AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This was my entry for the 2013 HP DarkArts "In The Shadow of the Soul" Fest (hp-darkarts . livejournal . com). The fest is long over and reveals are out, so I can post this for you here. This fanfic is multi-chaptered, but complete. I will post a chapter up every couple of weeks until it is finished.

Here was the prompt I worked from:

Prompt: Lycanthropy, Lycanthropic infection; Ships: Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger x Theodore Nott

Thank you to the Mods for hosting this fantastic fest! I had so much fun & was inspired for this fic. I'm glad it was on time to participate.

Please review!

DISCLAIMER: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

TIMELINE: Post-Hogwarts, A/U (2013 – Voldemort wins the war).

MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini

SUMMARY: Released from Azkaban and tossed into the Forbidden Forest for Voldemort's entertainment, Hermione Granger must escape the predators and survive for eight days to earn her freedom. She doesn't expect to make it, especially knowing Draco Malfoy, half-breed werewolf, is somewhere in the forest, too, just waiting for the next victim of The Games to arrive.

RATING: NC-17 (MA)

WARNINGS: Prisoner of war-incarceration scenario; Implied Het rape; Explicit Het sex – Werewolf mating (dub-con & consensual situations); Explicit profanity; Acromantulas and explicit description of their feeding habits; Killing and eating a Merperson (off-screen); Implied pregnancy and childbirth.

Author's Additional Notes: Thaddeus Thurkell is a character from a Chocolate Frog card whose history I took great liberties playing with for this fic. There really is a pack of wolves (born of two Werewolves who mated under a full moon) that roam the Forbidden Forest, per JKR's canon. I capitalised on that fact for this story. The Cold Moon is the actual nickname for the first full moon in December (also called the Oak Moon or the Long Nights Moon). I shamelessly borrowed the idea of a prisoner survival game from Stephen King's "The Running Man", I admit, so all kudos to him. I also shamelessly borrowed from Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland" - see if you can pinpoint where in the story. :)

COLD SIDE OF THE MOON

By: RZZMG

*.*.*.*.*.*

DAY ONE

*.*.*.*.*.*

Huddling into as small a presence as possible in the corner of her dank cell, Hermione kept quiet, remained still, and tried to stay out of the light coming in through the small window far above. The luminous fairy glow of the newly rising Cold Moon—the first full moon in December—bathed her ten-by-ten foot world in silver and shadow... and signalled the doom of one of the many prisoners kept here within the walls of what had once been the most secure, magical fortress in the world.

Azkaban, the once great bastion of the Thurkell family had been given to the British Ministry of Magic upon its landowner's death in 1692, as Thaddeus Thurkell had born no magical children, only Squibs. The Ministry had immediately turned the remote castle into a maximum-security prison, magically altering it to serve their purposes, and bringing in Dementors to be its permanent guards.

After Harry had fallen to Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts, Azkaban had become the Dark Lord's personal Keep. Riddle, apparently, liked its isolated and nigh-inaccessible location, and the man had a thing about keeping his favourite prisoners close at hand.

Footsteps approached down the corridor, and she held her breath. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears that it was painful, but still she strained to hear, trying to discern whether the footsteps would pass her door or...

The door to her cell opened, and she felt a queer recipe of both despair and relief pass through her as a familiar, inexplicable tingle slid up and down her spine, and the masculine, wraith-like whisper of 'Mine' echoed once again through her head.

She knew the identity of this visitor.

"On your feet," Theodore Nott, Azkaban's Head Gaoler, commanded. She'd recognize his body's silhouette and his voice anywhere, as he'd been one of her 'admirers' around this place. The left side of her throat, which continuously bore the bruising marks from his perverted biting habit whenever he forced himself upon her (he had a thing for imprinting his teeth into her flesh), began involuntarily throbbing. It was as if she'd developed some freakish Pavlovian myclonic twitch in reaction to his presence. Thank Godric he'd never actually drawn blood, or she'd begin to suspect him of being a Vampire or Ghoul.

Using the wall to support her shaky legs, she did as commanded and crossed to him, knowing that it was finally her turn to die, and feeling somewhat liberated at that thought. It was funny and a little ironic that freedom in Voldemort's New World Order was synonymous with a longing for death.

Before they could move into the hall, Nott reached out and tangled his fingers through her long, snarled hair, pulling her close. His body was hard and hot against hers. Using pressure, he forced her chin up so their eyes would meet. The moonlight reflected in the amber-brown of his irises, but they were as fathomless to her as the ocean pounding against the rock walls outside. His free hand pushed her long, shapeless shift she wore to her hips. Hermione whimpered, clamping her thighs together to prevent him from enjoying a final shag with her. If she was going to die, she'd at least go out with some bit of dignity intact.

To her surprise, however, rather than Nott taking something from her, he shoved something down the front of her knickers. The soft, fist-sized item was light, and made of some sort of velvety fabric. "Open it only once you're alone," he offered, "but before you're dropped into the forest. It'll make the difference between life and death."

"Why–?" she began, but he shook her once to shut her up.

"No time for your inane questions. Just heed me. It's your turn for the game. You'll be dropped off at the Forbidden Forest. If you can, make it to the spot where that oaf of a gamekeeper once had his cottage eight days from now – at dawn," he told her, his voice low so only she could hear. "Someone will be there for you. Might be me, might be someone else you don't know. Only approach them if they're wearing a red bandana around their arm. It will match the one I've put in your bag. Put it on your arm as well. It's a signal you'll each recognise. Understand?" He pulled her wrists up to check the magical bands that had constrained her since she'd first arrived in the prison years earlier. "Your contact will get the bands off your wrists, and the Dark Lord will think you're dead the minute the magic is severed. You'll be free. Go with that person, and they'll care for you, if it's not me." He tiled her chin up, forcing her to meet his intense gaze again. "Got all that? A red bandana around your arm. Eight mornings from now at dawn. Hagrid's old cottage. Repeat it."

Confused, she slowly nodded. "Hagrid's. Red. Arm. Eight. Dawn."

Theodore nodded. "Good. And for Salazar's sake, if you hear howling, don't run," he warned her. "You'll only spur on his thrill for the hunt, Granger - especially you, if you're legging it. Just stay still. Don't encourage his instincts."

She frowned, her mind spinning over his words. "Me? Why? Who?"

"Draco. He's been punished for too many failures. The Dark Lord let Fenrir bite him fifteen years ago. He's been living in the forest since, gone feral. He doesn't change back."

Hermione gaped. "He's the reason for the sacrifices. Why every full moon-"

"Someone here is taken away, yes," Nott confirmed for her. "It's one of the Dark Lord's little side games to keep the Death Eaters entertained so they won't become complacent and bored: betting on survivors." He gave her a grim look. "He mostly uses Muggle-borns and those members of your resistance that he's caught. Last month, it was Parvati Patil."

The sound of another approaching from down the hall made the both of them freeze. An "Alohamora" was called out by another familiar voice, and the hinges of the great oak door down the far end creaked as it was pushed open.

"Don't forget: Hagrid's old cottage, a red arm band, eight mornings from now. And check the pouch I gave you sometime before you're dropped off at the forest. I'm just... sorry that I can't do more," Theo stated, his tone resolved. "I'm close to being discovered as it is. This is the best I can give you for now."

"I don't understand why you'd–" she began, but Nott dropped his mouth and bit down over her throat once more, this time breaking skin and drawing blood. She screamed as he sucked on the wound. Her shift was dropped from her hips to cover her legs and to hide the gift he'd given her.

A set of boots trundled up to them, and stopped a foot or so away. "Enjoying a last taste?" Blaise Zabini asked, chuckling. She recognised his voice as well; he'd been one of the most sadistic of her tormentors. He'd never raped her, per Nott's orders, but he'd made things hell for her, by withholding food and water and yelling cruel epithets at her. When she'd first come to the prison, he'd been the one to torture her to get information out of her regarding the remaining members of the Order, who were still free then. He'd broken her bones with spells and invaded her mind with Legilimency.

In a phrase, she hated Blaise Zabini, and wouldn't mind watching him fall on a sharp, hot poker.

"I bet Granger was a sweet piece of arse. I'm almost jealous that you never let me have a taste, Nott. 'Course I wouldn't want to risk catching what that bastard Macnair gave her when you weren't looking that one time, Anti-Disease Charms or not. I hear it's some fatal Muggle pox he caught while trolling the lower levels."

Nott licked her bloody essence off his bottom lip as he pulled away. "I'd have killed you if you'd touched her without my permission."

"Like you killed Macnair?" Blaise's dark eyes danced with sadistic merriment.

Theodore refused to answer. Even she knew he'd never have admitted such a thing aloud to another Death Eater, even though everyone suspected that he'd been the one responsible for Macnair's long dive off the top of the prison's roof last year.

As she reached up to cover the wound on her neck, feeling the sting from having had her flesh punctured by Nott's sharp teeth, Hermione secretly hoped once more that the man caught the HIV infection that Macnair had passed onto her when he'd snuck into her cell that one day last year when the Head Gaoler was otherwise occupied. Nott may pretend to be her Dark Knight-Protector, but the fact was he was no different from any of the other men working for Tom Riddle; they were all of them rapists and butchers. A long, drawn-out and painful death would serve Theodore Nott right, in her opinion. Maybe he'd even pass the illness on to his fellow Death Eaters somehow and Voldemort's regime would be destroyed not by magic, but by AIDS. It would serve them all, she thought, to die in some inglorious way, ironically conquered by a Muggle disease.

Nott looked down at her once more and gave a mock sigh. "It's really too bad. She was my favourite of them. Looks like you're going to have to share the Weasley bint with the rest of us now."

Hermione gasped. Ginny was alive? In all the years she'd been a prisoner, she hadn't seen hide or hair of any of the Weasleys... but she'd heard horrible rumours about each of their demises. She'd believed them all gone, wiped out as blood traitors under Voldemort's edict. If Nott's words were true and Ginny was a prisoner here, too, then how much of what she'd heard about the others was a lie as well? Was Ron alive, or Molly and Arthur? Was Remus? Neville? Luna? Tonks? McGonagall?

Zabini growled. "Not a chance. She's my little red bird, caged away just for me in my home. I'll not share her with any of you fuckers." He gave Hermione a feral, cruel grin. "Ginevra was my reward for exceptional services rendered to our Master, you see."

Nott's next words froze Hermione's heart, and dashed the tiny bit of hope she'd managed to squirrel away within the depths of her heart over the last few minutes.

"You mean for trapping and killing the Weasel King?"

The tall, dark Slytherin's grin flashed even whiter in the dim lighting of the enclosed corridor. "Yes, for trapping and killing little Ronnikins."

To her chagrin, tears flooded Hermione's vision. In all the years she'd been a slave, she'd thought she'd hardened herself against pain, humiliation, and shame. It seemed she was still very much capable of being hurt.

With an evil snicker, Zabini stepped closer and leaned down until their noses almost touched. "I cut his head off and fed it to the crows," he whispered and pressed a mocking kiss to the corner of her lips.

Nott snarled an animal-like warning, but before he could move to pull her away from Zabini, Hermione raised her arm and slapped Blaise across the cheek as hard as she could. His head turned with the force of the blow.

Zabini's reaction was instantaneous. "Fucking bitch whore!" he roared, and raised his hand to rain down blows upon her.

Theodore caught the man's arm before it could fall, and in a quick move she'd never have anticipated her jailer capable of performing, twisted the arm behind Zabini's back and shoved his fellow Death Eater's face into the stone wall nearby. "I'd hate to rip it off. I know it's your wand arm," he warned the tall Italian.

Zabini winced as Theodore shifted his hold, and it was clear that Nott had his opponent in such a way that he could easily pop the guy's joint, maybe even break his wrist.

"Besides, our Lord is waiting, Blaise. I'm sure he'd be very displeased if you roughed Granger here up, given his plans for her. He's so looking forward to seeing if she can outwit Malfoy, and maybe even kill him, rumoured as she is to being the brightest witch of our age. If you ruin her chances, he'll most likely be very cross with both you and me... and I won't have that. So, are we good here?"

Zabini gritted his teeth and sneered as he submitted to Nott's dominant hold.

"Good to know." Theodore let the man go, stepping back to Hermione's side.

Zabini turned, rubbing his shoulder, and threw a glaring promise for retribution at his former Slytherin Housemate. He then turned on Hermione, a sadistic smirk transforming his handsome face into a mask of ugliness. "You're luckier than your red-headed friend is going to be once I get home," he promised her with venom, and turned on his heel, heading back down the corridor towards the exit. "You'd better hurry up, Nott. We've got a revel to start. It's Christmas, after all, and our Great Lord can't be kept waiting!"

"Bastard," she hissed after Zabini, not caring if it earned her punishment. What more could they do to her, really? "I hope he takes a hard tumble off the top of the roof, too."

"He just might," Theodore said, almost a bit too casually. Gently, he took her by the arm, avoiding touching her wrist shackle. "Come on. Just keep up the act a little longer, and then you'll be free."

As they marched towards Voldemort's throne room in the centre of the fortress so she could hear her formal sentencing, Hermione wondered whether Theodore's last words were meant for her or for himself.

TO BE CONTINUED...

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Please review!

Also, just a reminder that if you want to know the updates for my Works-In-Progress stories, see my profile page (top) for a schedule of how I rotate the fics around & to see what I'm currently working on. You can also subscribe to my blog (rzzmg . wordpress . com) to see my updates when they're ready, as well as info. about my status on WIPs and fest pieces.