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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. :(

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Savage Seduction

9

I don't know if it's even in your mind at all

It could be me

At this moment in time

Is it in your mind at all

It should be me, it could be me

****

The storm outside rattled the thin windows of the rickety old house, it howled down the chimney, and blew gusts of wind into the room. Hermione pulled the covers up over her shoulders as the cold air reached her. She adjusted her position in bed, still asleep and felt the warmth of skin against her back. The werewolf had wrapped his arms around her, in an attempt to keep her warm. The fire had fizzled out hours ago, and he was in no mood to get up and start it. He could hear raindrops dripping down the chimney into the grate, it made his ears twitch.

He opened an eye slowly, it was dark, and the storm sounded ferocious outside. Snarling silently, his lip curling back to show stark white pointed canines. Then he remembered where he was, he hated that – when you awoke from dreams and it took a few seconds to get your bearings. The werewolf’s mouth twitched as his eyes adjusted in the darkness, the shadowy figure of the witch beside him coming into view.

He was pressed up against her back, his arm curled around and rested on her stomach. She had both hands up under her cheek as she slept contently. He lay his head back down behind her, her chocolate brown locks tickled his nose and he sneezed, but the witch didn’t stir.

The werewolf’s right arm was numb, from the witch lying on it like a pillow, but he didn’t want to disturb her. He closed his eyes again, trying to block out the storm. Fenrir smiled and thought back, hours ago at what they had done. He had finally bedded the witch – with her permission of course. He hadn’t counted on it being that good. After all, he was a rough and ready kind of guy, and she was expecting him to play nice. So he did, and it was rather good.

He broke out into another grin, one he couldn’t hold back on as he lay beside her, eyes closed in the day dream. The witch stirred beside him and he growled as she placed a very cold foot on his leg. The witch rolled over in slumber, to face him. Nuzzling in underneath his chin and placing a hand on his chest, she sighed complacently.

But now Fenrir couldn’t sleep, he thought back to their escapade and groaned slightly at how good it had all been and what the witch had done to him. He smirked, she had enjoyed herself too; he knew it. If that orgasm wasn’t mind-blowing for her then he was Albus Dumbledore’s long lost furry brother. Hell, she had even blacked out after. The werewolf crooned silently remembering his last throws. He soon became aware that he was only making himself aroused again by thinking of it, and as he looked down at the witch it really didn’t help that they were still naked. Or that her perfect breasts were pushed up against him, or that his cock was so very, very close to her snatch.

Fenrir smirked, she really detested him using that word, she had made that evident last night whilst he had wrestled her under the covers. He ran a hand down the witch’s back and around her hips and down her stomach and watched her skin shiver at his touch. He smirked, trailing further down to the apex of her legs. Unexpectedly a hand closed around his wrist and brought it back to rest against her side. The werewolf looked at the witch, her eyes were still closed but he could still see the faint smile etched onto her lips. He growled silently and wrapped both arms around her in an embrace, and settled into sleep.

****

It was still early in the morning when Hermione awoke a few hours later. She noted the sunshine trying to break through the heavy drapes; the room was stuffy and dark. A feeling of dread set in. It reminded her of all the times Ginny had told her of one night stands, how in the morning you feel sick, and disgusted with yourself. Just like Hermione was feeling now.

What had she done? Last night was great, but it had been a mistake. A very, very big mistake. The witch lay on her side, entangled in the bed sheets, she could hear the werewolf breathing behind her, fast asleep. Her mouth was dry, and her stomach was making knots, she felt sick. Why did she do it? She really had enjoyed it, but she was still engaged to Ron. How could she do this to him?

Hermione frowned; last night had been so...good. All her inhibitions about the werewolf had dissolved then, he seemed like any normal person. He’d looked good even; she could remember how her eyes swept over him at every chance she got. He was really well-built, and alluring and..

The witch clenched her jaw. She had to stop this. She had to stop succumbing to the beast. He was a beast after all. She shouldn’t be doing this, no matter how ‘human’ she thought he was lately. If anyone found out, later on when she was free – she would never be respected again. This could crush her reputation she had sought so hard to build. Why did she feel so helpless against the attraction? Lately, it just seemed natural. He was kinder to her, different; she had got to know him.

It was then she remembered something that she and Ginny had discussed once - Stockholm syndrome. That was it, it had to be. She was getting carried away with being locked up with him for so long, that that’s why she kept getting those little twinges and mixed signals from him. So she was going delusional – sort of. But it was all ok, she reassured herself; it was just the psychological torture of being stuck with a captor so long. Once she got away, everything would be back to normal and she would never have to think of him again.

Hermione bit her lip. Why did she suddenly feel so opposed to believe that? She had to remember who he really was, a perverted, sadistic – possibly cannibalistic, mass murderer. The witch shuddered slightly before turning over to glance at the beast. He lay with his arms spread out; his chest rose and fell rhythmically. Her eyes drifted to his face, he was snarling faintly. The witch rolled her eyes wondering what on earth he could be dreaming about. She jumped as a snarl actually became vocal; his eerily white teeth were clenched, his canines looked precariously dangerous this morning. The witch frowned not being able to remember seeing them like that yesterday.

As minutes rolled by the Hermione lay frustrated in silence. This was not a life she could live forever. Sooner or later she’d really have to make an escape plan. The werewolf had made sure she could not escape, she had long since given up attempts of sneaking down in the mornings to try the doors and windows. Perhaps though if she befriended him it would help. If he trusted her not to run away or to escape, then perhaps he would let his guard down, or even let her go.

****~

The witch was just tucking in to the last helping of Bran Flakes when the werewolf trudged into the room, heading straight for the pantry. Hermione looked up from the paper she was reading, it was last weeks – but the crosswords hadn’t been done yet and she had nothing else to do.

“Good morning,” she said half-heartedly, mulling over what she had thought about that morning. The werewolf returned from the pantry holding a raw rump steak in his hand. The witch paused, spoon quivering mid-air, as she watched the werewolf reply. He was babbling on about the storm last night, or something or other – Hermione wasn’t actually listening she was watching the way he wiggled the steak in his hand with almost every syllable.

The werewolf threw himself down on a seat, and chewed on the steak thoughtfully as he attempted to read the paper upside down. The witch turned pale and pushed her bowl away from her – he was so revolting. She stared out the kitchen window and the werewolf plucked the paper from under her now that she was otherwise engaged.

The sun was splitting through the heavy blanket of clouds in the distance. The storm had subsided, and the day was looking much brighter. A spiders web glistened with raindrops just outside on the window sill, and Hermione grimaced as she spotted the owner, eating a struggling fly.

The werewolf was perusing the paper, but not to his utmost ability. Instead he was thinking about the witch, as usual these days. She was a nymph if ever he saw one. Last night had been amazing, but he was well aware that that little she-devil was sucking him in. He’d gone soft, and he had to stop it. He wanted her, yes, but this new aura he was getting was repulsing him. He wasn’t so sure being so nice to her was the right thing to do. He’d have to toughen up a bit – make her understand, he had to evade every attempt to be nice to her today.

The witch got up from the table, and the werewolf didn’t even give her a glance. He hadn’t said anything about last night, part of her was relieved, but she was also annoyed. It wasn’t helping her now she had to try and win his affections; so to speak. Did he even care about last night? How could he not, she had never let anyone that close to her before. The witch was ready to explode with anger, she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out;

“You haven’t said anything about last night,” Hermione noted, trying to mask her rage. The werewolf didn’t even look up from the paper.

“What about last night?” Fenrir drawled monotonously. The witch nearly smashed the plate she was trying to put away. Through gritted teeth she replied.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s just sex Hermione.” The werewolf lied, keeping his face utterly unemotional. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to get down on one knee.”

“But...” Hermione uttered, she couldn’t even finish the sentence. The werewolf smirked, and threw his hands behind his head, stretching with a yawn.

“Sex makes the world go round baby, get used to it.” The werewolf arose from his seat and left the kitchen leaving the stunned witch standing in the middle of the floor, clutching a plate so hard it was ready to shatter.

****

Hermione spent the rest of the day in the library reading, her plan had failed. Maybe she could just start the next day, when the werewolf wasn’t being so abhorrent. The witch had been on the brink of tears all day, why had he been so cold? Obviously she knew the werewolf wasn’t that emotional anyway but he had seemed so different yesterday. It had all seemed so meaningful, was it really possible that he was just using her for cheap thrills? Or was he doing this on purpose?

It was awfully lonely in the library, she had tried to read but her thoughts had taken over more than once. The moonlight was shining in the windows now; she could barely read in the failing light. The witch set the book down, and got up from the chair. Her legs ached from being tucked up underneath her and she hobbled to the bay window to sit down on its wide sill. The back garden was thrown into shadow, and as she looked directly below her she jumped with fright. The werewolf was sitting in his usual spot looking very sullen.

She left the library without hesitating, now would be a great time to suck up to him. As she descended the stairs her hand drifting over the banister, a howl echoed through the house. She shivered as the ear-splitting vocals chilled her to the core. He hadn’t done that for a few nights now. As she approached the backdoor he howled again, and she waited for him to stop before she opened it.

The werewolf growled as the witch approached him. He had tried all day to avoid the library, but it was proving to be very taxing. The conversation at breakfast had him in stitches, how on earth he managed to lie so well was beyond him. He was a brutally honest person at the worst of times. The witch had been so annoyed it filled him with glee, she was just too serious all of the time.

Hermione sat down adjacent to the werewolf, she looked up at him, but he would not meet her gaze. They sat in silence for awhile and she let her eyes linger on his features. His cobalt eyes glistened in the dark; she could see by the light of the moon his chiseled jaw line and his rough beard which lined it. It was looking awfully shaggy, almost the same as when she had first laid eyes on him. The two thin plaits that hung down from his chin were a new oddity she rather liked now.

Suddenly the werewolf let out another howl, and the witch watched him curiously. “Can you teach me how to do that?” She said quietly. The werewolf looked at her, and she squirmed. His gaze was so penetrating; she couldn’t tell what his motives were. He said nothing but howled again. When he had finished the witch frowned. “You’re not a very good teacher.”

Fenrir growled, he wasn’t attempting to teach her. But she looked with him with an innocent glare and he cupped his hands against his face; he waited until she had done the same and howled. The sound resonated off his hands, but the howl wasn’t as expressive as the previous tries. Hermione took a deep breath and howled too, but it was shamefully weak. As Fenrir finished beside her he gave a gruff laugh, and she threw her hands to her sides before shooting him a furtive stare.

“You don’t do that with your hands normally,” she said sulkily.

“I don’t need to,” the werewolf replied. “You do though,” he smirked. The witch glared at him, and she sat up on her knees and cupped her hands to her mouth, her thumbs resting underneath her chin. She took a deep breath and howled again, this time it was a little better. She was quite proud of that try but looking over to the werewolf he was smirking, holding back a laugh.

“Come here,” he beckoned to her and she scooted across the grass towards him. The werewolf moved directly behind her, his head just beside hers. He motioned for her to try again, and she cupped her hands to her mouth once more. His hands adjusted her posture as she began to howl and she could hear the pitch change. It sounded a lot more authentic now; he pulled her shoulders back and slid his hands down her sides before adjusting her position again.

The werewolf bayed too, and the witch wrinkled her face, his mouth was right beside her ear. But she howled again, getting in to the swing of things at last. His voice carried farther than hers, and was louder and definitely more impressive. She was also aware that his hands where still resting on her sides. She looked up to see what he was looking at and gasped. The moon was so bright, and so big - like a cookie with a bite out of it. It was beautiful; she had stopped long before him in awe of the night sky. When he had finished baying, his head hung over her left shoulder.

Hermione sat watching the stars, but was vaguely conscious of the werewolf still lingering over her. His warm breath reached her neck and she shivered as his hands slid from their position on her sides down her back, trailing his thumbs down her spine. Instinctually she let her head roll back, and it rested against his shoulder. She had closed her eyes; his hands were now resting on her hips. She stayed silent.

His nose was touching her ear now, his breath against her neck, he licked her and the witch shivered. The werewolf traced a hand down her stomach; she could practically feel his perverted smirk against her neck. He edged further down, and she threw his wrist aside. But the werewolf grabbed her around the middle as she strugged to get away. She clawed furiously at his arms before he let her go.

“It’s just sex Fenrir,” she hissed, scrambling to her feet. “You can do without it.” The witch was furious, why did he have to turn everything into some sort of obscene sexual play? And after earlier, well he would get a taste of his own medicine. Although the witch knew she needed to get on his good side, it didn’t mean she would turn into a common whore.

The werewolf growled after her, as she stormed towards the door. That little wench...but he let her go without a fight. What good would it do to tell her it wasn’t just sex, that it was much, much more than that? She would hardly believe him, hell; he could hardly believe it himself.

He shook with rage, couldn’t she just understand? Did he actually have to tell her how he felt? Couldn’t she just pick it up, or sense it or something? Did she actually think he still just wanted her for cheap thrills?

He threw himself forward onto his knees and howled; that witch was the bane of this werewolf.

****

A/N: Lol she’s trying to befriend him, it’s not going very well. Awk poor Fenrir, he doesn’t like having to suppress his feelings but how can he tell her how he really feels?

*Lyrics - Simply Red, Sunrise
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Savage Seduction