Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Savage Seduction	By : mad4moony Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Fenrir Views: 30148 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make money from this. :(

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Thanks for the reviews; they really mean a lot to me!! I love hearing from you, even if you reviewed last chapter and don’t want to look lame for reviewing again but I especially look forward to hearing recurring reviewers :)

Savage Seduction

12

Lookin' at you, lookin' at me

The way you move, you know it's easy to see

The neon lights on me tonight

I've got a way, we're gonna prove it tonight

Like Romeo to Juliet

Time and time, I'm gonna make you mine

****

Hermione smiled inwardly and shook her head, seemingly having a conversation with herself as she pulled on her jeans. The over-sized shirt had been hastily pulled on, and was slightly askew and half-unbuttoned. Her cheeks were still red from exertion, but they didn’t want to stop here for fear of falling asleep in the middle of nowhere. So now she was sitting trying to dress herself, but her mind was elsewhere.

The witch’s face contorted as she shifted her weight to one side, the broken wheat stalks below were sharp and very unsavoury to her delicate, unclothed behind. She untwisted the jeans she was still trying to put on; her mind was too occupied to do anything properly.

She bit her lip, trying not to break into another face-wide smile but she couldn’t help it. Why hadn’t anybody told her sex could be that good? She was quite proud actually that her dignity was still there; at least she thought so anyway. The witch had assumed that having sex with the werewolf again would further add to her degradation, but all she had been able to utter afterwards was ‘Wow,’ and that had made her blush even more.

The werewolf was playing it cool, but she knew he had been elated that she had found it so exhilarating. She thought back to the escapade, mere minutes ago. Their sweaty bodies entwined, rolling around in the wheat – she blushed, and what about when she had...

The witch shook her head comically, uprooting any Wrackspurts that may have settled. Well she did some things that made her blush; in the heat of the moment she hadn’t given them much thought. But she decided it was only her inexperience that was telling her she had done something unsavoury when really it was perfectly acceptable.

Her hands buckled the belt that was loosely holding up her jeans. She could hear the werewolf move around somewhere behind her, assumedly getting dressed or something. She smirked, feeling a bit guilty for thinking it, but she could totally get used to him doing that to her. Totally.

Her face contorted into a grimace as she heard the faint tinkling of liquid, she turned around to see the werewolf relieving himself at the corner of the crop circle. Charming. Maybe she would reconsider. But you know, she had already kind of got used to him.

The witch almost snorted, he looked so odd standing legs-apart, one hand absent-mindedly scratching the back of his head. He looked very dishevelled, his shirt only half tucked in to his trousers, one sleeve had unrolled itself and lay gaping open at the cuffs. Hermione raised an eyebrow; anyone would agree he looked very...good from behind – even if he did look like he had just been pulled through a hedge backwards. It was a great feeling to know he felt the same way as she did, or looked it at least.

She got up, straightening her half-buttoned shirt as she heard him zip up and grimaced, men. Ron was exactly the same. Her heart dropped, thinking about her fiancé but she refused to dwell on the matter, not now. Not when she was so ecstatic. The thought soon left her head as the werewolf approached her and Hermione busied herself with trying to fix his shirt. He didn’t exactly appreciate being mothered by her and tried to swat her away. He looked down at the witch. Her hair was a bit tousled from their romp and her shirt was inside out, did she know?

The werewolf grinned putting a finger under her chin and pulling her in for a kiss. He knew something had changed. It was as if they wouldn’t be fighting it anymore, he just felt as if something was different. She was his now, in the werewolf’s eyes, whether the witch believed this or not didn’t matter. She certainly seemed more content, or else she was still blissfully disoriented and exhausted from those little things women called multiple orgasms. He grinned; it had been very, very invigorating.

The witch closed her eyes in the kiss, everything was melting away again. She was exhausted but she wanted more of what she got earlier. She had a new desire to do that all the time, and it worried her. When she opened her eyes she saw the smile on his face, and broke out into her own.

“What?” she enquired as the werewolf looked down at her.

“Nothing,” he said airily. “We’ll go this way,” he added, pointing to one side of the clearing. Hermione frowned; all she could see was equally long wheat stalks. However she did know his sense of direction was a lot better than hers, and decided to follow him as he started off on their path, taking one last look at the extra flattened wheat on the other side of the earthen floor.

****

The rest of the journey was made with Hermione lost in her own little world, traipsing along after the werewolf. They could have just apparated but she had a funny feeling the werewolf refused to do magic unless he had too. In any case she didn’t really mind walking back.

Her eyes settled on the werewolf’s back a few paces ahead. She smirked, he really reminded her of someone but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He just looked so right standing in the middle of a forest, as if he was tracking something. She wondered if he had a crossbow, and then her thoughts strayed into the muggle action movies she would watch with her parents. But how could Fenrir be a bad guy?

Looking at him now she found it so hard to believe, maybe just because she had been exposed to his vulnerable side, she guessed it was the same way she felt about Sirius Black. At first she thought he was cruel and heartless, but after she knew the truth she couldn’t ever see how she could have thought he was the criminal. There was only one fine detail here that Hermione dismissed almost immediately; she knew if she dwelled on it, it would upset her. But she knew the difference between the two men was immense, although only one detail; Sirius was innocent, and Fenrir really was a cold-blooded killer.

It made her shudder thinking about it. She could understand how people might associate him with that title. He was huge, and menacing, but so much so that it gave her a rather stimulating shiver up her spine. She quickened her pace to catch up with him, the sun had already set and the darkness seemed even more foreboding as they entered deeper woodlands.

Fenrir had been lost in thought too. Although not so much as to not take great care in where they were treading; he knew the forest well, but a forest is a forest – anything could surprise them. He heard the witch clatter up behind him; she was so clumsy and loud. He turned to give her a warning glance, and she pouted slightly. Nobody liked to be told off.

He caught her expression before turning away and smirked. He had just been thinking about her, how he managed to be around her so much was a mystery because he wasn’t good with company. But she was different. He loved their silence, he’d never felt so content to sit in silence with another person. Although he liked talking to her, which was even more unusual for him. He loved the touch of her skin even more, nothing could compare to it.

His strides were huge compared to hers, but she was noisy in her steps and he was not. He twitched with sudden irritation as he felt her hand clasp the back of his jacket before he realised she was only trying to keep up. He fell back a little, letting her hold on like an elephant holding another’s tail. She had grown quiet and he wondered if the euphoria of earlier had worn off.

They walked for another ten minutes, the witch had taken to picking flowers and chattering quietly to him, she didn’t seem to mind that all she was getting was one word answers or grunts, he was too busy concentrating to talk properly. But all of a sudden Fenrir threw a hand out behind him to make her stop. She looked up, and began to speak but the werewolf pressed a finger against his lips and she stayed quiet. What had he seen?

Hermione looked around wide-eyed but couldn’t see anything around them, the trees were not dense, they could see quite far into the forest but nothing stirred. She watched the werewolf, he was deadly still. After about 30 seconds went by she saw the werewolf relax, she was just about to start talking again when three things happened very quickly in succession.

Fenrir growled very loudly - louder and fiercer than Hermione had heard before, and it made her shiver. Then immediately after, a large object propelled itself from behind a nearby tree towards them and Fenrir spun around to face Hermione giving her an almighty push out of the way as something very big tackled him to the ground. Hermione cried out, everything was happening so fast. She landed in a patch of mud and clutched her ribs in pain. He had pushed her so harshly, but as she looked up she had to stop herself from screaming wildly as she realised what was happening.

Two figures - one Fenrir and the other looked humanoid too - were locking arms together as they fought to bring each other down. She strained to see what the other looked like as they fought tooth and nail. It was frightening, Hermione had never seen such a savage fight break out before. Granted she had seen men fight before outside of clubs and things but this was different, very different. The newcomer was very aggressive with grievous intent; there was no doubt about it. She also had no doubt deciding that he wasn’t your average hiker or woodsman, and that he was more than likely akin to Fenrir.

She wanted to leap forward and rip them apart, but she knew she couldn’t – knew that Fenrir had got her out of the way for a reason. Her strangled cries were barely heard over the din the two werewolves were creating; savage growls and grunts as they each tried to get one over on the other.

The stranger cried out as Fenrir bit his shoulder, but aimed a kick at his stomach knocking him backwards. They each stood a few paces apart panting, Fenrir’s fists were clenched and he growled insanely. Hermione shook with fear; the noise he was making was incredible, and distressing at the same time; it didn’t sound human. She was holding her breath waiting to see what would happen between them.

Fenrir lunged at the werewolf throwing him back against a tree; Hermione watched through her hands as the stranger battled against him and forced Fenrir to the other side of the clearing. But they still weren’t finished, a sickly feeling arose in Hermione’s stomach as she imagined that this could very well be a fight to the death. It was vital that Fenrir survived, or what would happen to her? For once she tried to convince herself that he really was the most notorious werewolf and that he could easily win this, and judging by the look of fight he really was sizing up to that title. He was savage; almost so much so that Hermione was a little disgusted by the way he was fighting - Blood had already been shed by either opponent. There was no mercy.

Unexpectedly the stranger called out in agony which echoed around the forest and sent shivers up Hermione’s spine. She looked from behind her hands to see Fenrir pinning him to the ground as he screamed horrifically, but suddenly he fought back and Fenrir rolled to one side. Hermione watched on aghast as the silvery light cast shadows on them; illustrating the blood stains now adorned by both of them, and then she shrieked once she had caught sight of the other werewolf’s hand – but no sound would come out. By the light of the moon she could clearly see blood oozing from his hand, and two digits were missing.

Fenrir spat blood onto the ground before diving at the werewolf again, the werewolf was a worthy adversary; they were almost equally matched. They were both willing to kill each other but Fenrir was definitely keener with his methods than the former. Hermione watched in terror as Fenrir grasped a good hold on his attacker, one hand on the back of his head the other grasping the back of his shirt. He growled menacingly as the stranger struggled and then to Hermione’s surprise he hurled him into the nearest tree. With a sickening crunch that made her gag reflexes start working the figure slumped onto the ground.

Fenrir stood panting, wiping blood from his cheek with his sleeve. He kicked at something he had just stood on and the two missing digits rolled past Hermione. The forest floor was uprooted and covered in blood, the figure was still and the forest was quiet save for the small sobs coming from the witch. Fenrir turned around to face her when another voice cut through the silence.

“Well well Greyback,” said a male voice. It was nasally and arrogant in its tone. The werewolf spun around to the source and a figure loomed into view. A tall man with shoulder length blonde locks tied back with a dark ribbon, walked out from between the trees. He was smartly dressed in a waistcoat, shirt and tie – definitely out of place in the forest. He drew a finger up to his mouth, pondering.

Hermione looked from the newcomer to Fenrir, the latter had turned all his attention to the man, she could see his hands tense, but they remained unfurled, and by his sides. His expression was oddly blank, but she could see his eyes penetrate the stranger.

“When was the last time I saw you?” said the stranger tapping a finger against his chin, Hermione watched on curiously. He didn’t seem too dangerous, or threatening, and she could tell now that they were acquaintances. As she peered over his smart attire and appearance and noted his haughty voice she couldn’t help but remind herself of the insufferable retch that was Lucius Malfoy.

“Oh yes,” he drawled, “I remember now, just before the war – you were our leader remember.” The stranger finished sharply, dropping his hands to his waist. Fenrir growled, but the newcomer continued before he could say anything. “Then where were you Greyback after the war? You didn’t come back for us. After we disbanded you didn’t come and find us. You deserted us!”

The blonde stranger looked the werewolf up and down, and then his head flicked to one side, his gaze lingering on Hermione, as if he had only just noticed her. Hermione quivered where she sat, she could hear Fenrir growling as the stranger continued to watch her.

“You must have been distracted,” the blonde man finished distastefully looking back at Fenrir. “I see you have a bitch at last.”

Hermione couldn’t take her eyes of the man, but out of the corner of her vision she could see Fenrir’s fists clench. She knew that this stranger was more dangerous than he first appeared.

“Yes, I must say,” the man paused; his gaze drifting back to where the witch sat. “Dumont was quite keen to find her when he caught her scent, I warned him not to - I knew she was with other,” he said almost loyally, but added disparagingly, “To be honest I can’t see what was so arousing.”

Hermione felt her own fists clenching, she didn’t like to be referred to as a piece of meat. And she knew now that this man was also a werewolf, he had mentioned scent for one thing, not exactly a normal courting method. He also seemed to refer to the other attacker. The witch gave a hasty glance at the still figure in the corner. She looked at Fenrir who hadn’t been able to keep his poker face quite as well as he had hoped; he’d barred his teeth and was glaring daggers at the blonde. But why hadn’t he just gone ahead and attacked him?

“No matter,” said the blonde werewolf shrugging his shoulders casually. He began to stride towards Hermione but within seconds Fenrir had thrown out a fist, clasped him around the throat and slammed against a tree.

“You listen to me Armand,” Fenrir rasped his nose almost touching the other werewolf’s. “You take one more step closer to her and I’ll fucking rip you limb from limb.” Hermione had frozen to the spot, she could no longer move even if she wanted to – her body had given up from sudden intense stress. She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh and pretend this wasn’t happening. Was it really happening? Was she going to get hurt? Was Fenrir going to get hurt?

The blonde werewolf was taken aback by the sudden attack, but he collected himself, his eyes scanned Fenrir’s face before tutting, Hermione felt rapidly very brash about this jerk, he seemed to patronize everything, she half expected him to scold Fenrir for attacking him.

“I’m going to kill you,” the blonde whispered to Fenrir before grinning, “And then I’m going to have her,” he pointed a long ringed finger towards Hermione. She heard him croak as Fenrir tightened his grip before throwing him off the tree and launching after him. The blonde cackled madly holding back Fenrir’s advances. Hermione strained to see exactly what was happening, they both moved so fast; she could hear Fenrir growling and the blonde werewolf tittered with mirth.

The witch sneered at him; she wanted Fenrir to hurt him. She snapped out of a daze to see them falling onto the ground, she strained to see who was on the bottom. It was Fenrir, he growled in pain as the blonde bit into him but he was blown backwards into the air as Fenrir kicked him with both legs. Now they were on their feet, a few paces apart. Armand, the blonde werewolf licked his lips tasting the blood that trickled down his chin, it was his own.

“Yes,” he hissed, blonde locks falling in front of his face, “I’m going to have her, and she’s going to kick and scream. But she needn’t worry I won’t bite.” His face contorted into a feigned gasp of shock, “Oh wait I am! HA HA -” But the wind was taken out of him as Fenrir launched himself towards him, knocking Armand to the ground.

Hermione gasped in shock, she hadn’t even seen Fenrir move – her eyes had been on the other werewolf. Her hands flew up to her face as she heard the laughter leave Armand, his voice was now overrun with panic as they both attempted to harm each other. Fenrir lurched over him, pinning him down with his legs and Hermione strained to watch but couldn’t see what he was doing. Through the darkness she could see Armand scrabbling frantically against Fenrir’s back, his voice was fraught with anguish, until it was only more than a gurgle. Then he shrieked, followed by a gut-wrenching, tearing /squelching sound that made Hermione shudder.

She looked up as Fenrir moved aside panting, blood was everywhere. The whole clearing was spinning, she got on her knees and put her hands on the ground firmly, she felt as if she was falling and before she knew it she was vomiting over the forest floor.

Fenrir wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he rolled off the blonde werewolf; he exhaled slowly trying to catch his breath before looking over to where Hermione had been sitting. She was on her knees; he ran towards her and knelt beside her as she finished throwing up. She looked up at him, seeing his cobalt eyes before collapsing against him. She felt his arms close around her, and looked over his shoulder at the two bodies. One lay crumpled under a trees canopy, the other lay in a pool of blood on the other side. Blood spurted periodically from his neck, she strained to see the damage, but she could hear a slow gurgling rasp coming from him, and it made her close her eyes. The werewolf clutched her with one arm, withdrawing his wand with his spare hand and apparated out of sight.

****

When they arrived in the back garden Hermione followed the werewolf trance-like into the kitchen. He sat down on the table, pulling a chair out so he could rest his feet on it. Hermione wandered to the cupboard and then to the sink to fill up a glass with water.

She was pale, and felt very sick. Her stomach was churning, even though she had already emptied it. They sat in silence, it had been only a few minutes but Hermione felt as if it was forever. She kept thinking back to the forest, to the men. It was odd; she thought she would have felt fearful of being with the werewolf after he had...incapacitated two people. But she didn’t she felt strangely protected. She knew ‘Dumont’ was dead, she just knew it, but her stomach flipped over again when she thought of the rasping gurgles coming from Armand. He wasn’t dead yet, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t recover. Whoever they were – did they deserve it?

She heard the werewolf groan behind her as he massaged a bruised shoulder; she set the glass down waking from her day dream. He had taken off his jacket, a dark patch of his black shirt stuck to his skin, and she inspected it as she drew closer.

“That’s blood,” she gasped; Fenrir growled as she tried to touch him, he shrugged her hand away. “Just let me...”

“No,” he replied. The witch frowned, and stood against the table, she lifted her own shirt slightly, her stomach was purple, and it ached – all from Fenrir pushing her over. She wasn’t angry at him, if he hadn’t of then she would probably have been hurt more. She traced a finger over the purple patches, and Fenrir watched her. He felt slightly guilty, but knew he had to do it. He could feel himself giving in; she was too good at this game. He cursed the day he ever thought of the idea of bringing her here.

He wrenched off his shirt, screwing it up into a ball and throwing it into the corner of the room. Hermione turned to him, she was silent. Now she did feel odd. Being so close to him after that, she felt strange touching his skin, and seeing him so close up. She couldn’t forget the way he had fought earlier, or what he had done.

The werewolf breathed out a sigh; he knew what the witch was thinking. He knew she would be fretting and going into complete meltdown inside. Were all women like this? Because from what he knew of her she was a complete emotional wreck at times. He honestly thought they were past the whole love/hate stage. Well not so much love, he knew she didn’t feel that way...yet. But she seemed to have been more affectionate lately, at least not snapping at him all the time. It was as if something had just clicked, and that she was ok with being stuck with him. He feared the day she ever asked to be free, and hoped it would never come. He knew he couldn’t let her go now, now that she meant that much to him, but he knew he couldn’t keep her against her will. He growled in frustration and Hermione paused.

“Sorry did I hurt you?” she asked quietly, as she had been attending his wounds while he had been contemplating. He shook his head and reached for his jacket which hung over the back of the chair. Searching deep within a pocket he withdrew a packet of cigarettes which Hermione immediately scowled at. He didn’t care, damn hadn’t she seen what he had just done? All for her, did she know that?

He opened them and grimaced, they were completely soaked from the sea that morning. The werewolf threw them aside and searched the nearest drawer finding another packet and a lighter. The witch suddenly touched his ear which made him freeze, cigarette resting on his lips, he turned towards her as she let go, to see her pouting slightly, and frowning. “Your earring is gone. You must have lost it,” the witch said quietly, she blushed not realising her actions were so audacious. The werewolf gave her an odd frown before letting go of the cigarette and pulling her into a comical headlock.

“You are too cute,” he said rubbing his knuckle against her head as she squirmed.

“Hey!” The witch managed to wriggle out of his grasp as he laughed and punched him playfully on the arm. He winced in pain.

“Oh Merlin, I forgot! I’m sorry,” she said throwing her hands up to her face. She had completely forgotten he had just been beaten up. He gave her a weak smile and pulled her in for a kiss. It was short and sweet; Hermione closed her eyes blissfully – thinking of earlier.

After she had pulled away she frowned looking him up and down, dried blood caked his chest and neck. He was filthy. “You stink,” she said matter-of-factly. The werewolf returned the expression,

“You taste like puke.” He got up off the table with a grin and walked out of the room.

Hermione’s nostrils flared in outrage and she followed him out the door. He stuck his tongue out before climbing the stairs and Hermione breathed into her hand – just to check.

****

A/N: Cheques in the post please :D && Reviewwww :) Thankies!

Omg the best part of the chapter for me was just thinking about when she was watching him pee. OK that did not sound right!!! But you know, I just imagine him with his clothes all ruffled and untucked, and his hair a mess and stuff and it's like AWWW! I want to jump him >.> er...

Also really like the headlock bit. It may seem a bit unorthadox but Fenrir loves ‘teh hugz’ really. Anyway he's in a pretty ecstatic mood as you will see in the next chapter! Jeez he just killed two people, (lol), so he's a bit mad at the minute and he thinks Hermione is 'cute.' And also poor Hermione she gets a nougie :(

*Lyrics- Ratt, Round and Round
- 11
- 12
- 13
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Savage Seduction