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
- 20
- 21
- 22
Attention: I having have severe computer problems that prevent me (and have been preventing me) from updating. I’m sorry that I could not get in contact and I thank you for all the continued support within reviews.

Anyway I wanted to update but my computer keeps crashing – I’m sure some of you know how irritating it is to lose prose you have been writing – therefore I gave up hoping it would be fixed sooner. Alas – it is not, but I am trying my best to update as I can. Please don’t give up hope in this story. Yesterday I heard Dave Legeno say he liked to play guitar in his trailer as Fenrir, with Tom Felton – which pretty much perked me up a bit about the whole situation. Anyway has anyone seen the new Deathly Hallows Trailer – I’m a bit disappointed. Anyway on with the show...

Savage Seduction

21

Do not under any circumstances go outside.

The brunette witch giggled childishly as she squirmed her way out of the clothes she was wearing, before giving a devilish grin to the werewolf. But the man was still, his eyes fixed on an indefinite spot on her face.

“What?” she murmured, draping her hands around his neck. She cooed slightly, waiting for his reply, but the werewolf was still. His expression was unfathomable.

“Fenrir?” she whispered, moving her head so that she was in his direct gaze. The werewolf, unblinking, twitched his mouth into a smile that lasted a second.

“I shouldn’t have taken your virginity.” He paused, his expression still unreadable. He looked down at her with deep blue eyes that she found hard not to melt away in. The werewolf continued before she could speak. “You were right. It would have been better...I...It...” he grumbled, and rolled to one side. The witch propped herself up on her elbow, and stared at the werewolf.

“No you shouldn’t’ of,” she stated in an airy, far away voice. It was neither scorn nor fact. He growled slightly, putting an arm across his face so it hid his eyes. The witch watched curiously, but he did nothing. His mouth hung open slightly, and she saw the pointed edge of his incisors, sharper than usual. And the growing tuft of beard was already growing back furiously – she wondered if he would braid it again when it was long enough.

“It would have been nice...uh...” the werewolf murmured, his sentence unfinished. He rolled over agitated, to face her. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. The witch was motionless. She never thought about what happened now; it was as if she had forgiven him already. Although a hollowness inside her made her edgy, she couldn’t bring herself to actually say that she forgave him. Did she forgive him? He watched her intently, and she could feel his gaze even though her eye-line was drifting over his head.

“It’s fine,” she muttered, still unable to actually say the words. Giving a smile that masked any uneasiness she shuffled closer to him, placing her head on his chest. He stroked her arm and head slowly, making odd snuffling noises every few seconds, as if quarrelling inside his own head.

“This would have never happened if I hadn’t...” he had liked to add, just to clarify his actions.

“I know,” she said softly.

~~~

Waking up in a foreign bed can be an awkward experience for anyone, but not today, and not for Hermione. She woke to the sound of twitterpatted songbirds, lovingly discussing nest arrangements in the trees outside the window. Sunlight poured through the curtains she had forgotten to draw the night before. Face down in a pillow of sumptuous duck feather she turned over with a yawn, and rubbed her eyes slowly. In a tangle of sheets she freed herself and found the werewolf sleeping beside her. He lay on his back, with one arm over his stomach and the other behind his head.

For a moment she watched the rise and fall of his chest, his eyes move behind their lids in a dream, and his fingers twitch involuntary. Slowly she reached out to touch him, the urge to feel his skin was too great. Sliding a hand over his stomach she closed her eyes in delight, having no idea why exactly it felt so good just to see someone.

Shuffling closer, she traced along his stomach, and over his chest, around his collarbone and finally over his stubbly-covered chin. At this he jerked his head away slightly, but made no attempt to wake. She smiled, watching him settle back into sleep and ran her fingers once more down his chest.

Should she wake him? Mmm, she thought, suddenly lifting the covers to peer at his naked body. She really shouldn’t wake him. After all, Harry and Ginny were visiting today – he would not be in the best of moods. She couldn’t resist but to run her fingers down the length of his shaft. His leg twitched as she felt the smooth skin beneath her fingertips. It was dreamily soft, and getting harder with every second that she let her fingers linger on it. When he started to move in his sleep, she knew it was time to make herself scarce. Too many things to do today.

~~~

The werewolf scowled in his sleep, suddenly jerking himself awake. He was on his stomach, and tangled in the mass of sheets on the bed. He rolled over, and extended a great stretch and yawn looking sleepily for the witch but she wasn’t in the room. He growled scratching the stub of his beard which had already grown another centimetre through the night, before rolling out of bed – dragging half the sheets that were still attached at the waist with him into the bathroom. He wasn’t a morning person, Fenrir. He hated them, although he hated most things. He pulled a shirt over his bare chest and sneered into the mirror in distain for something. There was always something to hate, and today seemed like the perfect day for hating. He couldn’t put his finger on it, besides tonight being a full moon, there was definitely something else he was meant to be irritated at. But then of course, he hadn’t got used to the fact the witch was back. She made everything better. But where was she?

~~~

“Thank you Jinsy,” smiled Hermione, as the house elf poured milk into her tea. He gave a curt bow before hurtling towards the kitchen door. The witch was seated in the dining room, where one end of the room opened into a tall window that covered most of the wall. She was enjoying a lovely breakfast, with fresh English muffins that she had baked with, or rather attempted to interest Jinsy’s sister Bobbin with. The poor thing was not at all well, and terribly shy. Hermione had to coax her out of the corner of the pantry where she had holed up in an old dog basket.

The witch shook the crumbs from her brown woolly sweater she was wearing as the door opened at the opposite end of the room and in dragged the werewolf. He growled, or at least she saw him growl, he was too far away to hear it.

“What’s wrong with you this morning?” She said cheerily. The sun poured in on her side of the table, through the large gleaming windows. It was such a good morning she couldn’t not be happy. Besides she was having visitors later. The werewolf threw himself down opposite her, and clicked his fingers. Jinsy appeared with a soft pop, Hermione scowled. The house elf bowed respectfully before his master and set down a tray laden with food. The werewolf shook his head.

“Bring me some whisky.”

“Fenrir!” exclaimed the witch. “Jinsy leave the tray, and do not bring whisky.” The house elf quivered, looking from the witch’s soft features to his masters grizzly face which was trembling with every under-growl he made.

“Er...sorry Master, forgive Jinsy,” he trembled before backing out of the room. Before giving the werewolf a chance to protest the witch started small talk, a muffin held daintily in her hand.

“Won’t you try these muffins?” The werewolf shook his head. He was ravenous. He always was before a full moon, but he was not going to eat her horrible dry death biscuits – no matter what. Hermione sighed, “They won’t be here that long, I promise.”

The werewolf stirred from his day dream. “Huh?”

“Ginny and Harry,” said the witch, “They will only stay for a cup of tea. Isn’t that why you’re in a bad mood?” The werewolf growled, slamming his fists and head down on the table, he had forgotten about that.

“Fuck, I knew today was not going to be a good one.”

The witch pouted, getting up to pour her glass of water into a nearby pot plant. “It could still be a good one.” The werewolf looked at her with a sneer. He got up, took two strides towards her, and rasped in her ear.

“They better be gone by the afternoon. I’m serious. You owe me.”

“Ah,” the witch turned to face him, letting her hands roam over his chest. “I don’t owe you anything.” She kissed his lips, pulling on his lower lip. He growled, pressing his lips on hers, after a fervent few seconds he pulled away.

“I’m serious. Don’t take me for a fool. I’m not happy that Potter is coming here. An enemy in my own home...”

“Keep your enemies closer, you know,” said Hermione sweetly, wrinkling her nose in a cute way before turning away. She heard the werewolf growl behind her, deep and guttural. The witch paused at the table, without looking back but she could tell the werewolf had followed her and was only a step behind.

“How is it that they get preference over me?” He growled. The witch was about to reply that that was an absurd comment, when she felt the werewolf’s arms ensnare around her waist. She was pushed ever so slightly against the table.

“Fenrir, if you think...”

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he said, his teeth bared by her ear. The witch protested, wriggled free of his arms and turned to him.

“You are so –“ but he had finished her sentence by kissing her, his tongue delving into her mouth, startled she froze for a second before returning the kiss gratefully. She was unaware that his hand was so carefully but strangely placed around her throat. As they ran their hands over each other, the witch broke free to look at her watch. “They’re going to be here soon.” The werewolf did not stop, and continued to kiss down her neck. The witch purred delighted, but in a rush she added, “Really Fenrir- This would be so inappropriate...They really...please...later”

The werewolf broke free with a gruff growl and stormed from the room, without a second glance. Hermione stood in the sunlight, which faded instantly as the sun moved behind a cloud. The air around the witch became cold, and she tried to shrug it off. A sense of dread filled her, it was after all full moon tonight – but she tried not to think about it, her guests would be here soon.

~~~

“Hermione!” screamed the ginger witch as she burst through the green flames.

“Ginny!” screamed Hermione, as they ran towards each other for a frantic hug. A tall, black haired wizard stepped out of the flames behind Ginny, and observed the two conversing before attempting to greet Hermione.

“Oh my goodness Hermione, It’s been so long – Mithrilda Murmington went and blew herself up in one of those illicit experiments I told you about. Well she’s only gone and turned her hair green!! It’s awful – you should see her, hilarious and embarrassing. They won’t give her any days off work, in fact they may be putting her on trial; you should see her! She has to walk around the ministry with a face like boiled puffskiens!!” Ginny exclaimed in a frantic bout of gossip. The two witches burst into giggles, as Hermione led them away from the fireplace and through the hall.

At that moment the werewolf was lumbering down the stairs. He glanced very quickly at Ginny and Harry and gave a slight sneer before continuing down the stairs.

“Erm, you remember...uh,” said Hermione embarrassed, Ginny squeezed her arm in comfort. The werewolf made no intention of stopping and paced towards a door on the right. Hermione could see Harry tense his jaw, please Merlin let nothing happen.

Ginny looked at the passing figure before glaring at Harry to stop being so over-dramatic. But who was she kidding? Fenrir looked fiercer than she’d ever seen him. Perhaps slightly more refined, less brutish, no wait, he had the same kind of brutishness about him, yet he looked less feral than she imagined. A handsome man underneath yet, terrifying all the same. She could see why Hermione liked him so much. Her friend always did have underlying tendencies for men with problems, or men who were let’s say: slightly less favourable. The trouble was now she actually acted on her feelings. Back in School they were just fantasies that they would giggle about late at night. Hermione had always been shy - outgoing, but definitely shy about her feelings towards men.

“Come this way,” said Hermione tugging Ginny’s arm as the werewolf disappeared from the hallway. They entered a small breakfast room, with east-facing windows. The sun shone directly onto a little round table, where a tea set was placed. “So good to see you Harry,” Hermione nodded as they sat down.

“And you,” said Harry cheerily, but he continued to glance at the half-open door. The witch tapped the teapot with her wand twice, and soon poured steaming tea into each of their cups. Harrys brow was furrowed, his mouth twitched as if to say something.

“He-” His face contorted as Ginny smacked him under the table.

“I’m so glad, you’re settled Hermione,” smiled Ginny, emphasizing herself. Hermione smiled back, she could see they were worried. But they had nothing to be worried about.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “How’s work? I’m dreading going back. It’s so nice here.” The witch gestured to the gardens outside. “I haven’t even got a chance to go out there yet, but look there’s even a flower garden. Although it is dreadfully overgrown – I can’t wait to get started on it.”

“He’s not a budding gardener then?” Harry snorted. Ginny threw him a heated look. The brunette witch stumbled for words, her teacup halfway to her mouth.

“Um...” what was she meant to say to that?

“I’m sorry,” said Harry. He fidgeted in his seat and they were silent. Suddenly he couldn’t contain it anymore. “What do you see in him? Really what is it? Because to me he’s still a serial killer who showed an unnatural preference to eating you back when we were kids. He murdered countless people, he was with you-know-who, look what he did to Bill did you forget that? How can you stand to live with that monster-“

Ginny sat with an open mouth at Harry. While she did sometimes think the same things as Harry she could at least see why Hermione was with him. She was so angry at her husband for his outburst, but she couldn’t even find the control to deal with it. She was flabbergasted and so was Hermione. One look at her, the poor things face was grey like stone. Her mouth closed firmly. She trembled slightly, before trying to speak. Her voice was broken, only a dry whisper came out.

“Excuse me,” she said politely before getting out of her chair and walking towards the door. After she had left Ginny stood up. Like her friend, her voice too was full of broken emotion.

“How could you..How could you say that,” she practically roared in a hushed voice at him. She would give the witch a few minutes to be on her own but then she would find her.

“You know what he’s like,” seethed Harry, annoyed his wife did not agree. “No actually I don’t. Neither do you. Our facts are fabricated – only she knows what he’s really like.”

“But you know he really did those things.”

“Not everybody can be as pure as you Harry. Oh such a godly Auror, every evil must be vanquished,” the red-haired witch mocked. She turned her back on him.

“I want to support her. She’s my closest friend. If this is what she wants-”

“-Then you are prepared to turn a blind eye.”

“Yes,” she said solemnly. “I trust her Harry. If he treats her right then why can’t they be together? If I was a murderer would you love me?” She turned to face him, her green eyes misty. The wizard sat with his arms folded. He looked at his wife before turning away.

“How do you expect me to answer that,” he said his voice void of emotion. The witch let out a sob.

“Why you should even have to think..” She held back her tears. She was far better at holding her emotions in than Hermione. She breathed in deeply, “I’m going to find and apologise on your behalf to Hermione and let her know she has my full support.”

The wizard said nothing as she left the room. For an age he sat and questioned his feelings. Of course he would still love Ginny, she meant everything to him. But how could that be the same?

He picked himself up from the chair and ambled towards the window. The gardens were very big, extended as far as the eye could see. To the very East was a forest prickling the skyline, and to the West a set of walled in gardens. In the distance he could see a figure loping around; white and grey specks hurtled in a flurry around him.

The wizard grimaced as he watched the werewolf succumb to the pack of dogs that chased and leapt on him. He loathed Fenrir, as he did all evil. But as he watched the man run exhilaratingly around after the wolf-dogs he felt a sense of dread. Why was she always right? He continued to watch the beast, as he was in Harrys eyes. The hulking figure could never comfort Hermione. How could that brute make her happy? He watched the werewolf grab the nearest dog and scratch its ears devotedly. How could something so feral appeal to her? Was it possible that he really could be wrong?

~~~

It was late afternoon, Hermione sniffed as she turned the next page in the book she was reading. A draft wrestled through the old windows, and she hunched up to keep warm. The embers of the fire had died down, but to reach out for her wand beside her seemed like such an effort. She was stiff from cold, as usual she had gone overboard and read and read and read for hours before noticing she hadn’t eaten or done anything else that she had planned.

“Oh,” she said to herself as a casual glance at the grandfather clock told her it was the evening. Perhaps just one more page or chapter. A sharp bark from one of the feral dogs came from outside and the witch’s mouth twitched. What had he told her?

“Do not under any circumstances go outside,” the werewolf told her, whilst locking the kitchen windows. “Promise me you won’t go outside.”

“I promise,” said the witch, quietly.

Hermione turned her book upside down and rested in on her knee. She was still smarting from what Harry had said earlier. After much apologising Ginny had thought it best they leave, she was rather furious at her husband – Hermione could see that. She didn’t blame him, over the years she had learned to just accept those kinds of high-strung outbursts. But it still hurt, inside. She thought of the werewolf, he wasn’t like what Harry made him out to be – he was wrong. Fenrir was trying to protect her now, wasn’t he?

“I am locking all of the downstairs windows, - can’t you just go to...” he searched for the name, “Your friend’s house?”

The werewolf had looked stressed, but Hermione had assured him he was fussing over nothing. If the doors were locked she’d be fine wouldn’t she? And in any case she had already said she wouldn’t go outside. Wasn’t that good enough?

Hermione reached for her wand and stirred the embers of the fire awake, so that it blazed and crackled comfortingly. She watched with unease as the moon grew full, but Fenrir had told her that to the naked eye the moon looked full for longer than it was. It would not happen until the dead of night. Somehow, that didn’t really comfort her much. The witch wondered where he went, and what he did all that time before, but then suddenly felt queasy. She was going to have to go through this as much as him. Did she make the right decision?

~~~

Hermione pulled away the bed covers, before placing her feet on the soft, warm carpet beneath her. The bedroom was cast in a diffused glow from her reading lamp which remained on. She had tried to sleep, but couldn’t. She had taken to reading her book again but time was getting on. It was nearly midnight, or past it, she had taken to not looking at the time; to try and make it go faster. Perhaps a cup of malted milk would soothe her to sleep.

The hallway was breezier; a light had been left on downstairs so that the room was not completely in darkness. Her cold feet padded against the wooden floor as she opened the kitchen door. A small fire crackled in the grate; and pots and pans magically scrubbed themselves in the sink. The pantry door was ajar; she went in to find the canister. Bobbin’s basket was empty, but as Hermione felt, the blankets were warm. The little house elf was still too shy, and took to hiding when Hermione was around, and especially when Fenrir was around. Perhaps she was in the kitchen somewhere, as the fire had been tended to recently, or perhaps she was with Jinsy; who had his own quarters somewhere within the bowels of the house.

The witch put the kettle on the stove and leant over the counter as she waited. Her night dress was really too thin to give her any kind of warmth, but she held back shivers. The window shutters had been brought together, so the kitchen seemed darker. She busied herself with tidying around while the kettle bubbled and steamed. All the while a pair of great yellow eyes peered at her from the wood basket beside the fire. She had seen them, and she knew who it was – Bobbin was too scared to come out. Hermione pretended not to notice as she poured the hot water into a mug.

It was then a sharp bark and whine came from outside, Hermione froze. Was Fenrir out there? But it couldn’t be him, she thought as the spoon rested forgotten in her hand. She peered through the crack in the shutters but could not see. The whining became louder, but not stronger. It was not from a huge beast. It sounded the same as the wolf-dogs pleas when a quarrel between pack-members became too precarious.

She left the mug on the counter and padded towards the back door, a small stained glass panel was cut out from the top, at head-height. She peered through; the moonlight was illuminating the stretch of yard beyond her but directly in front of the door was in darkness because of the porch. The whining stopped, and she looked down at the blackness. There sat a dog, its paw lifted from the ground. It caught the glint in her eyes and knew she was watching, its head cocked to the side and it gave another whimper. She stared around but could not fathom what was wrong.

“What’s wrong with you,” she whispered through the door. Although she had not had a chance to go near them yet, they did not always seem the friendliest of canines – and were very rough with Fenrir. It was obvious something was wrong with this one, but it would be ok – wouldn’t it?

She turned to leave, but then she heard a scratch on the door. Why would it be so eager to get inside? Why was it suddenly so eager for human companionship – these were feral dogs that would bite and nip each other all the time. One more look told her it was the runt. She knew this because Fenrir had pointed out the black streak on its back, which she could now see from the moonlight. He would treat it like the other members did; it was shunned and picked on. Hermione did not agree with that, however she had seen Fenrir give it more affection when they were alone together.

The witch had paused to think, and by the time she looked back through the window the dog had hobbled away, into the moonlit path. The roaming pack had lopped in from the side and were jostling about like a gang of hoodlums. They barked, and yipped at the poor little runt, but they were only playing – they ran at him until he lay on his belly and crawled away, but they never touched him. With a sad expression she watched from behind the door. It wasn’t really fair.

It was then that the runt had a glimmer of courage, when one dog pounced towards him he pounced back; until their noses almost touched. Immediately, from what Hermione could tell, the ‘leader’ sprang forward and wrestled the runt to the ground. The poor thing easily submitted but the other dog would not stop, she could hear the grizzly sounds it made as it latched on to the runt’s shoulders and shook him.

“Stop that,” she yelled through the door but of course they did not hear her, and if they did she meant nothing of authority to them to stop what they were doing. She hammered a fist on the door as more and more dogs joined in, biting savagely. The yelps of the runt were so distressing to her. She fumbled at the locks on the door, there was more than one, Fenrir had been concerned enough to use them. But she would only be out there for a second and she could scare them off and bring the poor dog inside.

“Shit,” she mumbled as the locks became free and the door would still not budge. She could see no other locks, and the door would not open with a spell, she murmured something and headed for the windows over the sink. The keys were in the lock and she only had to unlock them to find a chill breeze seeping through into the warm room. The growling and barking became louder as she tried to unlock the wooden shutters. Click The shutters came free, and she hoisted herself up onto the counter and climbed through the small windows. It was quite a drop from the ground, as the house was on raised foundations. Before even thinking of how she would get back she had jumped clear of the bushes beneath and ran towards the dogs.

“Leave him alone,” she shouted waving her arms in the air. The dogs, startled by her, edged away but gave triumphant warning barks from the shadows. The runt lay bloody in the moonlight; she ran to it and ran a hand over its soft but scraggly fur. It whined; its breathing laboured. Pulling it into her lap she inspected the rest of the body. They had savagely bitten him, what kind of act was this? She soothed it with a calming voice, its whines becoming more silent, the white of its eyes glistened as it looked at her.

A short howl broke the silence, then another and another; they turned into barking yips as the wolf-dogs encroached once more. “Get away,” she yelled savagely, confident that her voice would scare them. But they didn’t retreat, they hovered around her, circling, with their horrible wily trot, their mouths hung open, panting, yawning – they were in no hurry. The witch started to feel a sense of unease, would they attack her? Why would they attack her?

The leader, she could see was the biggest, boldest wolf-dog. His tail was bushy; it stood poised at an angle, confident and demanding. He gave a sharp bark before bounding towards her but to run off at the last moment. She flinched, holding the bloody runt in her arms. When she looked up the other dogs had started to get impatient. They too began running back and forward, one even went so far as to snap its jaws at her arm.

“Get away from me,” she yelled, as the leader pounced closer, this time his great jaws clenched around the scruff of the bloody runt. It was ripped from the witch’s hands and she scrabbled to her feet and ran, feeling the wolf-dog snap at her ankles. Its teeth grazed her calve, and she almost fell, her fingers touching the ground before pushing her upwards. She lunged towards the dog to scare it, and it backed away but to lunge at her moments later, she aimed a kick but only clipped its shoulder. It snatched at her hair, grabbing some between its teeth and she felt strands become loose as she ran in the opposite direction. Her heart beat in her throat as she scrambled to get away from the ravenous dog that was on her heels but then she went cold.

A spine-chilling howl pierced her ear-drums; the dog behind her gave a rough bark, but otherwise continued to chase her. She could do nothing but run towards the shadowy figures of trees on the Eastern border of the estate. But that was the direction in which the awful howling was coming from. Suddenly out of the dark lunged a shadow so gargantuan the dog behind her turned its tail and ran; it sailed right over the witch as she dived onto the ground and chased after the speeding wolf-dog before catching it in its enveloping darkness. There was an almighty growl and a series of ear-splitting yowls from the dog before its pack bounded into the colossal figure.

Hermione stared in horror, she couldn’t see anything in the darkness but she had a pretty good idea of what was going on. As the dogs continued to throw themselves on the beast for their leader, she scrambled to her feet and towards the shadow of the house.

A howl broke the air, and Hermione swung around to see against the moonlight, the werewolf standing tall over the leader’s corpse. She shrieked as it bounded towards her, and she ran for the house but within seconds something sharp and muscular caught her foot. She was pulled closer to the werewolf, and at that moment the moonlight reflected against his black pit-less eyes. Saliva hung in loops from his gleaming fangs, the wind rippled against the fur on his shoulders. His elongated body stooped over her, she could hear the growls reverberate in his throat with every breath.

Without warning the bloody runt burst out of the shadows, barked and threw itself at the beast, the werewolf caught the animal that latched onto his arm by the throat and tossed it as if it was lightweight into a nearby tree. The body fell limp and broken and Hermione could not muffle a shriek, as the beast turned its attention back to her.

“Fenrir,” she said holding her hands up to shield herself as the beast bent closer. “It’s me, It’s me...you remember...” She said trying to find her voice, and make it confident. Perhaps he didn’t know who she was, perhaps he did? Maybe he would be just as complacent as the first time she saw him transform, or he could be as horrible as the first time they met outside.

The werewolf growled, his muzzle was slick with blood, it nosed at her hands, and she trembled as his hot breath misted her fingertips. “Please don’t hurt me,” she murmured as it knelt on its hands. It continued to sniff her out, placing a paw like fist on her arm as it moved closer. Pain seared through the witch as the werewolf put his weight on her, “You’re hurting me,” she whined and the werewolf drew back at the high-pitched tone.

She tried to slither away as he leant back, but he snatched at her arm, clasping it in his jaws. She trembled; it was painful, but any more pressure and he would break the skin, she had to stay calm or else he might hurt her more. She tried to go limp, hoping it would help. The werewolf let her arm fall from his grip, blood and saliva covered it but she was too frightened to wipe it off. He had gone back to sniffing her, and as he licked the witch’s feet she couldn’t control her reactions and kicked him in the muzzle. Immediately she froze, she hadn’t meant to but she hated when people tickled her and it was just a knee-jerk reaction.

The beast shook his muzzle, and growled before standing upright. Its chest muscles rippled as it threw its head back and howled. It deafened Hermione, but she was aware she had to act now or never. Getting away wouldn’t be easy, she didn’t want to offend or upset the animal – or he might bite her. It was obvious he couldn’t tell who she was. The moonlight glistened against his clawed feet, and hands. One slash and she could be horribly disfigured. Maybe she could play dead? No, she couldn’t do that, what if he decided to devour her if he thought she was dead? Instead she took a leaf out of the poor runt’s book and decided to play submissive. Perhaps if she just didn’t create any problems he would get bored and she could sneak away.

The werewolf finished the long-winded howl, and growled at the witch. He then turned away, crouching on all fours and stalked away. Hermione breathed out, she could still see him several paces ahead but he seemed disinterested. So slowly, ever so slowly, she got on her hands and knees and crawled towards the house.

Everything was quiet for a few minutes, save for her heart beat which pounded in her ears like a drum; until a force so blunt it knocked the breath out of her caught her from the side. The beast was on top of her growling, but not aggressively. He had decided to sneak up on her. What fun was prey that didn’t play back, but just sat and waited to be eaten? But as he threw his body at her and knocked her sideways he could tell the two-legged wasn’t prey. She smelt differently. She smelt of all sorts of different things; things she had touched, things she had eaten – but then there was her scent and it aroused him so much saliva was dripping from his fangs. .

She was curious; tiny and fragile but familiar. He never had much to do with prey like her, but her scent was so strong he couldn’t ignore it. His tongue rasped against her skin, and she squirmed underneath him to his delight. He sniffed warily at the tuft of fur sprouting from her head, and noted the tangy scent on his tongue. The little animal twitched beneath him, but was doing very well to suppress her fear. She lay flat and lifeless; submissive, which wasn’t always a bad thing he supposed.

Hermione shuddered as the werewolf continued to lick across her stomach, she trembled underneath – trying to be submissive was hard when she was completely immobile below him. Her night dress had become dislodged and ended up above her belly button, she was aware of this only from the chill she was feeling on her lower-half. A sense of dread began to fill her mind about what could happen.

Unexpectedly the werewolf lay down beside her, and continued to lick her, his bloody tongue tingling her flesh in the most unpleasant way. He nosed her with his muzzle until she was half on her side so that he could lick the other side of her. She felt like a chew toy, but was too rigid with fear to do anything. The werewolf gave a grunt and suddenly grasped her middle half in his jaws, Hermione stiffened – he could not bite her. She would not let him. Bravely she reached around, and shoved his muzzle away from her forcefully. He growled and snapped at her hand, but did not attempt to bite it.

She was an odd creature, the werewolf thought as he gazed at the petite figure before him. Elongated like him, but smaller, with no snout, and tiny ears which he licked to make sure they were ears after all. All of this outlandishness aside he couldn’t help but think she was interesting to look at, if not a bit tempting. She certainly made him feel different; although she had no tail which he thought was a big letdown, she had very tantalizing hind-quarters, and the most unusual protuberances on her chest which seemed to move furiously if she did.

The witch squealed as the werewolf licked across her butt cheeks. This was all getting very uncomfortable, he had spent the last few minutes staring at her, and she had decided to just stay silent so as not to agitate him. His muscular arm pulled her closer to him, and she rolled from being on her side to on her back. He stuck his muzzle in between her legs suddenly and she squeaked, holding them shut as hard as she could.

The beast snorted at her and resumed his business, agitated that there was no clear entry to her sex. He could smell the scent of her; it awoke in him an eagerness to mate. He licked over her thighs and he could hear the witch give out muffled pleas of some sort. Her whiny tone was only making him only more desperate to fornicate. The werewolf’s frenzied licking of her groin made her cry out. “Please don’t... please don’t,” the witch cried.

But the animal was getting impatient. He growled aggressively and snapped at her hands which were attempting to push his muzzle away. His arms drew up to hold her hands down, and she gasped. He’d barely used his hands at all, mainly using his muzzle to move things. He growled again, sickly red saliva dripping onto her bare stomach, she looked away as his muzzle dived between her legs this time, but she couldn’t keep her legs apart any longer as the force he was using now was twofold.

Her eyes were wet from holding them so tightly closed as she felt the werewolf lick over her clit. It felt so unnatural, so disturbing she wanted to cry. His wet, cold nose pressed against her, breathing hot air onto her skin, she cried out again, “Please stop it Fenrir,” but he was oblivious. Suddenly she eyed what she’d been fearing, what she had not wanted to believe would happen, was going to happen. The werewolf’s member was already pressed against her leg. She screamed to be let go, but he didn’t understand. He continued to fervently lick her sex, her scent he could not get enough of. His member throbbed with arousal, he moved to position himself. But did not know how, she was so differently shaped.

The witch became almost yielding to him, as she cried to herself. The weight of the werewolf bearing down on her was too much, she felt numb, and hoped it would all be over shortly. She let her legs slide either side of him, as she turned her head away, the werewolf looked at her sex, so pink and fruitful. He growled slightly before mounting her, his member pressing against her slit. She screamed, biting her lip as he forced it in, but it was only half way when a huge yellow spark threw him sideways.

“Bad master. Mistress is only ever good and look at what you do to her!” Scorned the little house elf with the tea-towel dress. “Bobbin show you, - you naughty puppy!” A flash of green light soared at the werewolf as he was caught in a body-bind charm. Hermione gasped, pulling her night dress over her modestly. Jinsy came running from the house, and ran straight to Hermione.

“Oh just in time Bobbin, although maybe not need the bind!” He added shaking his head vigorously, his glistening eyeballs looked Hermione over for cuts and bruises. “Let us go into the house. Master should not be seen while, ahem,” he cleared his through and gestured at the moon. The witch took the elf’s hand as she looked at the hulk of a werewolf lying on the grass as Bobbin hurled insults at him. She was too shocked to say anything.

_____

A/N: O_O Bobbin saves the day. Don’t worry, there’s proper lemons in the next chapter.
- 20
- 21
- 22
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