0600 hours, am abandoned barn house someplace in the country northwest of London. M for scenes of violence and mature language.


Jebediah Layton wiped the sweat off his brow, breathing in deeply as a cool breeze passed through the many entryways of the barn house. It carried not unpleasant scents of morning dew, wet earth, rotting wood. The sleeves of his checkered working shirt were rolled up to his elbows to expose a series of scars and old bite marks showing up against fine blonde hairs.

The wizard held an iron rod in one hand, its tip glowing red with fresh heat, though his attention was elsewhere - staring out across the green landscape from the main doors of the farm structure. It was a beautiful day. Sunny with a bit of cloud.

He smiled to himself, turning away from this view towards the interior.

Here the air reeked of sweat, ash, the faint perfume left behind by his employer. She'd not stayed on to watch but had enjoyed the sight: shackled[1] on her knees against a steel post that extended to the roof, Hannah Bombay was in a changed state from that of the night before[2].

Layton wedged the rod into the old-fashioned castiron stove next to her, its coals burning angrily and sending waves of heat into the cool space. The werewolf was slowly coming around from the sleeping charm.

"Alive, Bombay?" he crossed the muddy floor to fussily pick out an iron brand in the letter A out of a selection hanging from rusty nails along the wall. "We've a wait until the fire's hot enough."

In his hands, the brand was heavy and felt almost elegant. He ran his fingers across the hilt to test his grip before glancing over his shoulder at Hannah. Layton had undressed her down to her underclothes after they'd transported her out here, for Ira to consider where best to brand the bitch. They'd decided on some place not too visible.

He eyed the ripe skin below the dip of her left collarbone, where the flesh gave way to the swell of her breast and the border of a black brassiere. It was a practical, unfeeling observation.

1.	Silver chains, of course.
2.	Do I Not Bleed? - Feb 17th

"Misbehaving mongrels need to be taught a lesson," Almasy told Hannah, her voice patronising and cruel. "I think I'll brand you."

The voice span in Hannah’s head as she started to surface into consciousness.
The first thing she noticed was the pain.
Pain in her wrists, ankles.
The angry burning sensation she’d become too aware was silver against her skin.

This thought suddenly brought her to full consciousness and her eyes sprang open. She pulled hopelessly against the restraint which only caused further burning making her wince in pain. Beads of sweat began to glisten atop her forehead as long, thick messy hair fell down over her shoulders and face.

Every sense was suddenly awake and alert as the witch quickly processed her surroundings and situation, her breathing speeding in panic. She was undressed, exposed to the barn in her underwear. She was on her knees on the filthy barn floor, her wrists and ankles shackled to the cold post behind her.

"Alive, Bombay?" Only now in her panic did she clap wide eyes on the other person in the room. He was taking something from the wall, telling her they would wait for the fire.

It all came flooding back to her.


Hannah’s world began to spin as panic set in and she struggled against the restraints. Nothing happened. She had to think smart. Had to get out of there.

“Is this all she can think to do, Layton?” The witch practically spat, allowing the hatred to fuel her. “The crazy bitch thinks that having her pathetic lackey stick her mark on me will make me obey her?”

He ignored her to begin with, avoiding the space in front of which Bombay was shackled on his return to the stove. Layton stuck the iron brand into the coals and left it to heat before he dragged his attention back to the witch - she was beyond furious. Didn't have to be a Leglimens to feel that.

In earlier years with Ira it might have irritated him to hear of his mistress being spoken of in so abusive a tone but he had long become used to the fact that nobody else appreciated her theatricality.

"Where's the fun in you obeying her?" Layton remarked, stopping just in front and out of reach of their prisoner with his hands behind his back. "We would never share instances like this, you and I, if it were all meekness."

His gaze narrowed and he leaned forward slightly to consider Hannah's countenance - tonight was the night of a full moon; there would be signs on her kind. Heightened irritability and, in some cases, strength.  He hoped he could some day kill Bombay. Layton preferred to do it directly before or after transformation.

But there were orders. "You won't whine, will you?" his mouth pressed into what might have been, by stretching your imagination, interpreted as a smile. "As you say - it's just sticking on a mark. Even livestock know better."

The horror that it was all a game to Almasy and Layton had dawned on Hannah months ago. She was a pawn in a much larger game and today (or was it yesterday?) she’d caused an inconvenience. Hoping to permanently disfigure and blind Almasy, she’d failed and had, as the bitch had said, needed to be taught a lesson. Layton was evidently eager to teach the lesson and Hannah knew she wasn’t going to get out of it. The pain was coming, it was inevitable. She would get through it. But she would fight through it nonetheless. Her fury drove her forward.

The wizard had moved closer, his face several inches from her as he appeared to study his prisoner. She glared back, eyes harsh but strained due to her lack of glasses. So close to the full moon, her long brown hair was bushy, falling in messy waves over her shoulders and down her back. She was exposed and vulnerable. Half naked and at his mercy. But he appeared to only want one thing.

"As you say - it's just sticking on a mark. Even livestock know better."

Before even considering her actions, Hannah spat at the wizard, saliva hitting him in the eye and cheek.

His gaze narrowed, almost flinching as she spat at him. Layton sighed and wiped away the viscous fluid with the back of his hand.

He had no patience to maintain Ira's theatrical niceties for this branding - especially without the older witch here to provide an incentive for restraint. She seemed to believe that exercising moderation was appropriate but he knew better. These people were animals and you needed to speak to them in the same, direct language they used.

"Charming." Layton murmured before stepping back and thrusting his knee upwards to catch Hannah around the jaw; he didn't think to hold back, grounding every muscle in his frame to his core - she could take it with the full moon this close.

The wizard forcefully grabbed her around the throat with one hand, purposefully rough against the burn marks from the bola last night. "Bad girl," he intoned in a level voice and shoved Hannah back into the steel post.

His grip released. In spite of the quick succession of violence, the barn house felt surreal in its peaceful atmosphere.

Hannah knew pain. It was too regular an occurrence. But that didn’t mean she could cope with it. The blow to her jaw sent her head flying back, agony ripping through the bone and skin as her head began to spin dizzyingly.

"Bad girl," Eyes watering, she barely had a chance to focus when he grabbed her forcibly by the neck and her head was banged against the post behind her. Everything from her shoulders up was throbbing painfully as she struggled to breathe. There people didn’t change; always the neck, always the strangling.

But he released her just as quickly and Hannah’s body dropped forward, weak and exhausted as she hung, wrists pulling against the shackles around the post causing her skin to further burn, messy hair covering her face and clinging to wet, tear streaked and sweating skin. Her breathing was harsh, ragged.

There were a few moments of silence before Hannah started to laugh audibly. It started quiet, a pitiful laugh to herself before it became louder.
“This makes you feel powerful.” She paused, looking up. Her eyes had lit up, a glow to them that had previously been extinguished by fear and anger. “That bitch gives you orders and you feel powerful having a tiny witch shackled in silver. You are fucking pathetic.” She laughed more, kneeling up straight now, eyes still watering in pain. “I pity you, Layton. The werewolf bitch pities you”

Layton snorted softly, already moving away from her and back to the stove where could check on the iron brand to see if it was hot enough. The werewolf's laughter as a reaction to pain reminded him of Ira in some way - but one was inane for the sake of it, the other simply exhausted.

"It does, actually!" he retorted cheerfully at the accusation and reached for the brand, sifting the burning coals with it. "But you'll mind your tongue, that bitch's orders is the only reason I haven't slit that fine little throat of yours."

Or cut open her mouth, a wide and bloody grin stretching from either side of that furious face. Layton glanced at their prisoner as if though he were about to ask her to sit down for tea. She might put up a struggle for the branding, in this state. That was fine.

Ira would have to live with it if he couldn't land the mark on her in the right place.

"I'll take your pity, Bombay." Layton brandished the iron brand as he turned around to look at her - the letter A glowed a bright, hot red at its tip and he took a step forward,  smiling. "But I can't return the favour."

Ira Almasy, she did know, was the reason Layton hadn’t killed her. For some unknown reason she was more use alive, even if she had tried to burn off the witch’s face. It was strange, to be protected by the witch that had ordered someone to tie you up and torture you. The only lesson this was teaching Hannah was to not help anyone again. She’d done this for Johann. She’d made a horrendous mistake.

The laughing had stopped. Layton now faced his prisoner with the brand in his hand. Bright, alert eyes widened, staring at the glowing A. Hannah was acutely aware of every sense, of her blood pulsing through her veins. So close to the full moon senses were heightened, she could smell the smouldering metal, she could feel the heat even from a distance and bile began to rise in her throat.

The bastard smiled at her, enjoying and savouring the moment. One’s first instinct in such a situation was to beg, to desperately plead with the person not to do it. The only thing that would do here was probably to have him holding it against her skin for far longer than was necessary. But her knowledge that begging wouldn’t work didn’t stop her from started to fidget, pulling desperately against the restraints. She was also stronger these few days, but not strong enough to break through silver that burned her skin.

Despite her resolve to stay calm and not appear weak, Hannah’s eyes were watering through fear, anticipation. Her breathing was unsteady, quick and rushed as she instinctively pulled back.

Even as she withdrew, Layton hoped that Hannah Bombay would not cause too much trouble over this. He wanted to get this over with by the lunch hour and pick up one of Alohomocha's hot chocolates in Diagon Alley. The heat was beginning to travel down the brand towards his arm, so he approached the werewolf with a soft step.

"The easy way to do this for either of us is if you stay still," he drew his wand in his left hand and adjusted his grip on the iron brand. "Move, and I'll brand you twice over."

And he wouldn't pick a place on her body as polite as the one Ira had decided upon. Layton loosely aimed the tip of his wand at Hannah whilst he closed in with the brand.

He could almost hear the sizzle of hot metal against flesh, an instant before it made contact.

She struggled back, away from the brand, frantic to delay the inevitable.

An unholy cry erupted from deep within Hannah as the hot metal burned into her flesh. It felt as if every nerve in her body had exploded, blinding her mind, sending her senses into overdrive as the pain erupted in the singular spot where her flesh began to burn. Her head shot back, and her body convulsed, trying to pull back, pull away. Despite the wizard’s threat, Hannah’s body pulled to the side, desperate to be away from the burning, the agony. But he only pressed it harder for what seemed like minutes. Her body was on fire. Her mind was on fire.

It wasn’t minutes, her mind was frozen, zeroed in on the blinding pain on her chest as the smell of burning flesh offended her nostrils. Her own burning flesh. Tears streamed down her face, hair plastered to her skin, bright yet and sweating.

Finally, the hot metal was pulled away and Hannah’s body slumped once more, against the steel post behind her, head hanging down as her eyes streamed with more hot tears. She didn’t even try to control herself, too focused on the pain, the lingering burning. Her entire body had broken into a sweat, trying to rid itself of the excess heat.

Oh for fuck's sake.

Layton prised the brand away with a mild swear, irritated by Hannah's attempt to pull away during the process - the brand had imprinted of course but it had taken longer and more effort. Even after she had been warned, as well. A binding charm would have been better.

"What did I say?" he muttered in the voice of an irritated but patient schoolteacher, flicking his wand at the shackles so that they straightened rigidly to hold her in place. Layton swiftly crouched to the ground so that he was in greater intimacy with the witch.

He pointed the wand at either shackle on the ankles, waved them aside respectively so that her legs splayed in a fashion that might have been suggestive under different circumstances; the thought hardly occurred to him. His hold on the iron brand tightened. "I'll brand you where it matters, eh? Make you think twice before breeding."

The wizard drove the burning letter into the inside of Hannah's pale thigh, letting it linger slightly longer than necessary before he wrenched it back.

It was over. It had to be over. Hannah’s body had relaxed against the post, surely it was done.

"What did I say?" Her eyes opened just in time for the shackles on her wrists to pull her arms taught, body pressed back against the post. Layton was suddenly close, she could feel his breath as he flicked his wand again and her legs were forced back painfully, tight. He wouldn’t do it again. He couldn’t.

Now she was sobbing, shaking her head.
“P-please. No, no more, please no.” She began to stutter, to beg over his explanation that she’d think before breeding. He was going to. “Not there. Please not there.”

“P-ple-” Her words were lost in a howl of agony, head slamming back against steel. The torture lasted longer, it felt as if he pressed harder.

By the time it was finally released, Hannah was exhausted and close to passing out from the pain. She remained still, crying and unable to move.

“No more…” She panted through the tears. “No more.”

Layton dropped the brand as he stood, rolling down his sleeves and walking away towards the stove.

He hated to hear them beg. Especially the women. "We're done here." A pause as he picked up his wristwatch and smoothly slid its leather strap into place. "Your wand is in the trough outside. Don't make too much of a scene getting back to town." She would find out for herself that the farmland was enclosed by anti-apparition spells, meaning there was a small trek to the fence outside in the country.

A quick charm released her of the shackles.

"Good morning." Layton buttoned his cuffs with a nod towards the sobbing woman on the floor before he left the barn house through its main entrance. The weather outside had not changed since they had begun earlier.

It was a cold but beautiful day.