Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11195754.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi, F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Viktor_Krum, Hermione_Granger/Cormac_McLaggen, Hermione
      Granger/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Black_Hermione_Granger, Non-Traditional_Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics
  Series:
      Part 34 of 1_Million_for_Black_Hermione
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-15 Updated: 2017-09-16 Chapters: 2/? Words: 4834
****** Of Wolves And Dragons ******
by badluckvixen13_(alteringviews)
Summary
     He should have been dead by all accounts, but the fact that he is
     alive doesn't surprise her. After all, Hermione isn't exactly the run
     of the mill werewolf either.
     It's been ten years since the end of the Krum family. What secrets
     did Viktor carry and why does Voldemort want him so badly?
***** The One *****
Chapter Summary
     He thought once that things couldn't get any worse than an alpha who
     treated him like this.
     He never considered what it would be like to have an alpha who killed
     him.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Omega.
That taboo, dark word, the burning brand of shame for any werewolf.
You don't want to be an omega, do you?
It was a question every werewolf in the world would answer with a no before
they’d even been asked. It was the thought that kept most packs together no
matter how horrible the alpha leading was. No matter how down on their luck
they felt with their alpha. No matter what no one wanted to be an omega.
No one wanted to be alone.
He knows that the term omega came from lore that no longer applied, that it
used to mean something more than alone.
If Viktor could have felt anything at that moment, he may have shuddered at the
thought. As it stood, he had only whined desperately and dropped to his knees
before his Alpha, promising to do whatever he wanted.
Because of that, he could only lie here, exhausted, now. He'd long since lost
the ability to cry. Long since lost a lot of things it seemed, including the
blood that was pooling around him.
I'm going to die,  he thought with an alarming amount of clarity and calm.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a dizzying clarity. Perhaps
when his family died? Maybe the first time Kakaroff traded him for a favor,
maybe. Death was a fuzzy concept to him these days. He's pretty sure that he'd
been dancing with death for years. The first time he'd been scared. The second
time he'd been almost welcoming and now, how many ever times later, death meant
nothing but an end.
I'll get to see Mama and Papa again,  a small voice said with a hope Viktor
didn't think he could muster any longer.
Viktor sobbed in shame. What good would that do him? What would they have to
say to their little boy, their little Vitya who had grown into this?
You left me with him,  he remembered sobbing into the dark the first time
Kakaroff had forced him to the ground. The reason had never become apparent,
maybe his parents had hated him, maybe--
“You gave him too much wolfsbane.”
No, he knew what that felt like. The last one, the last Alpha’s Pack he'd been
loaned to had given him too much wolfsbane. He'd been unconscious for four
days, wheezing and throwing up poison. Death had invited him to lunch that
time.
No.
They had just been a little too rough so near to the last ones. His body,
exhausted from late hours working three jobs and even later hours acting as his
Alpha’s get out of jail free card. No food nor sleep for several weeks due to
the alarming rate at which Kakaroff made deals with him as currency. His body
couldn't keep up anymore.
Alpha?  His heart called as the thinner one continued to pound into him,
pulling at the magic collar around his throat that kept him from shifting.
That tether to Kakaroff had been threadbare for years and growing thinner, ever
since the first time Kakaroff gave him up to pay his debts. In truth, it had
never felt steady or natural. It had always left a bad taste in his mouth
whenever he reached out or Kakaroff used their pack dynamic against him.
“He said we should get our full payment out of him. Might as well while the
body is still warm.”
He wasn't dead.
“Alpha,” he croaked, unable to grunt or cry from the pain anymore.
He doesn't feel what they do to him, but when he wakes up, he's cold and the
bodies have long since gone.
“Good boy, Viktor,” Karkaroff said, a warm touch on his head that made
something in Viktor relax and warm.
It's sick this power Karkaroff uses over him, but it's his fault.
His fault--
He should have--
You can leave Viktor,  that voice told him while he scarfed down the lunch he'd
been bought.  Just leave.
He was weak. Weak beyond instinct for the bonds of Pack no matter how they cut.
“Clean yourself up. There will be a new guest coming.”
Viktor blinked and while he heard Karkaroff’s voice, he couldn't move. He heard
the door open again, a slow gliding pace of footsteps.
“Forgive me, Lord Vold--”
“Enough of your sniveling, Karkaroff,” the voice hissed.
Something dark filled his vision and his body breathed sharply at the pain in
his skull. A hand, he realized. Someone was grabbing his hair and lifting his
head with it.
How had he forgotten the familiar feeling?
The face before him wasn't fully human, more snake-like than anything with
burning eyes that took him in with a swift and cool glance.
“This is the Krum’s heir?”
“Yes.”
The man hummed and pulled up higher to get a good look at his face. Viktor
prayed that the creature was simply here to kill him.
“You are quite the looker, are you not?”
Viktor panted, trying to fight to hold himself up and relieve the pull on his
hair, but his strength was oozing out of him, faster than he could gather it.
So he hung limp from his shaggy hair clutched in the man’s hand as his
continued to look at Viktor. Battered, blood dribbling down his chin, eyes
listless and fearful.
“Can you hear me, Viktor?” he said. “I would advise you to listen closely if
you can. I am Lord Voldemort.”
Viktor choked on a gob of blood, thick and coagulated in his chest. He knew the
name, knew the fear it inspired. His parents… hadn't they?
Fire,  he saw.  Bleeding walls, wolfsbane and fire..
That crazy bitch!
His older brother Nayden. He’d been so angry, rage rolling off his shoulder in
hot waves.
Nayden!  He heard, his own voice, too young too frightened.
Go with Igor, he will protect you,  Nayden told him.  Go Vitya. Remember what
father told you.
Viktor could not even remember his father’s voice or his face that wasn't a
twisted nightmare. Moon help him remember what the man said that was so
important to remember.
The past faded from his sight as he realized that he was being carried and
dropped onto the floor. Someone's hands pinned his shoulders down, his legs,
his hips, face down on the cold floor, too cold for him to still be dressed.
“We shall see if he is the one, Karkaroff.”
Viktor opened his eyes and lifted his head just enough to see the snake faced
man, Voldemort, coming towards him a bright wand in his hand and he stiffened.
Magic?
Magic was never good for a born werewolf. It was rare for a born wolf to have
magic, rare for magic users to be able to do anything with it as well.
Wandmakers had all but vanished, turning into myths. Given how rare magic was,
the form of the wand had changed to be more discreet. Those that carried wands
were known to be affiliated with the darker side of wizards or healers.
I'm general, magic was dangerous. It could bind him stronger than any pack
bond, stronger than anything, turn him into a  mindless puppet. And while he
wasn't exercising  his will, that too was his choice.
The bright glow turned green and he whined, a high distressed sound.
“Alpha? Alpha?”
“Shut up, Viktor,” Karkaroff hissed. “Do not disappoint me.”
He let out a whimper, feeling the pack bonds pull tight and painful on his
wolf, cutting in deep, too deep. They were going to rip him to shreds, but he
didn't care, pulling in them with his terror. Couldn’t Kakaroff feel how scared
he was?
“Alpha, please. Please, Alpha, don't. I'm scared. I'm scared, Alpha!”
He heard Karkaroff growl low and menacing before his boots walked across the
ground and his clawed hand wrapped around Viktor’s neck drawing a slow trickle
of blood.
“Move and you will regret it, Viktor.”
“Alpha, please. Please, I'm scared. I'm scared, Alpha. Please, I'll be good.
Anything, Alpha. Please!”
If perhaps the fact that he was distressed was unclear, the smell of tears was
enough to prove it. Viktor lived a hard life. Karkaroff had made sure of that.
It had been decades since Viktor shed his last tear. He'd been so docile, easy
to train and groom. They were so near to the time where Viktor would be
pronounced the only living Krum due to Nayden’s disappearance. The fortune and
treasures, the power of the Krum family would fall to him, and therefore to
Kakaroff.
It would secure him a place at Voldemort’s side forever.
Viktor himself was icing on the cake. Broad, tall, sharp mind, obedient, and
with a power near exclusive to the Krum line, he was the perfect weapon for
Voldemort. It had been Karkaroff’s task to gain possession of him, made
possible by the death of his parents and his long standing relationship with
the Krum family.
They had been so protective of Viktor, that short of death there was no chance
to take him.
He'd secured that and Viktor and now was the moment these long years had been
leading up to.
“Be a good beta and accept it Viktor.”
“Alpha, I'm scared. I'm scared, please don't. Please.”
Voldemort pressed his wand to Viktor’s back and watched the old words flourish
across his olive skin. Viktor jolted at the touch and screamed as the light
turned dark and hot, pressing Voldemort’s symbol there between his shoulder
blades.
Viktor screamed, his body thrashing and sobbing.
“Alpha! Alpha, please! It hurts!”
Karkaroff ignored him. Slowly, the light faded and whatever had been there
shielding it broke. The shield of thin light melted away to reveal a maze of
intricately woven runes. In the  center, a pale silver, winged creature was
wrapped in its wings and unmoving. Kakaroff recognized it as the Krum dragon.
He watched the dragon, move slightly as the runes began moving circling slowly
as the black tendrils slithered through the maze of the old language to reach
the dragon that lay sleeping.
This was the moment. There was no mistaking it.
Viktor was the one.
He grinned, tasting power beyond comprehension on his tongue as Viktor screamed
and the dark magic made it through the maze and began to advance on the dragon.
The dragon shifted at the encroachment and opened its eyes, glowing red and
angry. It was the stare of murder and a rage so deep that even Voldemort had to
flinch.
The dragon flung its wings out, fanning across Viktor’s back. It took in the
runes growing darker with every one it absorbed and leaving the dark tendrils.
Voldemort jerked back and the dragon flapped its wings, blowing the tendrils
away from it until they vanished. His skin was still pale with shock, but clear
of any spellwork Voldemort had been weaving.
For a moment, the dragon took them in, remembering them, warning them, before
carefully folding its wings and falling asleep once more.
Viktor’s body went still, silent and Karkaroff growled, his claws were bloody
from Viktor’s thrashing and he stood, kicking Viktor’s body. The body flopped
onto his back and there was nothing more than a wheeze of pain to show for it.
Viktor’s dark eyes stared out into eternity, his chest didn't move.
“What a waste! Decades of babysitting and putting up with you! Ungrateful,
useless--”
Voldemort considered Karkaroff and then Viktor who had not even roused at the
feeling of Karkaroff kicking him, his words, and no doubt tearing their pack
bond.
“Igor, as usual, your temper is the end of you. It is your failure for not
getting him fully aligned with you. So it will be your responsibility to deal
with this,” he said. “It is you, who will dispose of him. If he is of no use to
me, he cannot be allowed to be of use to anyone.”
He bowed his apologies and promise to rectify the situation before grabbing the
limp body by his hair. A full patch came out with a sickening rip, but Viktor
did not move. He couldn't even hear a heartbeat.
He dragged Viktor towards the dumpster  and threw him over before walking away.
His body hit the bottom with a large thud and crack, but at the least Viktor
was no longer anyone's problem. If it wasn't the wolfsbane or the injuries,
then it would be by exposure in a wharf side dumpster where no one came by.
Viktor was as good as dead. In Karkaroff’s opinion it was too good of a death
for the son of that woman.
Viktor could have been his son. The Krum name carried on proudly and tied to
Voldemort at last, but she had mated that lower class alpha. She should have
been his. The Krum fortune should have been his and by Merlin and the moon he
would at least have that.
As Viktor’s alpha, everything he owned belonged to him. He smirked feeling the
bond snap and headed back to the crappy apartment they once shared. He gathered
Viktor’s menial possessions into a box to hold. It wouldn't do to seem too
eager to get this done. He'd put out a missing beta report tomorrow, going to
the police about him not coming home and go from there. It would be simple,
easy.
A week’s wait, a week of pretending that he cared and then he could go and
collect what was rightfully his.
I told you Krasiva,  he thought smugly.  You would give me what I wanted one
way or another.
Chapter End Notes
     I might revise this chapter, but I'm not entirely sure yet.
     Thanks for reading and hanging in there with me for this crazy
     challenge. Why did I not know that 1 million words is a lot? T.T
***** Underwraps *****
Hermione heard the thud and frowned. There’s a sick wet sound at the end of it,
resounding against metal. She tilted her head and went to the window, leaving
her tools and paintbrushes by the wall. It had been a good day for some old
fashioned hard work, one of the many projects by the wharf that she liked to
work on when she wasn't trying to save the world with policy change, medicine,
and international trade.
From her vantage point, she could only see a tall man walking away from the
dumpster. The man who had dumped whatever he did walked away, clearly angry and
splattered with…
She lifted her nose to smell.
Blood.
Fresh blood  and the scent was getting stronger even as he walked away.
Quickly, she grabbed her phone, snapped a picture of him just before his face
was out of view and grabbed her shoes. She twisted the dial on her focusing
bracelet until the gem flashed gold. These days only wizards in the healing
field and those who wanted to make trouble carried around wands. The rest of
the wizarding populace had other focusing objects. It was rare for wizards to
be born to human parents, but even rarer for werewolves to have human parents.
As a wizard and a werewolf with human parents it was imperative to avoid always
wore a focusing bracelet rather than carry a wand since it was so rare for a
born wolf to have magic, let alone one born to human parents. It made it easier
to avoid suspicion with anything she did.
Thunder rolled and the scent of rain grew stronger. She had to move quickly.
Making quick work of the stairs, she listened for the man, but he was long
since out of earshot. She rounded the corner and immediately saw the trail of
of disturbed grit, probably leading back go where the man had parked his car to
dump his kill.
Kill?   She thought, snapping a picture of the trail and approaching the bin.
She hopped up and pulled herself up by the edge of the bin.
There was just a thin layer of trash grime and goo at the bottom  beside an
unconscious man. Between the dark tarp she could see blood stained sheets and
above the scent of filth she could smell wolfsbane, semen and pain. If that
wasn’t strange enough, there was also a distinct lack of pack smell and
something else there that she couldn't place. It made her stomach turn and
confused her greatly.
An omega,   she thought, her heart aching for the poor man as she snapped
another picture and pulled herself over the edge to slide down the side of the
bin.
“Alpha…” he breathed as she kneeled by his side.
Blood oozed steadily from everywhere, darkening the sheets further. His skin
was shock pale, even as he mumbled, calling for his alpha. She snapped another
picture of his face and levitated him out of the large bin as the rain began to
grow heavier around them.
“Alpha,” he breathed as she levitated him into the back of her van and climbed
in behind him.
She worked quickly, removing his blood and semen soaked clothes and wrapping
them in plastic, taking pictures of his injuries while trying to perform as
much first aid as possible. When he was at least not in danger of dying, she
wrapped him in a clean sheet and climbed into the driver’s seat and drove to
the clinic.
Hermione parked in the back, badged in and grabbed someone she recognized.
“Blaise,” she said. “I need your help.”
“Well Granger, can't say I was expecting this day to come.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at his stupidly charming and smug smile. While they
hadn't started on the best terms, they reached an understanding in their
relationship: Hermione wasn't nearly as stuck up as he thought and Blaise
wasn't nearly as arrogant as he portrayed himself to be. Blaise was a beta,
through and through, loyal to one Draco Malfoy platonically and completely
disinterested in finding a pack to belong to in the conventional sense.
“Clear a room for me and call Draco.”
His expression faltered, but he didn't hesitate to do as she said. There were
really only a few reasons to call Draco: dinner, business, or a werewolf was in
serious trouble and needed to be kept underwraps. Draco was the best werewolf
crimes investigator the World Werewolf Alliance had to offer. They had an
agreement with the clinic to do social work for abuse cases and Draco was their
main contact.
Hermione didn't know the man’s name or circumstance, but anyone who was dumped
the way he was was probably a sensitive case in need of Draco’s expertise.She
opened the van doors and levitated him onto the gurney Blaise brought out to
her. He pushed the gurney along as she closed the doors. When she arrived in
the room he'd emptied, Neville had arrived with a cart of supplies and his
nervous hands.
“Merlin, someone did a number on him.”
“Several,” she said grabbing the sexual assault kit to collect what evidence
she hadn't been able to collect earlier. “There's a large plastic bag in the
van with a stasis charm on it. Grab it and put it with this for Draco.”
Neville nodded, escaping the sight of blood and pain as she and Blaise worked
quickly to patch up the rest.
By the time Draco arrived, the man was on oxygen and struggling to breathe as
the wolfsbane antidote worked out of his system.
“Bloody hell, Granger,” Draco started, his brow furrowing in disgust. “What
happened?”
Hermione smirked, “Someone dumped him in the rubbish bin behind the new
building I bought on the wharf. I've got a semi-decent picture, but nothing
else.”
Draco sighed and took a seat, pulling out his notepad, “Start from the
beginning.”
*
In the beginning, there had just been humans and wizards. Though they did not
always get along, they respected each other's boundaries and cultures. That
understanding gave them something akin to peace.
As time went on a new race arose from within wizarding kind:werewolves. The
history books said that two brothers fought. The younger brother cursed his
elder to walk in the skin of a wolf until the end of days and cursed his
brother’s descendants to do so as well. The younger believed that he'd won, but
found quickly that in turning his brother into a wolf, he'd taken the man’s
ability to reason or see him as his brother rather than a meal.
The elder brother attacked and devoured his younger brother, effectively giving
him the ability to turn back into his human form. He could not wield magic any
longer after his transformation, but he'd regained his human reason. The elder
was tried for his crimes but found not guilty.
Though he never truly forgave himself for his brother’s death, nor the argument
they were having, he lived. Her met a woman, married and had children with her,
thinking that the curse had been broken. As his children grew, he realized that
was not the case. They could not use magic, but when they transformed under a
full moon, they retained most of their human mind. Their line was considered
the original line of werewolves for most.
Hermione knew the story that most of the world knew, but she never believed it.
 After all, there were wolves born to human parents, wolves who bore human or
magical children and people like her which confused the story entirely. It was
a nice story for the masses, but not one that would ever stand up to someone
who wanted to look a little deeper.
“What are you thinking?’ Draco asked as he came into the room.
The man had been unconscious for several days now. Only occasionally mumbling
while his body recuperated. Under the effects of wolfsbane, a born wolf could
take anywhere between a day and a weak to heal assuming that they're
administered the antidote relatively quickly. From the damage done to him, he
had been poisoned several days before Hermione had brought him to the clinic.
There was a chance that he wouldn't heal completely if he was a turned
werewolf. That chance was made even higher if he was a born wolf and depending
on his lineage it was almost certain that he would die, yet this man had yet to
show any signs of worsening as a result of the poison.
There was something else killing him.
“The man you took a photo of is Igor Kakaroff,” Draco said. “He's a Russian
native so it's taking awhile to pull a full file, but nothing in our database
has turned up a name for this one.”
The name sounded familiar and she hated the fact that it would probably become
clear at the worst time.
Russia,  she thought.  That could get tricky.
Russia stood in staunch opposition to most of the WWA. They didn’t relinquish
records and most people didn’t know much about how their werewolf registration
and pack bonding worked. Hermione was lucky in that she happened to know a man
from a Russian pack who had given her more than just a glimpse into the pack
life on the other side of the continent.
It was enough to say that she wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. She reached into
her pocket as her phone vibrated and answered.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
“A-alpha?”
She froze at his tone. It had been a long time since she'd heard him sound like
that. Too long and there were only certain things that would bring that tone
out in his voice.
Had he seen someone?
Had someone approached him?
Was he in danger?
Calm down,  Hermione urged her racing heart. “Is everything okay, babe?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm okay, I think.”
Hermione stood and turned towards the bedside table where she'd plugged up the
man’s phone as soon as Draco had managed to get everything he could from it.
Seeing that it was fully charged and actually clean, she turned it on and
headed out of the door.
“Should I come get you, sweet?”
“No! No, I'm fine. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
If she believed that, she would have never brought him into her pack, she knew
that. She told Draco to keep her posted and Neville to up the man’s
regenerative potion to compensate for the internal damage.
“Or giving him a healing ring and be sure to keep him warm.”
Neville nodded and set to work as she left the clinic and walked down the
street. They said their goodbyes about half way through her wall to his office
and she walked up the garage floors to locate his car and wait for him.
A few moments later, right at three o'clock he stepped out of the elevator. He
looked like he'd been running his hands through his hair all day, pale with
worry, and jittery.
“Hello, sweet.”
He looked at her, flinched and hung his head with a low whine. She opened her
arms as he shuffled towards her and squeezed him tightly. He towered over her
with his tall, lean frame, but the way he nuzzled her and buried his face in
her neck made him seem so much younger and so much smaller in her arms.
“I-I--Alpha, I--”
“Petru,” she began, stroking his hair. “Give me your keys.”
He handed them over and let her put him in the backseat to lay across the
seats.
She climbed into the front and drove them to their house on the outskirts of
the city. It was near enough to the forest for comfort, small and somewhat
shrouded from visitors. Hermione had placed several hundred protective wards
around the house to ensure their safety and privacy.
When they arrived, she got him out of the car and into a shower. He flushed at
the attention but melted as she took her time washing him, touching him,
soothing his nerves. She had questions, but that would wait until they were
both in the large bed they shared and Petru was relaxed. She checked the clock
and noted the date. Cormac wouldn't be back for a few more weeks by her count,
if he didn't get pulled into something else. At least she would have a chance
to coax all the details out of him.
Petru squirmed as she massaged the kinks out of his body with slow strokes
coupled with gentle kisses and nips to his neck and shoulders.
As she expected, he didn't resist, baring his neck to her, laying pliant
beneath her and letting her maneuver him as she pleased. When he was more a
pile of goo than her beta, she pulled him close.
“What happened, Petru?”
He curled up closer to her and let out a shuddering breath, “V-Viktor didn't
come to work.”
Hermione frowned hearing the haunted sound of his voice.
“He’s  never  late and he  never  takes a sick day even when he smells like
wolfsbane and on the edge of collapsing, but he hasn't been to work since
Thursday and he always works weekends because of the extra hours.”
Hermione licked her lips squeezing him tightly.
“I went to the police the day he didn't show up and he didn't answer his
phone.”
“This is the Viktor you've been telling me about?”
He nodded, “The HR department is all Russian and they have ties to his alpha,
but Viktor isn't Russian. He's Bulgarian and he's  alone  with that m-monster
and--”
She hushed him, coaxing him to breathe.
“Petru, this isn't good for you. I need you to breathe sweet.”
Petru shuddered clinging to her, but it wouldn't stop. The tears kept pouring
out of him, the words and the terror. He'd been where Viktor was. Afraid to be
alone, afraid to stand up for himself, self-destructing moment by moment and
sinking beneath his despair. He'd had alphas treat him terribly, abuse him and
use him before throwing him away at their convenience.
He'd been an omega and no matter how terrible it had been, it wasn't as bad as
the emptiness that came with serving and alpha who didn't care about you.
Getting Petru to trust her, to let his guard down, to let her love him, had
been a hard won battle-- a victory that she cherished every day.
Hermione stroked his hair, kissed him gently and spoke to him in Romanian to
console him, taking note of everything that came pouring out. The number of
reports he'd files on Viktor’s behalf, the complaints, the offers to get Viktor
out that the man just wouldn't take. By the time Petru had cried himself to
sleep, Hermione had the feeling that Viktor was more than likely dead, but that
didn't mean that he couldn't have justice.
In the morning, she dropped Petru off at work with lunch, a kiss, and an
appointment to speak to HR later that day when Draco had a free hour. The women
sneered at her as she came in with Draco for the records of Petru’s
correspondence with HR.
“Is Russian company, come back with translator.”
Hermione smiled politely, “ It’s a good thing that I speak Russian, now isn't
it?  Should I have my associate pull a full warrant or are you going to
cooperate?”
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