Breaking Point (Pennmione)
June 1994
Bill Gray simmered, drinking harshly from his glass of firewhisky. The liquid poured down his throat in a way that felt like gasoline on his deadlights’ fire. It burned despite his quick healing and worked to explode his temper. A part of him wondered why he even bothered trying to drink the magical beverage when it couldn’t even get him drunk.
Looking around the large crowded hall from his little alcove in the corner, he watched the finely-dressed witches and wizards mingling and dancing to some outdated rock tunes. Conversations were loud as people tried and succeeded in speaking over each other. He grit his teeth, hoping they weren’t coming across as sharp to the people walking past where he was seated.
Hermione had abandoned him, promising that she’d be back in a moment before letting Ginny drag her over to some old classmates of hers. That had been nearly twenty minutes ago.
He huffed, letting his mind wander to their young. They would be turning five and two in the winter and it was hard to believe how fast the time went by. It seemed only yesterday that they were lying helplessly in their dam’s arms as she struggled to feed five of them at once and now his older pups were pedaling circles around them on their tricycles. Even Roman was starting to pick things up and walk around with them, babbling partially understandable phrases as he did so.
Hermione still fed him though, letting her littlest one ask to drink his fill from her with his limited vocabulary. However, he was beginning to outgrow her arms, a signal that told her she should start weaning him off of her delectable teats. And yet, she said nothing at first, instead rubbing their son’s full belly when he whined at his dam in response to her distancing.
“Mum-a,” Roman chirped happily, stumbling over to her on two unsteady feet and clutching at her witch’s robes with little furry paw-like hands, “Milk?”
Hermione momentarily winced at her son and in the split second the emotion showed on her face, the little pup caught the action, his smile turning watery and his breathing growing blubbery.
“Oh! Don’t cry, little love! Mummy’s here,” Hermione cooed placatingly, lifting the one-and-a-half year old onto her hip and taking a seat in the armchair that sat in their bedroom. Knowing the usual routine, Roman reached for the neckline of his mother’s blouse and yanked it down with his little fists, exposing her dark lacy bra to the air, “Roman!”
The infant jumped at her sudden exclamation, his eyes welling up with tears as he began crying out of his combined fear and surprise. Pennywise growled where he stood near their bed, having watched the entire scene unfold, “Now you’ve done it…” he leveled a small glare towards his mate and Hermione glared right back at him, her stubborn know-it-all attitude coming out to play.
“I’ve read that once a child begins to ask for it, it is time to stop breastfeeding them,” she stated logically, forgetting that her mate didn’t care for such opinions.
He walked towards her with a slow and steady gait, standing over her with a dark look on his face, “I thought we agreed to wait until he turned two to stop,” his tongue wet his sharpening teeth and Hermione unconsciously bit her lip in response.
“But I think we should start giving him baby food... at the same... time…” she trailed off meekly as his hands found themselves gripping the armchair’s upholstery beside her disheveled, curly-haired head.
Pennywise huffed once at her audacity before lowering his head until she had no choice but to tilt her head up. His lips trailed tantalizingly along her neck and she whined, “P-please,” rubbing her thighs together and shifting their weeping child who slowly stopped crying at his father’s closeness. Meanwhile, the clown licked a hot stripe of saliva up her neck and sucked on her earlobe for a few moments, beginning to smell his mate’s slick as it leaked from her sweet passage. He huffed onto the cooling wetness and Hermione shivered.
“Let him feed, Bitch,” Alpha’s rumbling voice ordered in her ear, just quiet enough so that Roman couldn’t accidentally learn his father’s rather heavy-handed nickname for his mother, “Or I will make you.”
He pulled her into a vision, forcing her to imagine herself tied down with her breasts fully exposed while all six of their children milled around her, itching to take sips from her like little parasites. Panicking, Hermione shook herself out of her mate’s delusion just in time to see his clawed index finger reach forward and cut straight through the center strap of her bra, “Hey, that was expensi—!”
“Quiet!” Pennywise hissed, glaring at her while his other hand calmly kneaded Roman’s little scruff. The boy seemed dazed at the gesture, glazed unseeing eyes, his little mouth open with his tongue lolling out just past his lower lip, and his arms brought up with flexing paws: a perfect feeding position. Gently, he lowered his son’s head to his mate’s right nipple and both could easily hear his gentle tugs and enveloping sucks as he fed.
Pennywise hummed, rubbing Roman’s back with a gloved hand before leaning down and inhaling his scent: peaches, and now soft, creamy milk. The latter smell intensified as a small dribble of the precious liquid escaped the pup’s little maw and trailed down his chin. In a second, the eldritch’s tongue snagged the leading droplet and followed the trail upwards to fully clean him of his little mess. He’d always been a messy eater.
“Good pup,” he praised Roman, who purred happily at his father’s approval.
Hermione looked away from the two males, instead looking pensively over to the window and the golden afternoon sun shining its rays through the glass, the light spilling onto the wood floor littered with her youngest’s toys.
“I want to enroll the kids in pre-school,” she announced to her mate, chancing a quick look back at his shimmering golden eyes.
“That means I won’t be around to watch them?” Pennywise muttered the question, making it sound like a statement rather than a question.
“Well, yes… but Roman would be here,” Hermione pouted her lip, curling her fingers in her son’s auburn tufts, “It’s only for half of the day, anyway. I could drop them off in the morning and you could get them at lunchtime, or there is an afternoon session—”
“Oh, so you don’t think I can get them ready for school? You want some other human to do our job for us?”
Hermione frowned, jostling Roman as she sat up and the boy whined at the movement, sensing the tension growing between his parents, “That’s not at all what I’m saying. I want our kids to branch out, to go into school and have already made some friends—”
Pennywise scoffed, cutting his mate off, “Friends…”
“They have to grow up sometime! They have to be their own people and find their own places in the world. This time is for self-exploration and we can’t stifle that,” Roman whimpered quietly at his mother’s raised volume, detaching from her nipple and gaping at her. Milk still dribbled down his face as he trembled with quiet hiccups, “Besides, now you and Roman can have some quality father and son time while the others are gone.”
The clown grumbled, knowing that his mate was right but also not wanting to face the fact that his first and second clutches were growing up. Things were changing so fast and he didn’t know how to deal with it.
Gently, he plucked Roman from his mate’s plush lap, holding him against his chest and patting his back to get rid of the hiccups. The boy whined at him, but eventually calmed, resting his head in the crook of his father’s neck. Pennywise purred, feeling little puffs of air against his sternum, “Nap Time, hmm?” he hummed, lulling their youngest pup off to sleep and slowly cleaning his little face with soothing swipes of his warm tongue.
Keeping his eyes on her, Pennywise stepped over to the single crib in the corner of the room. Roman blinked up at him sleepily as he lowered him onto the soft blanket, a questioning “Brr?” escaping from his slack mouth. The eldritch smiled at his youngest, re-situating him so he laid on his side and the blanket enveloped him. Lastly, he grabbed the red wolf plushie that he’d made for the pup on his first birthday and tucked it under his chin, watching with content as his son’s little arms curled around it and brought it up to his nose to scent him as he fell asleep.
Hermione watched the display, happy that his recent aggressiveness hadn’t affected his behavior with their children, but now that she knew that, she also understood that he would likely have his way with her now that she wasn’t around their young. Pennywise narrowed his amber eyes at her, lowering his head in a challenging posture after catching her thoughts.
“I think you need to go hunting again soon…” Hermione voiced quietly, shrinking back in her seat as he came back towards her with a slow walk and blank expression, “Please, you’re scaring me…”
“Good,” he rumbled at her, quickly snatching up her thighs and throwing her legs over his shoulders as his thumb found her clit underneath her tight little shorts. Hermione gasped in surprise at his quick movements, her hands fumbling for his shoulders. Pennywise purred at her acceptance, kissing her lips with unleashed teeth and tongue.
The witch whined at the little pinpricks of pain on her lips and he rumbled his dominance, basically telling her to deal with it. She jumped in his lap when a clawed finger cut a hole in her shorts just above her clit down to just before her anus. That same finger then circled her entrance, inching closer and closer to penetration. Hermione knew this game, and he wanted her to squirm and shiver in anticipation, but she couldn’t, not when he was acting so oddly brutish and, as always, distracting them with sex when something was on his mind.
So, Hermione jerked roughly when both the clown’s index and middle finger pushed forward out of nowhere, fully penetrating her channel. Pain erupted inside of the witch and a red film floated on the sides of her vision. Her skin went pale and her eyes went wide, a shrill yell belting out of her tightly open mouth, “Ahh! Stop, stop, stop!”
Hermione cried, her hands retracting from her mate’s shoulders in favor of holding herself while she twitched painfully around the two clawed fingers cutting into her inner walls. Seeing his mate’s distress, the clown slowly pulled his fingers out of her, secretly relishing in the sweet scent of her combined slick and blood. His other hand pushed down on her diaphragm, preventing her from escaping.
The blood was a beautiful scarlet red in the mid-day light and it ebbed and flowed between his slicked fingers, the clear and rouge mixing in a way that entranced him. He curiously tilted his head to the side, lapping at the blood with a contented rumble. It tasted so bittersweet on his tongue, just the way he liked it whenever he bit her a little too hard on her mating bite. His mind wandered, wondering if this was what it would have been like if he’d taken her virginity: his fingers covered in blood and slick while Hermione wept at her lost maidenhood and at the pain of losing it. Her eyes were shimmering with tears and he thought they were divinely beautiful.
Pennywise’s alien member hardened further, his tentacles pulsing in anticipation at strangling her thighs in their slick tightness. He was about to let his genitals tear their way through his clothing but Hermione stopped him with a watery yell.
“No!” she howled, her chest wracked with short sobs, “No,” she added after a moment, putting her hand up, “It hurts…”
What? Pennywise thought, only understanding that his little mate was refusing to… well… mate with him, and not knowing why.
“You cut me,” she wept into her hand, still using her other to ward off a possible attack from the clown, “Please, leave me alone…”
And he did, not touching her with the exception of curling their bodies together for sleeping. That was a few days ago. Now, Pennywise’s temper was rising, spiking whenever their children’s futures, Hermione’s delectable body, or having more children to fill the growing void in the house was mentioned.
Earlier during the previous day, Rose asked about “marrying” the five-year-old neighbor boy she’d been watching from behind their property line, not understanding that what she really meant to say was “being friends with.” However, when her father heard that word fall from her lips, he snatched her up before she could even blink and was pressing two large fingers into her nape, rendering her still in his grasp. He rumbled, an aggressive and hypnotizing purr echoing through his chest into hers, “No, no, you don’t need him, you don’t need anyone, nobody but us: Mummy, and Daddy, and your brothers and sister…” He rocked back and forth on his feet, sitting on the floor with her in his lap, “You’re too little, my little bug,” he scented his oldest’s curls, purring until she fell asleep in his tight grasp.
He made a tsk sound between his teeth, clenching his fingers around the whisky glass in his hand. The transparent material cracked a bit under the pressure and he huffed, setting it aside and standing up, looking around for her immaculate and shiny curls all dolled up for the occasion. He couldn’t see her, but he did spot Ginny and Harry standing near the headmaster’s podium.
Quickly striding over, even cutting through a few couples getting closer to dance during the next song, he tapped Harry on the shoulder, breaking him away from a conversation between he, his wife, and another one of Hermione’s male friends… Naval? Bevel? I’ve already forgotten… The boy-who-lived smiled happily at him, “Hullo, Bill! Are you enjoying the party? You still think Illvermorny is the best wizard school?” he drunkenly gestured around the Hogwarts’ Great Hall.
Bill ignored the question, immediately looking to Ginny, who looked much less inebriated, “Have you seen Hermione? She told me she’d ‘be right back’ and that was a while ago...”
Ginny frowned slightly and Bill internally winced, hoping his mate was alright, “She stepped out a little bit ago. I think being here… It’s both sad and it’s closure. I can’t believe ten years have passed already. It hit us all pretty hard and in different ways. Hermione has always been one of the strongest people I’ve ever known, but even she has moments. I’m glad she has you though, and your little ones. Do make sure to pass on our Christmas invitation, won’t you? It’s only fair considering you hosted last year!” she spoke a bit louder, noticing that he was already walking towards the door behind the professors’ banquet table.
★★★
Hermione looked towards the Great Lake, or as many called it, the Black Lake, remembering a time where a stagecoach flew through the sky, pulled by divine white pegasi, and a bold, monumental ship exploded out of the depths like Poseidon had brought it there himself. She sighed, feeling the last decade hit her all at once. Has it been ten years since the Battle? It had felt so long ago, but now that she walked the grounds and corridors of Hogwarts for the first time in nine years, she couldn’t help but feel like it had only happened yesterday.
Her breaths left her in quiet yet agitated puffs, the crowd of grown witches and wizards making her uneasy. She’d considered sending her little ones here when they turned eleven, but now she wasn’t so sure. What if there’s another war? What if they get bullied like I did? I don’t think I could take it if they heard that damn slur…
She shivered, wrapping her overcoat further around herself as the cool evening air floating in from the lake. Belatedly, the woman wondered if the giant squid was still around.
“Hermione? Hermione Granger? Wicked! It’s been such a long time…”
Hermione gasped in surprise, quickly turning around to see who was entering her little secluded outdoor alcove. Beady blue-green eyes met her own and she couldn’t help but wince at the ruggedly handsome yet arrogant features gazing down on her. The man’s locks were cut into short tawny golden curls, almost brown but still very blond. It looked wind-tousled, almost like ‘sex hair’ but with a messier edge that told her that he believed he looked good enough to not need to make the extra effort.
“Hello, Cormac,” Hermione replied curtly, “How are you?” she added before internally facepalming. Great, now he’s going to go on and on about quidditch or some asinine subject that I could care less about. Merlin, I hope he’s not as narcissistic as I remember…
“I have been well, I drifted for a while after the battle, but I ended up back here in England after a few years. Now, I’m working with my uncle in the Ministry. I’m sure I’ll be surpassing him soon…”
Hermione frowned slightly, noting the haughty attitude towards his job and immediately remembering a quote from The Great Gatsby. It had something to do with hitting one’s peak in life early and then everything after that being a disappointment. She was turning thirty-one in August, and he was a year older than her. It made her wonder if he’d really made something of himself in that time or if he’d instead trailed after famous quidditch teams, vying after those elite spots and coming home empty-handed and disappointed that his father’s and uncle’s fame and money didn’t help him make the cut.
“Oh, well that’s nice…” Hermione replied, not wanting to make things even more awkward by not filling the silence.
“So what about you, Granger? What have you done these last ten years?” Cormac sat down beside her on the bench overlooking the lake, “You were always “the brightest witch of your age,” weren’t you? I mean, even with your background, you still got into the Slug Club.”
Hermione winced at the subtle jab at her blood status and shook it off, “I also drifted for a couple of years, freelance work, helping people. Then, I worked for MACUSA for a few years after that. I got married, had six wonderful children, and now I’m working as a healer in the Salem wizarding community,” she gushed, forgetting about how Cormac was sitting next to her, nearly on her lap and his arm getting gradually closer to wrapping around her shoulders like they were a couple.
“Are you happily married? Six kids sounds like a lot of work for a mother, and working as a healer on top of it… Well, it’s a lot for a girl to handle,” Cormac wriggled his eyebrows at her suggestedly and Hermione blanched, feeling a hot spike of indignation shooting up her spine.
“Yes, I’m happily married and my husband is the one at home watching our children while I am free to do my job, and we like it that way,” the witch fumed, replying hotly.
Cormac, somehow ignorant to her rising temper, finally wrapped his closer arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his body, “Oh, come on, Granger… Hermione… Don’t you ever lie awake at night wondering what could have been between us?”
Hermione winced, remembering a night full of dodging the man beside her and regret. She’d invited him to the winter Slug Club party to annoy Ron, who she’d hadn’t yet dated but wanted to make jealous. It had been out of complete pettiness that had gotten her nowhere. Oh, how she’d looked back on that night with so many embarrassed cringes. First, she’d left him under the mistletoe before the magical plant had a chance to drag her under its spell too, and then she hid behind a curtain with Harry, revealing what she’d done and comparing him to a snargaluff plant between scarfing down dragon balls in hopes of making her breath smell so bad that Cormac would be completely turned off by her and leave her alone for preferably the rest of her life.
Apparently, after she’d given the plate of horderves to Harry after he’d found her hiding place, he’d eaten one and promptly thrown up all over Professor Snape’s shoes. At the time, Hermione would have given anything to see it happen again, and yet, here they are, eleven years later and she loathed how it made her feel as though she was reliving the past. The arsehole never really took “no” for an answer, and if it wasn’t for his stupid and brutish mannerisms and obsession with quidditch, she would have pegged him for a Slytherin.
“Sorry, but no… I tend to forget about my past… relationships when I’m with my husband,” she replied tersely, looking away towards the lake, noticing how beautiful the moon’s reflection shone on the water’s surface, interrupted by the little ripples of merpeople tails and fish. However, in the next second, a hand was gripping her chin and yanking it back, her lips meeting a pair of chapped ones and a slimy tongue that writhed against the tight seam of her mouth. She made a noise of surprise, reaching for Cormac’s chest in an attempt to shove him backwards, but he was still much stronger than her. By now, his arm had finally encircled her completely, resting heavily on her back and around one captive arm to grope an equally captive breast. With one hand free, she tried to fight the hand holding her chin that had now moved down to hold her throat.
Cormac suddenly parted from her mouth, still holding her in his bruising grip with a triumphant grin on his face, “I’ve always wanted to do that…” he chuckled, kissing her once more. Hermione struggled to breathe around his hand, knowing that the moment she opened her mouth, he’d stick his tongue down her throat. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine that the man harassing her was her mate and not one of her few regrets in life.
But then, not a moment later, someone cleared their throat, the gruff and impatient sound jarring her out of her dissociation. Cormac let up on her throat, pulling away to confront whoever dared disturb them. Hermione took in much needed air, becoming gradually more disgusted and horrified at the same time. It was one thing for her to be kissed non-consensually, but it was even worse for someone else to know about it.
However, it didn’t take her long to realize that the stranger was not a witch or a wizard, especially if they had red eyes and their hair was on fire. It was Bill Gray, no question about it, but Pennywise was trying so hard to bust his way out of the finely-crafted human persona. The red tufts of the clown were bleeding into the man’s neatly swept brown hair, but they moved and crackled with angered swipes. At the same time, his expression was completely blank and that was what scared her the most.
“May I cut in?” he snarled, the words forming around gritted teeth.
Cormac huffed, pulling Hermione up as they both stood and to her immense disdain and anger, he stood behind her, clutching at her throat and breast while using her as a human shield, “Hey man, we were just reuniting like a couple of old friends, getting back what we’d once had. Now if you could just move along—” Bill lurched forward, startling the witch and wizard as he wrapped his own hand around Cormac’s neck, the other quickly gripping the other male’s hands and squeezing until he felt bones snap under his gloves.
“I wasn’t really asking,” Bill, Pennywise, and Alpha spoke in unison, their trio of voices permeating the space around them and making Hermione’s heart weigh heavily in her chest. To know that she’d pissed all of them off made her feel even worse.
Bill grabbed McLaggen, who was now screaming about the broken bones in his hands, and threw him on the stone path leading back up to the nearby castle. She figured he’s placed some variant of a silencing charm around them so as to not attract more unwanted attention, but at this point, she didn’t spare the thought any more than a passing consideration as her mate drew closer to the cowering male who’d dared touch what belonged to him.
“Bill— Penn, please—!” she pleaded with her angered mate, her knees giving out as the shock of the entire situation finally hit her, “Don’t kill him!”
Hearing the genuine concern in her voice, the eldritch snarled louder, conjuring vines that came out of the ground, wrapping around her kneeling form so she couldn’t reach for her wand or escape him. Still, she struggled, fighting the new restraints and hating the hypnotizing and manipulative scent radiating from them, “Please, leave him alone! You’ve done enough!”
“Silence, Bitch!” Alpha snarled at her, Bill’s now wolf-like eyes narrowing at her, “Your concern for this little whelp disgusts me.”
Hermione sobbed as the eldritch punched Cormac in the face with his sharp gloved hand, immediately breaking his nose with a sharp crunch and then his right cheekbone with his other hand. Meanwhile, Cormac wheezed and yelled out, even badly biting his tongue when one of her mate’s uppercuts nailed him under the chin.
Pennywise picked up the wizard, throwing him back onto the ground hard enough to fracture some bones in his hip and shoulder. He howled in inhuman dominance, harshly stomping on Cormac’s lower left leg with a shiny, blood splattered shoe. The other male howled his own pained scream as a loud pop came from his shattered ankle.
Hermione could hardly see anything through her tears, hanging her head and dripping her tears onto her evening dress robes. What she heard made her sick and trembling with bile rising in her throat. Every punch and sound of wind leaving a broken rib cage made her stomach churn. He’s gonna kill him… and it’s my fault… Even if I don’t like Cormac, he doesn’t deserve this…
The witch bit her lip hard to hold back her pained cries, feeling the blood leak from the wounds, gathering on the edge of her lip and falling onto her bared, scraped knee in a single bloody splat, the sound reaching her mate’s painfully pricked ears and flared nose.
Before Hermione could even see Pennywise move, he was devouring her lips with a hungry growl, chasing the bloody trail on her chin back to its source. He scoped the inside of her mouth, finding the red, raw patches of skin with his shaded tongue. Not so gently, he pulled her lower lip until it lie flat against her upper chin, sucking on the bluntly-inflicted sores with his own lips and teeth.
Hermione looked down into his eyes, a tiny ring of amber around the outside showing his lingering shred of composure, and she keened, trying to push him away with her bound hands. He must have caught her thoughts because he did pull away from her, but only to draw her up in his arms and over his shoulder like a caveman.
She gasped, drawing her wand before either of his hands could take it from her and obliviating the now unconscious man lying on the ground. Just after she cast the spell, he jerked the vine wand out of her grasp, leaving a dull burn along her inner palm as he vanished it somewhere else, likely their home.
“Mine,” he grunted shortly in all three of his tones, walking back up to the castle with determined steps, “We’re going home.”
Hermione swallowed the lingering blood and shared spit in her mouth but didn’t struggle. Hopefully no one else would notice their escape, or the correlation with Cormac’s injuries—
Pennywise slapped her arse with the flat of his palm and fingers, another deep rumble making her lower body vibrate with his chest. She cried out, flailing once in surprise before she was immediately slapped again for moving, “Cease those thoughts, Bitch,” Alpha warned, tilting his head to gnaw promisingly on her supple thigh where her dress had ridden up.
The witch whimpered, trying to get her mind somewhere comfortable so as not to further anger her mate. Memories of their little ones flooded her mind and she focused on a few of her favorites. The day after Hugo started walking by himself, he was like a little duckling, following her around all day until he inevitably crashed for his nap times. Another time, she was dancing while folding laundry and the older witch turned around at the sound of creaking floorboards, only to see Rose copying her moves with an unbelievably joyful smile on her little face.
Her mate’s growls quieted to a dark purr, his hand passively patting her flank as though she were a prized pet rather than a mate and wife, “Better… but just wait,” he acquiesced, licking at the fresh scratches he made, “Bad mates get punished.” The front gate was close now, and it was just a quick apparation to the British Ministry, an international floo to MACUSA, and then another apparation to their own front gates. However, she couldn’t imagine the even darker mood her mate would be in by the time they got through customs, as short as it was compared to the muggle and no-maj variant of it.
Something stung on the side of her pelvis and crotch and she quickly noticed the tattered strips of lace Bill balled up with an angry grunt and shoved in his suit pocket, “Bad mates don’t deserve panties either.”
★★★
The warm light of an early summer’s day was fading from the sky, stretching the shadows of trees into decrepit skeleton fingers. Hermione shivered, feeling the chilly evening air flowing through her longer robes and under her shorter dress. She tried to adjust her position, feeling sore on her abdomen and back for being held on her mate’s shoulder for what felt like hours but all she got in response was a growl and a slap to the arse or thigh depending on how high he raised his hand each time. Their front gate, displaying an elegant G monogram, slowly swung open with a low groan, and Bill quickly walked them inside before locking the gate behind them.
Suddenly, Hermione was on the ground gasping for air, the wind knocked out of her, but her enraged mate tugged her face up with a fist full of her hair. The witch cried out at the pain, feeling a few thin strands come loose and part from her scalp. Her shaking hands came up to soothe the pained areas but a dark ungloved hand slapped them away, making her cry even more at the sting. Still, she looked up at him, hating the way he gripped the stolen strands of hair in his other hand, raised it to his nose, and inhaled obscenely with his nostrils flared.
“Run,” he purred darkly and Hermione sobbed once, but got to her feet as fast as she could and ran in the direction of the house. Meanwhile, the eldritch teleported inside their abode and checked on each of their little ones, including the twenty-one-year-old Henry Bowers that they got to babysit while they were gone. Just as he suspected, they were all in their rooms fast asleep minus Henry, who was easily coerced into his bed and rendered unconscious in a matter of moments. He didn’t need anyone seeing what he was about to do.
So, we went into their bedroom and sat in Hermione’s chair, twiddling her precious wand between two pairs of fingers, each threatening to snap the twig-like object in half. Pennywise chuckled to himself, knowing that such an action would be nearly unforgivable. It also smelled like her, her soft little hands specifically. Always covered in ink and floral soaps, and beneath it all, the sweet scent of her blood. There was no doubt about it. She’d bled on this wand. He wanted to taste it.
Even he could tell he was reverting, regressing. It wasn’t long now until his possessive bloodlust consumed him fully, and since she brought it out of him in the first place, it was her responsibility to sate it.
Rapid creaks on the stairs and ragged panting signaled Hermione’s arrival into their bedroom, and she looked ready to pass out. Her eyes were nearly unfocused, made dull with her pain. Her hair was a humid-puffed rat’s nest, her clothes were torn in many spots, and her face was littered with small cuts, telling him that she’d ran through some underbrush. Trying to take shortcuts, little mouse? Sweat coated her skin, making it shimmer in the dim light of their room. Her own natural smell was magnified and he could feel himself begin to harden under his trousers. He wanted to chase her dry, lolling tongue and wet it with his own saliva.
Instead, he sat back, knowing she wouldn’t dare defy him now, “Strip.”
Hermione winced, gritting her teeth and still breathing heavily as her shaky hands moved to obey his command. She shrugged off her heavier evening robes, the fabric falling to the floor with a loud fwump. The eldritch looked his little mate up and down, taking in the sight of the knee-length light pink dress accentuating her curves. If her face wasn’t beet red already, she would have turned to that color with the amount of time he was taking to look at her.
Bill huffed arousedly, shutting and locking the door with a flick of the wrist and fingers. Meanwhile, his groin tentacles awakened, undoing the button and zipper on his pants before wriggling free. They excitedly lapped at the air, seeking to latch onto something but only finding his half-hard dick. He let them tangle around his genitals, leaving little suckling kisses and wet swipes of their backsides. A low purr left his closed mouth when they curled tighter and began to jerk him off.
Hermione gaped at him, the tiny eldritch part of herself feeling offended that he sought his own pleasure when she was right in front of him but also knowing that he’d make her regret having to masturbate while she stood there taking her clothes off. Huffing silently, she pulled her dress off, standing there in nothing but her bra, thigh-high tights, and garter belt. It had been so embarrassing to go the whole way home without underwear, but now, it might actually give her some assistance in keeping herself further intact. She was already starting to bruise in a few places.
Hoping for the best, Hermione kneeled down on the floor and crawled to where he was sitting. He rumbled happily in response, beckoning her forward with a crook of his finger and an eerily pleased smirk. She gulped as she got closer and closer to his groin, his hand moving up out of her field of vision, only to snap down like a Venus fly trap and grab her hair once more as though she was a cheap whore.
The eldritch pulled her in, resting her face on his human form’s pubic bone and letting her feel and watch him work himself to completion. Her eyes became clouded as she took in his potent scent, barely feeling the tentacles exploring her face and twitching neck. Shh… He crooned in her mind, letting his tiny appendages rub her skin while he moved her so she was at eye-level with his cock.
With a small tug of her disheveled curls, Hermione obediently opened her mouth and guided the head of his cock inside with her tongue. She sucked once before gradually working him in inch by inch. Meanwhile, his tentacles wandered, slipping beneath her padded bra and tugging on her breasts in the same way their children had. Milk steadily flowed from her nipples, soaking into the lacy fabric and leaving it wet and cooling against her skin. The sensation made her shiver and choke on her mate’s length.
He rumbled at her slip-up, using it to his advantage as he began shallowly thrusting into her hot mouth. Hermione whined, breathing heavily through her nose and grasping at his legs with clenching hands. She was practically halfway onto the chair now, his hands holding her curly-haired head to his groin while her breasts laid heavy and held against the seat by her upper body weight.
Pennywise rumbled happily, cutting the back of his mate’s chest covering only to hold the offending piece of fabric to his nose and inhale her fertile milky scent. Regretfully, he coerced her off of his member, letting his tentacles take its place in her vacant mouth. They oozed down her throat, leaking a sweet berry-flavored liquid that Hermione knew to be his version of her milk. It was an aphrodisiac, but it wasn’t his seed. Otherwise, it would have tasted salty. At the same time, the two fluids would have made a tasty combination.
“You like my smell… my taste… mine… my bad little mate… naughty, naughty, naughty…” he moaned his abrupt climax, using one of his thinner tentacles to jerk off and aim his cock to spurt his inky seed all over the witch’s face, “You made me waste my seed…” he grumbled irritatedly at her, rubbing the head of his leaking member through the dark liquid on her skin and switching places with his tentacles just as before.
Hermione choked once more on the long and thick organ, tasting the dark and salty semen mixing with the berry taste of his slick. Both filled her belly slowly, making her feel bloated and full. Meanwhile, the lingering tentacles prodded her messy face, probing her remaining orifices and spreading her mate’s seed around until her entire face felt wet with the combined liquid and her tears. A few of the little tentacles curled along the shells of her ears and tickled her nose but never penetrated them as they clearly wanted to.
Something wet fell into her hair and she whined, trying to look up at her mate’s face. From what little she could see, he had a faraway look in his red eyes and his tongue was lolling out of his open mouth, dripping drool in a steady stream as he watched his cock go in and out of her mouth. She was surprised that his knot hadn’t made an appearance, but she wasn’t complaining, scared that he would knot her mouth and cut off her air supply.
As though hearing her thoughts, he yanked her off of his hard member, turned her around so her arse was facing him, and pulled her up so his length laid tightly between her cheeks and her back was flush to his front.
Hermione wheezed, feeling heavy in her stomach and sore in her mouth, “Penn… What are you doing?”
The eldritch slapped her thigh hard, the sound ringing out in the room around them as he wrapped his arms around her like boa constrictors. Her arms were trapped and she could only kick her stocking-clad legs indignantly, which he immediately punished by biting harshly into her neck and pushing his wet cock into her seldomly-violated arsehole.
Hermione screamed at both intrusions, feeling the stinging heat of blood leaking from the wounds. She fought his grip and he snarled at her resistance, clamping down harder with his teeth and sharply bucking up into her tertiary heat. The witch sobbed, trying to keep silent and hoping he realized that he pushed into the wrong hole by mistake. However, it seemed he wasn’t picky, as he started painfully bouncing her on his cock either way.
It felt like riding a bull, but instead of flying off when she couldn’t hang on anymore, the bull kept her shackled to it, forcing her nethers to push repeatedly into the hard saddle. She could feel his purring chest as he licked slow, warm swipes up her neck, spreading his saliva around so the only thing he could smell was himself.
It was rather fortunate for her that the eldritch species used up everything they ate and thus never expelled their waste with the exception of vomiting, otherwise she was sure he would piss on her as well. At this moment, she hated him for that.
“Am I not your mate, your equal? I didn’t want Cormac to touch me, to speak to me… If you would just let me explain—” he pressed a dark hand to her mouth to keep her silent, massaging her puckered entrance with his growing knot.
Hermione saw her tears run down his dark clawed hand and his dark tongue quickly came to lap up the trails with a swift lick.
“Mine… Mine… Mine…” his abs contracted and his pelvis jutted up, thrusting the warm and heavy ball of his knot into her thoroughly-stretched arsehole.
The witch shook at the intense pain, but luckily he went easier on her, making smaller and shallower thrusts to not push his knot back out of her as he began emptying his heavy sacs into her lower intestines. It burned, both the stretch and the temperature of the hot liquid itself.
His fingers plucked at her pointy nipples, pebbled in the cool air of the room and her odd arousal considering the torture her mate was now putting her through. He chittered and cooed eagerly in her ear, rubbing her heavy belly before dipping down to pinch her clit. Hermione yelped behind the eldritch’s hand, reaching her now free hand down to coerce his other hand to move elsewhere. Instead, the probing digits moved down to thrust in and out of her channel before tracing the beet red area where they were connected.
“Naughty, naughty…” Alpha echoed Pennywise’s previous utterance, conjuring something in his hand and lowering his other so he could wrap the object around his mate’s throat.
Hermione winced, feeling the leather and coolness of metal on her sternum. She hoped the collar wasn’t too degrading by having some lewd phrase on it. Alpha liked it of course, giving her little licks around the collar and under her chin where he often nuzzled her. The witch reached around him to scratch around Bill’s ears, which made the wolf man purr louder under his human skin.
Bill turned her head with his hand on her chin and attacked her lips with his thankfully blunt teeth and tongue, spreading his copious saliva around her lips and inside her mouth. He stood up abruptly with her hands fumbling to cling to the back of his neck while she still faced forward. Her legs bounced at the motion, hanging awkwardly in front of them while she hung off of his knotted cock which barely hung out of his pants. By all accounts, he was still fully dressed while she only had her thighs covered in sheer stockings and a belt to hold them up. They hadn’t gotten in his way thus far, so he felt no urge to remove them until now, not with what he was about to do to rid her of the lingering scent of that whelp.
The eldritch wrapped one hand around her upper body just underneath her pathetically leaking breasts to hold her up. He paid them no mind when his suit coat became damp. Instead, he reached his opposite hand down to tickle her pitifully swollen clit, feeling her twitch and writhe under his dual attentions at her nethers. With an added, exaggerated slow walk, he had her positively leaking by the time they reached their bathroom. Each step bounced her on his knot, forcing her unfortunate hole to eagerly clench around him.
Hermione had fallen quiet, feeling his feral smirk against her neck. The sharpened pin-prick teeth scratched along her pale column, leaving little white lines that stood out sharply against the red blooded flush underneath her skin. Her eyes felt heavy and she wanted to sleep, but she knew he would punish her further if she did.
He kissed her pulse, deceptively gentle as his hand came up to hold her head up with his thumb and pinkie pushing on her tonsils. Then, he popped his smaller knot out of her arse and lowered her into their large bathtub, her knees and ankles resting uncomfortably on the bare acrylic. His spend leaked out of her slowly and he watched it do so with a sense of betrayal.
Shrugging his shirt and vest off, Bill let himself distort further into Pennywise, reaching for his abdominal fissure and yanking on the silky strands within, coaxing them out with practiced ease.
Hermione had turned her head to watch him, feeling dread slowly enter her thoughts. He knew she wouldn’t sit still, hence the restraints, so whatever it was he had planned, she knew she wouldn’t like it. Her heart clenched and she tried to make herself as small as possible, knowing how inevitable the outcome would be. She didn’t even struggle when he tied her lower legs to her thighs and her wrists to her shoulders.
Now tied up and laying on her back in the tub, her mate climbed in after her, jerking his cock with a crazed look in his eye. His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving despite the fact that he didn’t necessarily need to breathe. He toed off his pants, socks and underwear, throwing them into the corner of the room hard enough for his belt buckle to crack a wall tile.
Crawling over her, he crooned lowly, an eager trill leaving his mouth as he rubbed himself on her torso, humping erratically and gasping when the head of his deep red and purple member caught her belly button. Pennywise held her ribcage between his hands, using them for leverage as his hips continued to thrust. Ducking his head, he began to moan his new favorite word and Hermione could only watch him work himself to completion.
To her surprise, he grew two more cocks, one of which was clearly human, and the other was much more tapered with an even larger knot at the base. All three bobbed and rubbed along her sweaty skin in unison, leaking their own pre in varying amounts.
“Mine, mine, mine, mine, Mine, MINE!” he snarled in those same three tones, pushing into her skin harshly and clutching her ribs a bit too tightly.
This time, her mate’s seed came in many long spurts, each cock splattering onto her skin and quickly cooling and Hermione didn’t even get time to be disgusted by it before the eldritch’s hands and tentacles were on her, rubbing his spend into her skin as fast as he could. He was bathing her in his scent most importantly, albeit wetting her down with his semen to do it. She knew she’d beg for a shower as soon as he calmed down, but she knew now was not the time, especially when she was still tied up.
Having her skin be sticky and smell like sex was one thing, but when his wet hands began carding through her hair, Hermione whined, trying to escape her restraints. However, Pennywise was having none of it, so he slapped her thigh until she stopped resisting. His teeth were grit and his lip was pulled back in a silent snarl while regarding her. Red eyes roved her body, regarding her messy hair and darker skin with lustful red eyes. He sniffed the air with a sense of superiority. The taint of that human whelp was gone and only his scent remained, covering his mate’s alluring scent.
Pennywise rumbled triumphantly, humping once at her belly before propping himself up on his knees and sitting pointedly on her snatch, the place he’d saved for last. But first, he wanted an appetizer.
Nipping minutely at her neck, he trailed his mouth down to pull a painfully pebbled nipple into his mouth. The eldritch suckled eagerly, wetting his palette with his mate’s flavor once more. Her milk was soured a bit by the pain she’d been in but he didn’t mind, liking the variety of an extra kick. He allowed his body to transform, holding himself above her as orange fur engulfed his entire body.
Hermione gasped, looking at his familiar yet different triangular years, newly white paws and smooth tail curling around her leg. He was a cat, and if alpha was anything to go by, she’d be in for a new way of mating.
When she was twelve and had just gotten Crookshanks, she bought a book all about cats, and despite her young age, she’d accidentally read the section about breeding cats and proceeded to blush and never read those pages again. The witch still remembered almost everything she’d read in that moment, and hoped that her mate wasn’t going to do what she thought he would.
Female cats don’t ovulate naturally during their heat, or estrus. They have to be coerced by males. Hermione’s eldritch self wasn’t currently in heat, and as when she’d conceived Roman, she’d been coerced into her heat by thinking her mate didn’t want her anymore. She knew what he was trying to do.
Hermione renewed her struggle, feeling a few of the strands snap. A flicker of hope shot through her and she breathed giddily, only for a sharp set of teeth to clamp down on her bite. She yowled, actually yowled, and the sound only seemed to spur her mate’s newly-discovered form onward.
He purred louder, kneading her chest and upper abdomen with his soft paws, “So fiesty, my Queen…” the eldritch cooed in a voice like silk, softer and more deceptive than even Bill, the more tame of the three personas she’d met thus far, “I can’t wait to breed you…”
“No! You can’t!” Hermione yowled again when he simply bit her once more, “You promised!”
“Every time you stray from us, you must be reminded of who you belong to… a litter will keep you close…” the orange cat humanoid purred, digging his claws into her chest, “And I shall prepare you…”
Hermione shuddered feeling an achingly familiar feeling erupting in four spots on her chest. She groaned as four little bumps rose from her skin, growing large and darker with each second until she was back to having six swollen breasts, something she thought would happen many centuries down the line rather than less than two years later.
“Not again…” she whined, feeling the liquid slosh around inside her nubs, “Please,” the witch begged to this new persona, “Don’t impregnate me again...”
“Ram, my soft little Queen…” he purred happily, completely ignoring her in favor of licking her hair with his barbed tongue and pushing his genitals further into hers, “We’ll make such cute kittens together…”
A small, irrational part of herself wanted another cat to fill the void Crookshanks left behind when he unfortunately passed before the birth of her eldest children, and her mate must have caught onto that desire and manifested himself before her in this new form. Ram was an outdated term for a male cat, but it made sense.
Looking up at the similar features, she noticed that Ram was very much a cross between Pennywise and Alpha, the orange and white fur in a calico pattern while Pennywise’s makeup was in the same place but now a dark brown instead of red. His eyes, however, were the same: a lustful red but likely to turn amber once his urges were sated.
He flicked his tail proudly behind her, puffing his chest up under her gaze. It seemed as though he approved of her staring. However, the moment was gone when he pointedly looked down and drew her attention to the obscenely red tapered nub beginning to poke out of his furry sheath. Hermione whimpered fearfully and tried to wiggle away.
This time, instead of slapping her, he cut her loose from her silk bindings, flipped her over onto her hands and knees, bent over her back, and sunk his teeth back into her mating bite in the span of a few seconds. Hermione screamed in both disorientation and pain as the wound on her neck was further exacerbated by Ram’s fangs.
The cat rumbled eagerly, flicking his tail back and forth as his gradually humping pelvis looked for her opening. While it would hurt, his barbed cock would kickstart his little witch’s heat and ovulation, leaving her open for breedings from each of his selves. It would be something to have a kitten and a pup in the same litter, but between Alpha and Ram, they could do it.
Hermione cried quietly hating how much this situation had escalated within the last few hours. It would have all been resolved had he listened to her, let her talk to him about what was going on, but no. As always, her mate’s eldritch characteristics and behavior were going to get her pregnant for the third time in five years. She hoped for another Roman, a single child despite the many times Pennywise, Bill, and Alpha tried to give her more.
Ram huffed, grunting his impending climax as he quickly inserted his sharply barbed cock into her sensitive channel and spilled himself inside her womb with a low hiss. Quickly, he leaned down and lapped soothingly at her skin with his rough tongue, rubbing his fuzzy head on her skin to scent it as his own.
“Your eggs will drop soon, my Queen… in a few days,” he purred eagerly, kneading the skin of her distending belly while he filled her up with seed, “and then there is only one day to breed you before it’s too late…” he added before stopping short, hugging her back to his front in a very possessive gesture, “You won’t run, will you?”
Hermione winced, already thinking along those lines, “No, no of course not…”
Ram purred at her words, even if they both knew it was a lie, “I’m happy,” he laughed, a bit of Pennywise coming out in his voice, “Even if they’re mad at you… I’m happy.”
Hermione winced, feeling pain all over as he let her slump to the bottom of the bathtub, facedown in the mixed blood, slick, and seed from their messy excursion. She fell asleep despite all of this but was jerked out of her exhaustion by the feeling of her channel being ripped open. A surprised scream left her shocked mouth and she tried to get up, only to be held down by Ram’s body weight.
“Shh…” he purred into her skin, rubbing his cheek between her shoulder blades, “I apologize for waking you from your slumber, but my cock was receding and the barbs were bound to be more painful if I’d taken it slow… Forgive me?”
When she didn’t respond, he pouted, turning her over and crawling down her body to tongue pitifully at her bloody opening. The warm red liquid felt heavenly on his tongue, and he used a bit of his counterpart’s saliva to heal the cuts he’d most recently made. The roughness of his organs made the healing a bit more rough, but after a few moments of her mate’s newest form poking around her channel, she felt much better.
“Though it pains me…” Ram lamented, his eyes sad yet still hungry, “I like to make you bleed for me. I crave it above all other human blood, and soon you’ll be like us, and your blood will lose that sense of fleeting vitality,” Hermione watched him slowly, wondering if Ram always sounded so intelligent, or if Bill was speaking through him as he often did with Pennywise.
Ram flipped her back over onto her belly, digging into the plush skin of her arse with a sharp claw, quickly cutting a zig-zag shape, three connected lines, another zig-zag, and four connected lines. Meanwhile, Hermione grit her teeth and sobbed, knowing the possessive gesture would last much longer if she made him mess up his carving.
And as she felt him finish defiling her flesh and licking up the resulting trails of blood, she knew what he’d written in his abject bloodlust, equal parts of which, she might add. It wasn’t a name of any of the four personas that had made claim to her since that fateful summer in 1989, it was much simpler than that, a reminder of what she represented to them and so much more in a single word. Simply, Mine.