Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable from the Harry Potter world, just my own sick sense of humor.

Chapter 1: It All Comes Crashing Down

The day was bright, the sun shining in cheerily. Hermione Jane Granger rolled over groggily, squinting against the shaft of light that had obnoxiously decided to focus on her face. A pounding head uncoiled in her mind, keeping beat with her heart, and she groaned. Sitting up, holding a hand to her temple, she closed her eyes to try and make it darker again. Bloody hell, her skull felt as if it was about to fall apart! Beside her, she could hear soft snoring. A small, shy smile lifted up the corner of her darkened lips, and she rolled over to prod the lump of a man awake. Viktor mumbled something, batting her away. Blushing, Hermioned smiled and cuddled up with him again, closing her eyes. With the sun blocked out by his massive shoulders, she had nothing to worry about... until he started to roll over, and she had to evade being squished. Sighing, she poked the Bulgarian right between the ribs. He grumbled something definitely not in English, and so she tickled him instead. This made Viktor squirm, true, but he just grunted and kept his eyes closed. "Oh, you stupid Durmstrang! Get up!"

A second later, she was suddenly being pinned by a very heavy hunk of man, who was looking at her intensely, albeit blearily. With warm flesh poking against her thigh, she blushed, but smiled again anyways. If she was going to go to hell, she might as well do it thoroughly. "Gud mohrnink," he said, his accent especially pronounced so early. Hermione giggled and was very receptive to his idea of a 'good morning', as they made love for the second time. It didn't matter that she was merely fourteen, he being seventeen. What was age in the grand scheme of things, anyway? That was her reasoning, as she felt solely with her heart, and body. She could hardly say no to such wonderful feelings.

Gasping, Hermione's eyes fluttered open in a cold sweat. Tears gathered at the edge of her eyes, before she ground the heel of her palm into them. There, there, no more crying, sweetie. Taking deep breaths, she looked over at the electric alarm clock beside her. It was three oh three in the morning. Bloody hell. Shaking her head, she laid back in bed and started to ponder her life. For the past five months, she had been in this dingy house, alone, not knowing whom she belonged to. After all, she did belong to someone. It wasn't her that bought the groceries, nor was it her that left the tapes telling her what she needed to do. Nor would she break her own wand. Really! That was just a slap in the face, on her part, for someone to even try to do that to her.

Growling to herself, now that she was back to normal, she did her daily routine of attempting to open the windows to the house, as well as the doors. Both basement, front, and back doors were locked. The windows were magicked, as she couldn't even touch them; presumably it was to stop her from busting the glass out with a heavy object. Then she set about making breakfast. The shivery feeling of being watched pervaded her everywhere she went, but what was she to do? Just waste away to nothing? No, each day she thought of new plans, carried thme out, and watched them fail. Ignoring her melancholy, she got out all the dry ingredients to make a bowl of cereal. Then she went to get the milk. There. In the fridge. It didn't belong there... Her heart skipped a beat as she suddenly remembered what day it was. It was her birthday. A small cupcake with a candle in it in the shape of an '18'.

Then she put it down, having noticed the small white card tucked into the corner of the pantry. With shaky hands, she took it gently, opened it, and read it. With her back to the cupboards, she slid down, knees to her chest. It was a picture of she and Viktor, together, holding hands. Smiles and laughter were being reenacted in the wizarding trick of moving photos. "Vik...tor..." she whispered brokenly, missing him. They had been inseparable since the Yule Ball, despite the strain of it being long distance. As the brightest witch of her age, well... she'd developed plenty of tricks for seeing him. This was not one of them. This was not a trick she wanted. Flipping the picture over, she read the looping handwriting that she was now accustomed to.

Happy birthday, my pet. My present is your Viktor. I do sincerely hope you like it. I put much effort into procuring this present, and would be very disappointed if it didn't make you happy.

Happy? He expected her... to be happy? Grinding her teeth together, she stood up, swiping everything off the counter. The bowl shattered into shards of ceramic, the cereal spilled all over the floor with a pattering like rain, and the milk spilled with the 'glug, glug, glug' of the liquid draining from the plastic container. Placing the image of she and Viktor in the middle of the counter, she looked around frantically. Was he here? Or was it just this picture of him? Glaring, she yelled, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" Obviously, someone was getting a sick kick out of having her kept there. Until she looked at Viktor again, and felt despair replace her anger. "What do you want... why me?" she whispered.

She hardly expected an answer, but nonetheless, it came. From the shadows, it came, from outside the blocked window, with the curtains behind the spell that forbade her to touch it. "You are the strongest, my pet. Just eliminating the opposition!" The voice sounded positively cheery... and familiar. Before she knew why, she had the picture gripped in her hands nad was tearing up the steps, trying to reach her room, to lock the door behind her. It was little use, but it was a great deal of comfort. The door burst open behind her, and there were heavy footfalls as the man chased her. Why even need to chase, since he had magic when she didn't?

The sharp tip of a wand pressed to her throat as she stumbled over her threshhold, falling to her knees, eyes screwed shut. She had thought the war was over. Thought everyone was gone. She was wrong. Looking up, tears in her eyes, she saw the monstrous face. Before she even knew what hit her, he was on top of her, clawing at her clothing. She was screaming, tearing at him in turn, and unable to do much when he forcefully shoved his length inside of her. She cried out in pain, her stomach turning with her disgust and fear. It was useless to fight, but she sure did try. Big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she resigned herself to the thick, fetid air being expelled onto her neck, and the dirty body thrusting above her.

"Oh, yes... little mudblood likes it, the little whore. Sing for me, my pet." Sharp nails scraped down her breast, nicking a nipple, and sing she did. That damn well hurt! A high scream of surprise and pain, and then the thrashing. It seemed like he enjoyed this more than anything and, before she knew it, he was rolling off of her, sated, and she could crawl away from him, sitting in the corner of the room. It did no good. He was still able to stand up, obscenely flaccid and ruddy in the face, and walk over and pull her up, tossing her back onto the bed. Then he ran over, excitedly, to throw the curtains open. The night was still cloudy, and near morning. Dawn was but ten minutes away, and yet... ah, yes, the clouds broke, his eyes connected with the luminous disk, and a shrill noise came from the monster's throat. Hermione screamed, closing her eyes. He couldn't possibly mean to do this to her. Yet, oh, yes, he did.

Before his mouth was too distorted to refrain from speaking, he growled out, "You're mine, now, pet. Your beautiful Krum won't want you now." Then he was on all fours, writhing, sprouting hair... The most dangerous werewolf himself had chosen her to start rebuilding his pack. Panting for breath out of her fear, she stared at the animal before her. They stood, facing each other. Then at the same second they started to move, Hermione for the door, and Fenrir for Hermione. She screamed, his bit down, and blood rained. She managed to drag them both to the stairs, before they tumbled down. Fumbling around, Hermione found a heavy vase, and smashed it over Fenrir's head. He whimpered, and she ran for the door, left open after he rushed in.

Knowing her chances were slim, she took them anyway. They had to be better than if she stayed in the house with him! As she emerged into the full moon, she groaned, touching the wound on her shoulder. It was deep, and she was bleeding profusely, but she wouldn't die of blood loss. It was shallow nad superficial, for all its ugly looks and pain. Fenrir was stumbling out, looking at her with murder in his eyes. She just ran, long and hard, away from him. Not knowing where she was, not caring, she just ran. Howling behind her made her realize he hadn't moved away from the house. She would need to go back to him, eventually. Who was left to help her with this curse? Who was left to tolerate it?

A/N: Yikes! Hope it's not too horrible. Let me know what you all think. This will most likely not exceed five chapters, unless you all give me some great feedback and some ideas on what is to come in her life.