Fenrir x Hermione
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In the aftermath of the war, Hermione Granger found herself grappling with her disillusionment. The victory over Voldemort had come at a high cost, but what followed was not the utopia she had envisioned. Instead, once a beacon of hope, the Ministry of Magic now stood as a shattered institution rife with corruption and inefficiency.
Walking through the halls of the Ministry, Hermione couldn't shake the sense of betrayal that gnawed at her core. The same bureaucracy that had failed to heed the warnings of the impending war now fumbled in its attempts to rebuild society. Greed and self-interest pervaded every corner, casting a pall over the ideals they had fought for.
As she passed by the offices of high-ranking officials, Hermione couldn't help but overhear snippets of conversations laden with deceit and manipulation. Promises made and broken, favors exchanged in darkened corridors — it was a far cry from the principles of justice and equality she had once championed.
"I'm not saying that the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione Granger, is prude and unattractive and will likely be an old maid, but... that's what I'm saying." An Auror around Hermione's age said. Hermione froze in her tracks and hid behind a wall. Merlin's sake, all he wanted was to go back to her office to handle paperwork. Besides, she's far from an old maid! She's just 24!
"Well, her boyfriend, Ron Weasley, did break up with her for a reason." Another man said before the two men laughed.
Hermione felt anger and humiliation rise as she listened to the conversation from her concealed position behind the wall. The words cut through her like knives, each a painful reminder of the disdain and ridicule she faced from her peers within the Ministry.
She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves before cautiously peering around the corner. The two Aurors, oblivious to her presence, continued their conversation with smirks across their faces.
"She's always been too focused on her work, never knows how to loosen up and have a good time," the first Auror remarked, his tone dripping with condescension.
"Exactly! Who wants to be with someone like that?" the second Auror chimed in, his laughter echoing down the corridor.
Hermione's jaw clenched as she fought back the urge to retort. She knew her worth wasn't defined by their shallow opinions, but the sting of their words lingered nonetheless.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice cutting through their laughter like a blade as she showed herself to the two men. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I must say, I'm disappointed to see members of the Ministry engaging in such juvenile behavior."
The Aurors' laughter faltered, replaced by expressions of surprise and discomfort as they realized they had been caught in the act. They exchanged nervous glances, their earlier bravado crumbling under Hermione's unwavering stare.
"I suggest you focus on your duties instead of gossiping like schoolchildren," Hermione continued, her tone icy with disdain. "We have more important matters to attend to than spreading baseless rumors about one another."
Without waiting for a response, Hermione turned on her heel and strode down the corridor. She refused to let their petty words diminish her resolve. Hermione's heart sank as she sank into her seat, the weight of their words pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket. With trembling hands, she reached for the small mirror on her desk, dreading what she might see reflected at her. As she gazed into the glass, her breath caught in her throat.
The face that stared back at her seemed foreign, distorted by the lens of self-doubt and insecurity. Lines of exhaustion etched themselves into her features, dark circles lurking beneath her eyes like shadows. She felt a wave of revulsion wash over her, the sight of her reflection only serving to reinforce the cruel words of her colleagues.
Disgusting. Ugly. The words echoed in Hermione's mind, taunting her with their merciless truth. She tried to push them away, to summon the strength to refute their cruel assessment of her worth. But the doubts lingered, festering like a wound that refused to heal.
Tears pricked at the corners of Hermione's eyes as she struggled to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. A crushing sense of inadequacy settled over her like a shroud, suffocating any flicker of self-confidence. With a bitter twist of her lips, Hermione glanced down at her schedule, her thoughts drifting to the dreaded visit to Azkaban. It was a task she had been putting off for weeks, but the time had finally come to confront the ghosts of the past.
As she scanned the list of names, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of one in particular: Fenrir Greyback. The mere mention of his name sent a shiver of revulsion coursing through her veins, stirring memories she would much rather forget.
Fenrir Greyback—a name synonymous with fear and loathing, a man whose presence filled her with dread. From the moment they first crossed paths during the darkest days of the war, he had made it his mission to torment her with his lecherous advances, his words dripping with malice and innuendo.
The memory of his inappropriate flirtations made her skin crawl. "At least someone finds me attractive," Hermione muttered bitterly under her breath, her voice thick with sarcasm.
With a resigned sigh, Hermione squared her shoulders and tucked her schedule under her arm, steeling herself for the unpleasant task ahead. She may have despised Fenrir Greyback with every fiber of her being, but this is her duty, no matter how distasteful the journey might be.
—-
Hermione stepped through the imposing gates of Azkaban, her footsteps echoing hollowly against the cold stone walls of the prison. The air hung heavy with the stench of decay and despair, a palpable reminder of the darkness within its walls.
With each step she took, Hermione felt the weight of her apprehension grow heavier. She knew facing Fenrir Greyback would be difficult, but it was necessary. As she made her way through the labyrinthine corridors of the prison, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at her core.
Finally, she arrived at Fenrir's cell, a small, dimly lit chamber tucked away in the bowels of the prison. The sight of him sent a shiver down her spine, his eyes gleaming with a feral intensity as he lounged against the stone wall, his posture relaxed yet predatory.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the lovely Hermione Granger paying me a visit," Fenrir drawled, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "To what do I owe the pleasure, darling? Come to hear more of my charming wit and irresistible charm?"
Hermione fought to suppress a shudder at the sound of his voice, his words sending a wave of revulsion coursing through her veins. She knew better than to let his taunts get to her, but the memory of his past indiscretions lingered like a foul odor, impossible to ignore.
"I'm here to conduct your therapy session, Fenrir," Hermione replied, her tone firm and resolute. "As part of your rehabilitation program, you are required to participate in regular sessions to address your... behavioral issues."
Fenrir chuckled darkly, his gaze locking with hers in a way that made her skin crawl. "Ah, yes, my behavioral issues," he purred, a wicked grin on his face. "I love it when you talk dirty to me, Hermione. It gets my blood pumping if you catch my drift."
Hermione felt her cheeks flush with anger, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She refused to let Fenrir's crude remarks unsettle her, but the mere sound of his voice sent a wave of nausea churning in the pit of her stomach.
"Let's just get on with it, shall we?" she snapped, her patience wearing thin. "I'm here to assess your progress, not to indulge your juvenile fantasies."
Fenrir's grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Oh, Hermione, you know you love it when I push your buttons," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Admit it, darling, you can't resist the thrill of the chase."
Hermione gritted her teeth, her jaw clenched with frustration. She knew she had to maintain her composure to resist the urge to give in to his taunts. But with Fenrir's words echoing in her mind, she couldn't help but wonder if she was fighting a losing battle.
"So, any dreams for the future?" Hermione prodded as she crossed her legs, her pen tapping on her clipboard.
"Hmm. Have a family. Breed with my lovely wife; well, she still doesn't exist. But you get my point." Fenrir said, accentuating the word breed that made Hermione shiver.
Hermione stifled a shudder at Fenrir's choice of words, his tone dripping with a sickening blend of lasciviousness and malice. She forced herself to maintain a neutral expression, determined not to let him see how much his words affected her.
"Family, you say?" she replied, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her insides. "And what exactly do you envision for this... hypothetical wife of yours?"
Fenrir smirked, his eyes alight with a predatory gleam as he leaned back against the stone wall of his cell. "Oh, she'll be everything I've ever dreamed of and more," he said, his voice low and suggestive. "Strong, fierce, with a fire burning deep within her. Just like you, Hermione."
Hermione fought to suppress a shudder at the comparison, her stomach churning with revulsion. She couldn't fathom the idea of being linked in any way to the likes of Fenrir Greyback, let alone as the object of his twisted desires.
"I see," she said tersely, her fingers tightening around the pen. "And what about your role in this... idyllic family? How do you envision yourself fitting into the picture?"
Fenrir chuckled darkly, his gaze locking with hers in a way that made her skin crawl. "Oh, you know me, Hermione," he said, his voice laced with sinister undertones. "I'll be the strong, dominant alpha, leading my pack with an iron fist. And when the time comes, I'll be the one to ensure our bloodline continues for generations to come."
"And what exactly is a strong, dominant alpha like? Sexual innuendos don't count," Hermione said while crossing her arms. Fenrir laughed darkly, slinging both his arms at his seat's armrest.
"Oh, let me see," Fenrir said with a grin as he thought of a witty response. "A strong, dominant alpha," he began, his voice low and husky, "commands respect and leads with confidence and authority. They're not afraid to take charge, to make tough decisions when the time calls for it."
Hermione nodded, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest as she listened intently to his words. Despite her apprehension, she couldn't deny the undeniable magnetism of his presence, the way he seemed to exude power with every word he spoke.
"But more than that," Fenrir continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "a true alpha knows how to protect what's theirs. They're fiercely loyal to those they care about, willing to do whatever it takes to keep them safe from harm."
Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine at the intensity of his words, the underlying threat unmistakable in his tone. She knew she should be repulsed by his manipulative tactics, but a part of her couldn't help but feel a perverse fascination with the dark allure of his presence.
"Of course," Fenrir added with a wicked grin, "it doesn't hurt if they're also skilled in... other areas of expertise. But I suppose that's beside the point, isn't it, Hermione?"
Hermione's jaw clenched with frustration at his thinly veiled insinuation, her resolve hardening as she fought to maintain her composure in the face of his taunts. She refused to let him see how much his words affected her, how they stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions deep within her soul.
"Indeed," she replied coolly, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "But let's stay focused on the matter, shall we? We're here to discuss your therapy progress, not indulge in idle fantasies."
"Oh, but I want to discuss our idle fantasies, Princess." He said, his voice dripping with seduction.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat as Fenrir's words washed over her, a heady mixture of desire and revulsion coursing through her veins. She fought to maintain her composure, to push back the flood of conflicting emotions threatening to overwhelm her, but his words struck a chord deep within her soul.
The term "Princess" rolled off his tongue seductively, sending a shiver of anticipation dancing down Hermione's spine. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to entertain the fantasy, to imagine what it would be like to be treated with the reverence and adoration she had so often craved.
But the illusion shattered as quickly as it had formed, replaced by the harsh reality of Fenrir's twisted intentions. His words were nothing more than a cruel manipulation designed to exploit her vulnerabilities and undermine her sense of self-worth.
"You like that, don't you?" Fenrir purred, his voice dripping with seduction. You want to be treated like the woman you are, not as one of the boys, not as Head Auror, and certainly not as an ugly duckling."
Hermione felt her heart race at his words, a rush of heat flooding her cheeks as she struggled to suppress the desire that threatened to consume her. She knew she should be repulsed by his advances, but a part of her couldn't help but revel in the attention, in the fleeting glimpse of validation he offered.
But even as she basked in the warmth of his flattery, a voice whispered within her, reminding her of the dangers of succumbing to his charms. She knew she was playing with fire, dancing dangerously close to the flames of temptation, but she couldn't pull away.
"Why do you do this?" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breathless exhale. "Why do you insist on tormenting me like this?"
Fenrir's smirk widened, his eyes twinkling with a wicked gleam as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Because, my dear Hermione," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice, "I enjoy watching you squirm. I enjoy knowing that I hold power over you and can reduce you to nothing more than a quivering mess with a few choice words."
Hermione's breath hitched as Fenrir's touch sent a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins. His fingers, long and sinuous fingers, traced a delicate path along her jawline, leaving a fire trail in their wake. She fought to suppress a shudder, her skin prickling with the sensation of his touch.
"Fenrir, please," she whispered, her voice barely more than a pleading plea. "This... this isn't appropriate. We're here for a session, nothing more."
Fenrir chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a predatory grin as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Oh, but Hermione, darling," he murmured, his voice low and husky. Where's the fun in that? Can't we indulge in a little extracurricular activity? Just between the two of us?"
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, her mind reeling with a dizzying array of conflicting emotions. She knew she should pull away to end his advances once and for all. But a part of her couldn't deny the intoxicating allure of his touch, the way he seemed to awaken a primal hunger deep within her soul.
“We can't... we shouldn't..."
But her words trailed off into a breathless gasp as Fenrir's lips brushed against her earlobe, sending a shiver of desire racing down her spine. His touch was like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, and she found herself powerless to resist its pull.
"Shh, Hermione," Fenrir whispered, his voice dripping with seduction. "Don't fight it. You know you want this just as much as I do. Let go of everything."
Hermione's blood roared in her ears as Fenrir's lips met hers. His kiss was filled with a dark, sensual hunger that sent shivers down her spine. Her head spun as he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist as he deepened the kiss.
Hermione knew she should stop, but she could not resist the all-consuming passion that burned between them. Her body ached for him, every fiber of her crying out for his touch. As he claimed her lips once more, she knew she was lost. There was no going back, no denying the raw, animalistic desire that surged through her veins. His tongue explored her relentlessly.
"Fenrir..." she breathed into his lips, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Fenrir's eyes were blazing with an intense, fiery passion as he gazed down at her, his lips curling into a feral grin. "I'm going to devour and breed you, Hermione," he growled, his voice low and husky.
Hermione's head was still spinning from the intensity of the kiss when she felt Fenrir's fingers trace a delicate path down her jawline. She was unable to suppress a shudder of desire, her body responding instinctively to his touch. The sheer idea that someone would see her being bred by a prisoner in Azkaban's cells sent a thrill down her spine.
Fenrir's hand was snaking beneath the hem of her skirt, his fingers dancing dangerously close to her wetness. Hermione bit back a moan, her hips bucking involuntarily, desperate for more contact. Her skin was on fire, every nerve ending alive with an intense, all-consuming need. She knew she should push him away to end his advances before they spiraled out of control. But the last shreds of her sanity were fading away, consumed by the heady, intoxicating mixture of desire and lust.
"You're going to be the mother of my pups. These tits will be filled with milk to feed MY children." Fenrir growled, his voice low and husky.
Hermione shuddered, a jolt of pure pleasure coursing through her veins. His words were like a drug, the sheer filthiness of his intentions driving her wild. She had never felt such intense desire, her body aching with a dark, primal need.
"Fuck me, Fenrir," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breathless exhale. "Fill me."
His lips curled into a wolfish grin, his eyes blazing with fiery, predatory lust. With a low, feral growl, he pushed her against the cold stone wall, her back arching involuntarily as his mouth claimed hers. His touch was like a drug, addictive and intoxicating, and she was powerless to resist its pull. As his hands roamed across her skin, her body responded instinctively, her hips grinding against his, desperate for more contact.
Her hands explored the hard planes of his chest, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscular torso. Her senses were on overload, her mind reeling from the sheer intensity of their encounter. It was all she could do to cling to his shoulders as he ravaged her, his kisses hungry and demanding.
"You're mine, Hermione," Fenrir growled, his voice thick with desire. "Now and forever."
She trembled, his words echoing in her ears, sending a thrill of forbidden pleasure coursing through her veins. There was something dangerously alluring about the knowledge that he had claimed her as his own, marking her as his mate, his partner.
The raw, animalistic urges that had been consuming her intensified, her body aching for his touch. She needed him, wanted him, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She was lost, her mind and body surrendering to the dark, sensual desires of his touch.
She gasped as he tore away her underwear, the delicate fabric ripping under the force of his grip. Her heart was racing, her body taut with anticipation as his hand delved between her legs, his fingers sliding into her folds.
"You're so wet, Hermione," Fenrir rasped, his voice thick with desire. "So hot, so ready."
Hermione cried out as his fingers thrust into her, her body responding instinctively to his touch. She could feel the coil of tension inside her building, her hips rocking against his hand, desperate for release.
Her fingers were tangled in his matted hair, her head thrown back as she rode the waves of pleasure, her body responding instinctively to his touch. She could feel the coil of tension inside her building, her hips rocking against his hand, desperate for release.
Hermione's breath came in short, ragged gasps, her body quaking as he brought her to the brink of ecstasy. She clung to him, her mind and body lost in the haze of desire, her skin tingling with anticipation.
With a strangled cry, she shattered, her climax ripping through her, her body convulsing as she surrendered to the pleasure. It was all she could do to cling to his shoulders, her body trembling as he drove her higher and higher, the waves of ecstasy washing over her.
As she rode the waves of pleasure, her body throbbing with the aftershocks, Fenrir's hands were snaking around her hips, his fingers gripping her thighs. She was barely aware of him lifting her, his movements feral and predatory as he positioned her against the wall.
"I'm now going to fill your womb with my seed, Hermione," he growled.
Hermione moaned, her mind reeling from the intensity of their encounter, the raw, primal need coursing through her veins. She was his, her body aching for his touch, her mind surrendering to the dark, seductive demands of his desires. He was a predator, a wolf, and she was his prey, the object of his lust and conquest.
Hermione gasped as he slammed into her, his cock filling her, stretching her. The feeling was almost too much, her body struggling to accommodate his size, her hips rocking against his, desperate for more. He was all-consuming, his mouth claiming hers in a searing kiss, his lips hungry and demanding. Her senses were on overload, her mind spinning, her body trembling as he took her, his hips driving into hers.
Fenrir's rhythm was relentless, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her against him, his cock plunging into her again and again. She could feel the waves of pleasure building, her body tensing as she raced towards another climax.
With a strangled cry, she surrendered, her body shuddering as she came undone, her orgasm crashing over her, waves of pleasure rippling through her. Fenrir was relentless, his movements feral and animalistic, driving her higher and higher until she was lost, her mind and body consumed by the pleasure.
As Hermione lay there, panting and spent, Fenrir's lips curled into a wolfish grin, his eyes flashing with a dark, primal hunger. He was a predator, a beast, and she was his prey, the object of his lust and conquest.
He growled, his voice low and husky. "We're not yet done, Princess. We'll have the family I just mentioned to you a few minutes ago."
As his pace quickened, his hips slamming into hers, Hermione could feel the tension building, her body coiling tight as she raced towards another climax. She was spiraling out of control, her mind and body surrendering to the pleasure, lost in a sea of desire and ecstasy.
"Breed me, Fenrir," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breathless plea. "Breed me and claim me as yours."
With a low, feral growl, Fenrir obeyed, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her against him as he drove into her. Hermione cried out, her body quaking as the waves of pleasure crashed over her, her third orgasm tearing through her, her muscles contracting around his cock.
She could feel him pulsing inside her, his hips jerking as he emptied himself, his seed filling her, flooding her womb. It was all she could do to hold on, her body trembling as she surrendered to the pleasure, her mind and body consumed by the blissful release.
Fenrir's lips captured hers in a searing kiss, his eyes blazing with a fiery passion as he held her close, his arms wrapped tightly around her. She was his, his mate, his partner.
"I own you," he growled, his voice low and possessive.
And as she lay there, spent and sated, his words echoed in her ears, sending a thrill of forbidden pleasure coursing through her veins. There was something dangerously alluring about being claimed by a beast, marked by his lust and passion. As the sun sets over the horizon and nighttime takes over the skies, Fenrir's seed fills Hermione's womb; she knows that soon her body will swell with the new life inside her, her belly round and ripe.