countered. “He’s out there, now, waiting for me!”
“I promise you, he’s not there. Greyback’s not going to hurt you. You’re here with me and I won’t let anyone come between us.”
Alarm bells sounded in Hermione’s head and her protests immediately ceased, as his words were eerily familiar... She looked up into his shadowy angular features and felt her heart fall into the pit of her belly.
Those eyes… Merciful God.
Malfoy leaned over to nuzzle her temple and she froze. She could smell his sickening breath when he exhaled against her cheek, mixed with a sweaty, woodsy scent she’d become all too familiar with over time.
It hadn’t been Greyback hunting her. It had never been him.
“At last, you’re here. I’ve wanted you for so very long, Hermione,” Draco whispered.
Her entire body shook with horror and burning tears coursed down her cheeks as his hands glided across her body, and tangled in her knotted hair. “You’ve no idea what I’ve had to do to have you for my own. What determination you have! You’re quite tenacious, love. That’s why I chose you for my mate.”
Malfoy pressed his mouth to hers, stealing a kiss, seemingly unconcerned with her shock and aversion.
“I admit that I will miss the chase,” he said against her lips with a smirk.
She’d been wrong when she thought nothing could be worse than begging a Malfoy for help.
Draco pulled her into his embrace. “And now you’re mine, for always.”
His cruel smile gleamed in the firelight. His long, white canines were sharp and vicious, and Hermione could only think of how those teeth had ravaged and bloodied her friends, ripping their throats out.
Malfoy caught her eye and she watched as his steel-grey irises widened, turned into pools of mercury and his shockingly white-blond hair lengthened and darkened to a charcoal-grey. Fur sprouted across his face and hands as he changed before her eyes. As the bones elongated and reshaped themselves they made awful snapping noises. The hand that held her close to him lengthened and the fingers curved into vicious claws - the same claws that had murdered her loved ones.
Love, I’d never hurt you…