This was written for Dulce de Leche Go's SpookyScaryDulceween on Tumblr, and just getting around to posting here and on AO3. This is a mature story and this is only the first part. More to come soon!

Voldemort sat running his long bony fingers through the tangled curls of his pet werewolf. It wasn't a full moon, but the glowing amber eyes of his pet reflected the firelight from the hearth in ways only a monster could enjoy. She was his perfect weapon, this mudblood werewolf, and he was debating the merit of his latest plan to bring more followers to his side. The Greyback family had ignored his summons the first time around over ten years ago, back when his army was still in its infancy. Quite literally in fact.

Now, however, was the dawning of a new era. His pets were beyond loyal to him now, knowing only his hand in comfort and discipline. Accidental magic started so early in those born to muggles, after all. Besides, what muggle would want a wolf for a child when those filthy creatures hadn't even wanted him as an innocent child?

"Master," the low rumble of his pet's voice stirred him from his dark thoughts and back to the here and now. His fingers kept a steady rhythm even as he turned to regard the werewolf he kept by his side more often than not.

"Yes, Hermione?" She was one of few to keep her given name, it wasn't as common as the others he had ordered turned in the past. It was one reason she was his favorite pet, as well.

"We shall follow your orders to the grave, master. Simply allow us the honor of doing your will." The low growl of her voice made him grin. She had been one of the first turned, stolen right from under her well to do muggle parents noses as they sat having lunch in London and not minding their curious daughter well enough. She had walked right up to him as he was plotting destruction of the area and tugged at his robes. Her mud colored hair and eyes making him sneer until she reached for his wand, the red sparks of a spell escaping the end of the yew wood.

His own eyes flashing the same color, Voldemort had abandoned his plans and snatched her up in his arms, and disapparated with the child straight to an aging werewolf that owed him.

She had been turned that first full moon at only 3 years old, and had been by his side ever since. A well placed crucio could stop a fully grown werewolf after all, let alone a pup seeking to test their fangs and claws. It also helped his animagus form was that of a boa constrictor, a child was simple to train and control with the threat of being crushed to death if they displeased you.

"Very well, Hermione, lead your pack and bring me back new recruits, either willing or by force." The breathy chuckle escaping the Dark Lord's throat had Hermione preening a bit. It was so rare anyone was able to please her master in the slightest after his return to physical form. To do so was an even greater honor.

.:':. ':.:' .:':.

Hermione stalked along the outskirts of a small wizarding village, her glowing amber eyes peeking through the leaves of the bushes she had claimed as hers for the night. She was tasked with bringing Fenrir Greyback to her master, and she would not fail. The man, Greyback, had been a champion dueler in his younger years, and the Dark Lord wanted that strength on his side.

The others of her pack, all teenagers but a couple just reaching their twenty-third year like she was, were each tasked with bringing forth an offering to their master by the night following the next full moon. Hermione had claimed the strongest for herself while Dean, the closest in age, was tasked with the Order's lap dog, Lupin.

He too had been turned as a child, but had escaped the Dark Lord because of Greyback.

Dean was to play on the other man's heart, spinning a tale of all the bitten children who just wanted out. The Creevey brothers were with him, to help play up the story even more. Despite their childlike faces and quivering lips, they were two of the most bloodthirsty during the full moon. Dean however, was the best of altering things to suit his needs, even having been the one to design a mark for the pack.

Similar to the Dark Mark, this one was strictly for the wolves so they would be docile and obedient to Lord Voldemort while slathering beasts, yet still connected and able to be summoned at a moment's notice.

The skull of a wolf rested over the bite marks of each werewolf, seeing as each were bitten in the same place, with a snake curling from its mouth to around their bicep, squirming just over their skin and hissing at any that did not bare the mark of their master. When summoned or to return to their master's side, the snake would strike, acting as a permanent one way portkey.

Each wolf wore theirs with pride, but Hermione made certain hers was on display more often than not. It also served to hide the bite itself, though that awful Order knew what it meant. They had been hunting her pack for ages, though she normally made certain to be the one they fought, leaving her pack safe from being exposed.

Though just as Hermione was ready to give up this section for the night, her target swaggered out of a pub, laughing even as he wiped blood from his lip.

With a decidedly wicked smirk, Hermione crouched down further and crawled toward the brawny wizard. He smelt heavily of cheap drink and smoke, the firewhiskey lingering around him making Hermione shiver in delight. These ones always tasted the best when she tore into them.

Moving silently, her gifted wand erecting wards and barriers even as they moved further out of the village and toward the cottages further out. She didn't want any distractions, or any would be hero she would be forced to deal with either.

Right outside of his cottage, after watching him lower his wards and unlock his door, Hermione struck. Leaping upon the much larger wizard, she sent them tumbling into the entry. Crashing through the small table and whatever else he had there, the near feral female rolled off him heartbeats before his large hands would have gripped and thrown her across the room.

It was dark inside, the curtains drawn and the moonlight nearly non-existent behind the cloud cover that night. So while Fenrir was cursing and stumbling over the broken bits of his house, Hermione slid along the floor just as silently as outside, her eyes easily picking out the shattered wood and broken bits he was tripping and sliding on.

"Lumos!"

"Expelliarmus!" Just as his gruff and drink roughened voice called out the spell her own had his wand sailing through the air toward her. Before it got far, however, he was snatching it back and firing off a curse in her direction.

Hermione rolled out of the way and sent her own spell even as she kept moving, taking the moment to keep out of his direct line of fire. She may have been a werewolf and resilient against most spells, but having been the pet of the Dark Lord she knew spells could still damage her kind.

"What kind of joke is this?!" Fenrir demanded, grabbing a broken chair leg and hurling it toward where he assumed she was even as he fired off three spells in quick succession.

"I don't joke," Hermione growled, a slicing hex having caught the outside of her hip and leaving what amounted to a paper cut across her skin. While not deadly, it was still aggravating.

"Who are you?" He demanded, throwing more things and smirking at her grunt when a rather large bit of debris hit her on her off arm.

"I come bearing a message, one you will not refuse." Hermione didn't answer his question, preferring instead to cut to the chase. "My master wishes for your cooperation, though his patience wears thin the longer you refuse. You have two days to decide. After that, you'll see me again. Decide well, Greyback." Without waiting for a reply, she sent a reducto at his floor and left in the chaos as he dived out of the way, grunting at the impact of slamming what remained of his floor.

.:':. ':.:' .:':.

Two nights later found Hermione leaning against a tree just outside the wards of Fenrir's home, her glowing eyes and vicious smirk the first thing the large man noticed. Next was the single strapped top she was wearing, her mark on display and drawing his attention quickly. Turning with a sneer with the intentions of berating the chit, Fenrir noticed just how tiny she truly was. The top of her bushy head barely would skim his chest, though the lean muscles had his brow raising in disbelief.

"Surely some self proclaimed 'dark lord' knows to send a competent opponent to bring me to his side." Crossing his own arms, though his wand was being idly spun between his fingers, Fenrir honestly thought the girl before him was an insult.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione let a soft growl escaped her throat at the insult to her master.

"You truly don't know a thing, do you, Greyback?" She spat his name as though she was forced to praise Albus Dumbledore. The widening of his eyes made it worthwhile, however.

"You!" Pulling his wand, he went to throw a spell at her when she flicked her own wand, vines wrapping around his legs and flinging him to the ground. A barking laugh and she had his wand.

"Yes, me, taking down a champion duelist when I never even had a formal education. Funny, isn't it, what my master can do. He personally trained me, you know. He can train you as well, if only you come willingly." There was a coo to her voice, a false sweetness to her face.

Fenrir, however, wasn't fooled for a second and attempted wandless magic. It bounced off of Hermione and fell harmlessly to the ground, the baby flame snuffed out under her boot. As was Fenrir's confidence he was getting out of this mess.