Savage Seduction

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Savage Seduction

13



Looking back in my childhood

Wasn't too bad but it wasn't that great

I carried the luggage like a bag of bricks

Feels like it's holding me down again




****


The witch lay on the bed looking up at the hangings above her. When she had came upstairs to the bedroom the bathroom door had been left open just a crack, but she could hear the shower going and she wasn’t taking any chances. So now she was waiting for the werewolf to come out.


The sound of the shower had made her forget about the recent incident, or at least push it out of her mind for now. Now all she could think about was the werewolf, knowing he was so very, very near. The whole day had been great, first the sea, then scrumping – well that had been a little scary. Hermione never liked getting into trouble, but it had been a lot of fun jumping through the wheat fields with Fenrir.


She had even forgotten about losing him momentarily and the fear it brought on, now all she could think about was their confrontation. She couldn’t help lusting after him then, she knew she could have it anytime she wanted. It’s not as if she had to be emotionally attached to him – Fenrir wouldn’t turn her down, she knew that, she could just use him for sex. That’s why she had been so amiable to him earlier, he was very tantalising, but even though she could bear to be around him now and didn’t mind his company she refused to believe it was anything more than that. She definitely was just lusting after him.


Or at least, that’s what it had been when she had started to tease him. It really was quite exhilarating – having absolutely no idea just what exactly what to do. He knew how to play too though, he had teased her back and she didn’t like that. Frustrated she had thrown herself at him, a pang of shame echoed inside her stomach as she thought about it.


And then of course everything had got out of control, she was taking the lead, but only to warm him up. She had only meant to encourage him to throw her down and service her, not go further and actually take the lead. Hermione blushed thinking of her embarrassment at not knowing what to do. It all seemed simple when you thought about it, but actually being in that situation was terrifying. She was afraid of doing something wrong, not that she had to prove herself to him, Hermione noted.


It was good though, although she would have preferred him to do all the work. But the grin etched on his face kept shadowing her other thoughts all throughout the day, was pleasure really all that physical? Was the feeling she got when she watched him writhe in pleasure not even better than that, knowing it was her that was doing it?


Hermione realised she had been grinning profusely whilst she daydreamed; she rolled over, stuffing her face into a pillow, from embarrassment of her own thoughts.

“Fenrir hurry up, I need a shower!” The witch called as she resurfaced a frown now etched on her face. She had been lying there for ages, what was the werewolf doing? A sultry voice called out to her over the din from the shower.


“I’ll be here for awhile, come and join me if you can’t wait.”

The witch threw a dirty look towards the bathroom door. “No thank you,” she said sweetly. He was a pervert, she smiled. A really big one. A really big one with nice muscles, a toned stomach and ...damn, why did that always happen to her? She may have let him go farther than any other man but she was not ready to share her shower time. That was her main relaxation/reflection period and she was not willing to give that up over a horny werewolf.


She rolled over; placing her head against the pillow she had tried to bury herself in earlier. Her thoughts lingered on the werewolf, the witch would not let herself believe she liked him. It was obvious, even to Fenrir that she had changed the way she felt about him. But Hermione would not see it; nothing had changed according to her.


It was odd the way the witch went about it. She would not think of Ron, and she would not think of leaving. But she would also not admit that she liked the werewolf, or wanted more from him. She had dismissed everything; she was essentially a ghost the last few weeks. She thought of nothing from her past or for her future and just got on with the day as boring as it were. The werewolf was around increasingly more than he used to be, and she had a feeling he had grown attached to being around her.


The witch got up from the bed and strode to the window; he was really trying her patience. The shower hissed away faintly from behind the bathroom door, she could see the steam emerging from underneath it. The witch pouted, coming to a standstill on the carpet.


To hell with it, she thought and approached the door carefully. As her hand reached to push against the wood she suddenly got the image that he may be lying passed out on the floor or something like that. She proceeded with more urgency, through the steam she could see the edge of the shower, as she pushed the door open wider and took one step in, the werewolf came into view.


Well he wasn’t dead or anything. He was still in the shower, facing away from her his hands running over his head. The witch paused for a second; she kept her gaze on the sink.

“Um Fenrir, I would really like to shower sometime soon,” the witch called over the drone of the shower.

“Come and join me then,” his voice was crystal clear through the din, and he did not look over his shoulder at her or move at all. The witch gave him a stern look he couldn’t see, one hand rose to her hip.

“I told you no already!”

“Fine,” said the werewolf casually. He looked over his shoulder towards the witch and she felt herself being rooted to the spot. She didn’t like invading his privacy, she felt very awkward standing there as he looked at her. She hadn’t honestly noticed he was completely naked, she heard herself asking why he wouldn’t not be completely naked in a shower, but it fell on deaf ears.


He was still watching her, as if waiting for her to say something. He ran a hand through his hair which for the first time Hermione noticed was untied and it fell in wet tendrils around his face and behind his ears. She swallowed as he turned back around to continue washing his hair and she caught a glimpse of his toned stomach which she really had grown to love so much. As he turned she glanced at the tattoos she had never had the time to read; whenever he had been naked before she had been ‘too busy’ to look at them. Her eyes drifted down his back from his shoulders down to his legs watching every water drop slide down with ease.


“Take a picture,” Fenrir crooned. The witch blushed, realising she had been standing there far too long. “Just going to stand there?” The werewolf added giving her an incredulous stare. Hermione could feel her cheeks burning.


“Um,” she started but the werewolf broke into a grin seeing how much she was embarrassed. She threw him a dirty look and raised her voice a little; he was just playing with her. “Fenrir get out so I can have my shower. You have been in here for ages, what more could you possibly wash?!”


“Oh, but I’m really dirty,” he mused scathingly whilst washing over his chest over-dramatically. She scowled and crossed her arms, she could stay here all day and force him out, as long as he didn’t turn around it wouldn’t knock her off course. “Fenrir please,” she moaned after a minute rolled by.


“I’m not finished yet,” said Fenrir. The witch began to wonder if the shower had been tinkered with magically, because the water was still hot and he had been in there forever. The werewolf looked over his shoulder again giving her a questioning expression, the witch stared him down before throwing her hands down at her sides.


“Fine!” she snapped, “but no funny business,” she pointed a finger at him. He gave her a grin, and she added sharply as she turned away from him, “I am warning you Fenrir Greyback. Do anything, anything – and I’ll claw your coat hanger to shreds, got it?”


She didn’t hear an answer. Why was she doing this again? It echoed through her head. She slipped off the shirt and jeans she had on, covering herself modestly with her hands. Why? She had no idea; he had already seen her naked plenty of times. She turned around again to see he had already turned back to the shower; she approached slowly her hands still firmly over her assets.


The witch stepped in front of him and turned, looking up to face him. “My space,” she said sweetly with a grin. She was now under the cascading water and he was not. He snarled but his eyes lingered on hers, satisfied with his gaze she let her arms reach up to free her hair which had been scrunched up since this morning.


She closed her eyes; showers were blissful after a long day. She felt her back arching as she strained to get her head under the water, this perceptibly pushed out her chest and she opened her eyes in realisation just in time. His hands were splayed out, lingering suspiciously close to her in mid-air, as if to grab something.


“Put those down,” she stated firmly as if talking to a dog. She looked up at the werewolf; his face was a cross between a fiendish grin and mock innocence. He gave her a ‘Well you had your chance’ look and stepped out of the shower. She felt a pang in her stomach as he turned away from her but knew it was what she really wanted – peace and quiet. Damn, I wish he had a bath.


She closed her eyes and washed her hair, out of the corner of her eye she watched him leave the bathroom altogether, but the door stayed ajar. She sighed, men again. Why can they never do the simplest of things?


After a few minutes she had relaxed completely, the room was filled with delicious hot steam, and the witch began humming to herself quietly as the water cascaded down her body. “Mmm,” she sighed letting her head roll back. She loved to indulge in a hot steamy shower, but a bath was even better. At home she would lie in it for an hour, reading a book or listening to music.


When the witch had finished, she stepped out of the shower and dried off with a towel. Inspecting her hands she saw she could have spent a little less time indulging, as they were a bit wrinkly from the water, but she shrugged it off and dressed in her sleeping shirt. It had become terribly comfy from wear, but was in dire need of a wash.


Hermione walked into the bedroom, the werewolf was lazily sprawled on the bed, she approached the fire and sat down to try and dry her hair. Oh, if only she had her wand. The werewolf didn’t stir and Hermione sat quietly on the rug. But the silence was beginning to grow awkward for her; she had so many questions she wanted to ask him.


After a while the witch grew bored of combing her hair with her fingers, the crackling of the fire was the only unnerving sound in the room, she had to speak up.

“Fenrir, who where those two men in the forest?” She couldn’t see him past the high end of the sleigh bed, and she couldn’t hear him move. But then he spoke, quite naturally, which assured her that he wasn’t bothered about talking about them.

“Being the bright spark you are I assume you knew they were werewolves?” The witch nodded, pulling a knee up in front of her and hugging on to it.

“Yes.”

“Dumont was the first one to attack; he was not so intelligent – always thinking about females and killing things, nothing else. He was little more than Armand’s lap dog at times.” The werewolf paused. “Armand, the blonde, was much more cunning than him. He would seek to overthrow me if he could; in fact I know he had tried. He was manipulative, and dangerous. He was a disgrace of a werewolf!”


Hermione frowned, taking in what he had said. Overthrow him? From what? The witch replied in disbelief, Armand had seemed so powerful – how could he be seen as a disgrace?

“A disgrace?”

“He was a pureblood wizard, like myself, but he used it to his advantage. True werewolves strive to eradicate wizards, and banish them for the way they treat us. We are more powerful than them, we are meant to unite against them, not fraternize with them.” Hermione noticed the way his words became more forceful, and she was afraid that she had riled up something in him that had lay dormant for quite some time.


“Armand was a well established wizard within society,” Fenrir went on, “No one but very few werewolves knew what he really was. He tricked them all – but not me. He was trying to benefit from both worlds, he was filthy rich, lived like a king in his mansion, going about his daily life, mingling with the highest class Wizards – they even let him work! Nobody in the ministry knew what he was.”


Hermione paused, the name actually sounded quite familiar now she thought about it. In fact, it was one she had often seen written on all sorts of documents at the ministry, was it the very same man? She wondered what his first name was; even so it wasn’t a very common surname.


“But why is that so bad?” She bit her lip slightly, knowing she was swimming in hot water now. The werewolf stood up from the bed suddenly coming into view, he gave Hermione a blazing look before looking away.


“Do you not know? I thought you were friends with Lupin? You are meant to be smart! Don’t you know about the ministry refusing to let us work? Or when we too were burnt at stakes?” The werewolf was pacing back and forth, his hands reinforcing his words whilst Hermione looked on silently.


“We are driven out of society, outcasts – unwanted, feared. It has made us become attuned to what we are meant to be – beasts. Before the war the werewolf uprising was inevitable, droves of werewolves had been pushed away from humanity, threatened by their own families! They’ve turned us.”


He paused, looking Hermione straight in the eye, she shivered slightly. He did not look so angered now, almost shocked. “Lycanthropy was not always what it is today. At first it was only a disease, and now it is a way of life. They have pushed us to the boundaries, werewolves now embrace what they are – and they challenge anyone who thinks otherwise to try it.” He smirked, turning away from her to start pacing again.


Hermione frowned again, she knew werewolves had it hard, but he obviously knew a lot more than she did. “But Fenrir, Armand said something about before the war? Was this the uprising? Were you in it?”


“You cannot think that I would not be?” he said rhetorically, opened his arms out wide to her, and she felt the hairs stand up on her neck. All of a sudden he looked rather monstrous. Of course, how could she forget who he was? The werewolf growled.


“I was their leader once; I fronted the movement against the wizards. Muggles too; for all they are worth. Armand was always trying to seize power, although he never dared to confront me, no – he only tried to poison the others against me – and underground movement within an underground movement. Fancy that, the leader of the werewolves and a well established member of the ministry.”


“But what happened to everybody?” Hermione said quietly.

“They all died in the war, what was the point in collecting the few survivors again? They were the cowards that ran away to hide, they have shown their true colours. What good are they to me?”


Hermione sat for awhile in silence, he was obviously finished; Fenrir had sat down on the bed, his eyes glazed over as he rubbed the back of his neck slowly.


“You said you were a pureblood,” she said inquisitively. The werewolf nodded. “I’ve never heard Greyback before,” she pondered, knowing that pureblood lineage was a dying line and that their names were often repeated or well-known.


“Greyback isn’t my real name,” he murmured his eyes still eerily glazed over. Hermione was surprised, she should have known better but she always thought Greyback suited him.


“What is your real name?”

“I don’t know my surname, I don’t remember. It’s always sort of been Greyback” He said it without emotion, but it still made a knot tighten in Hermione’s chest. What must have happened for him not to remember his own surname?


“But your first name is Fenrir right?” The werewolf nodded and Hermione chuckled “What a coincidence.” The werewolf snarled quietly and the witch stopped, he obviously knew what she was insinuating.


“My father knew what I’d be long before I was born, my name was already decided,” said the werewolf a hint of bitterness in his voice. Hermione carried a weak smile as she watched the werewolf. He looked miserable now and he was still glassy-eyed, as if somewhere else.


“He was so cruel,” it was almost a whisper.

Hermione waited for him to say more but he didn’t elaborate. She mulled carefully over her words, the last thing she wanted to do was enrage him again. “Er...well what do you mean? Did he know you would definitely be born a werewolf or was he planning to -?” His reply was quick.


“All bred werewolves sire werewolves. Bitten victims - it’s only by chance, or strong genes.”

“Oh,” was all Hermione could muster. Thank goodness for Teddy, she thought. “Tell me more,” Hermione was absorbed. The werewolf stayed silent for awhile, and she did not think he would answer.


“When I was young, my father killed my mother,” Fenrir paused. “He took satisfaction out of killing her; I’ve no idea why he kept her alive so long just to kill her in the end.”

His expression was emotionless, Hermione scanned his face for any sign of approval or disapproval but she could find none. “Was she not a werewolf too?”

Fenrir shook his head, “No she wasn’t. I can hardly remember her – but she smelt like candles and warmth and I know – I know I really liked her. But I don’t remember much, - she had really long brown hair...it was so soft,” Hermione a pang of guilt as she saw a strained smile appear on his face. She felt guilty for all the long hours she had spent with her mother when he had had none.


“He didn’t bite her because female werewolves aren’t good with children. You’d think they would be, for all the animal instinct, but they’re not. I suspect that’s why he didn’t bite her anyway. Werewolves often mate with unbitten instead, it’s better for the offspring.”


“I thought werewolves didn’t mate very often,” Hermione blurted out before thinking.

“You’ve been reading too many books,” he said unusually cheerful. “The sex drives of werewolves are incredible, even in human form their appetite’s are far superior to men,” Hermione snorted in agreement and Fenrir raised an eyebrow. “But your right they don’t mate very often.”


Hermione opened her mouth, most likely to say ‘But how does that arrangement work?’ but he cut her off. “You probably don’t know this, but when a female is bitten by a werewolf her oestrous cycle goes out the window.”


“You mean to say she can’t get pregnant?” Hermione frowned, that couldn’t be right? And why on earth did Fenrir know what an oestrous cycle was?

“No, but they start synchronizing their cycle to mimic that of wolves,” Hermione stared at him in disbelief, “So technically they will only get pregnant once a year if they are on heat when it happens.”


He smirked, “The textbooks are only telling you when werewolves ‘mate’ other werewolves for offspring .And even that is pretty rare, they got it spot on. Werewolves rarely have children, most don’t want them.”


“But, you have sex all the time...” Hermione struggled to say anything. The werewolf looked at her with a smirk, and a shrug.

“I’m only human.” Suddenly she gave him a very severe frown and he laughed. Hermione was intrigued, Fenrir took her expression as a request to talk more, “All animals do it out of season you know, and it’s not that different for werewolves. Humans have sex whenever they want, so I guess that shows through on werewolves. The only difference is that human sex is so much better than werewolf sex,” he finished abruptly, frowning as if remembering something.


“What?” Hermione squawked, what was the difference?

“Well when you’re a werewolf, you have different priorities.” He paused, scrunching up his face, “Well I mean when your transformed.” Hermione realised what he meant now. “When you’re a werewolf your senses heighten and your...it’s hard to explain. You can’t think the same as when you’re human. Everything is more basic, like I would think more like a canine than a human at full moon.”

“I understand, you think like a dog.” She smiled coyly, and he scowled at her but continued.

“A wolves priority is to mate and sire pups, it’s not exactly the same with werewolves they don’t tend to have a mating drive that forces them to search for a mate. But any time they do fornicate while transformed the drive suddenly kicks in; skill and pleasure is out the window. They are only there for business.”


She could imagine what he was saying, picturing a dog humping an inanimate object, rapidly and without any consideration or skill. Fenrir watched her drift off into a daydream and hadn’t got a doubt what it was about.


“But it’s only like that under transformation,” he assured her. The witch laughed. Sure she believed him, but she liked to wind him up too.

“But you said werewolves are superior to men? That doesn’t sound right from what you have just told me.” Hermione frowned blithely. The werewolf grinned.

“But they are, when in human form. They’re like super human. Good stamina and stuff – haven’t you noticed? It’s just the mindset under transformation that makes it a bit naff,” the witch blushed, but then cut him off;


“And the doggy equipment. Can’t forget that!” Hermione raised an eyebrow and laughed but stopped when Fenrir gave her a confused look.


“No, we don’t have that kind of equipment.” He said painful slowly, until Hermione was blushing profusely.


“What?” She mumbled, but he didn’t need to reply. “But...so you have normal...junk?” The werewolf scoffed at her term, kicking his feet up onto the bed and swivelling around to rest his head against the headboard.


“The very same,” he said coolly when he had positioned himself. He stared at the little witch as her expression changed from disbelief into pensive. She was trying to remember Lupin while he was transformed, but it had been dark. She hadn’t seen anything – then again she hadn’t been looking.


“So why is human sex so interesting?” She said finally, wanting to proceed with the conversation, it was proving to be rather fascinating. The werewolf laughed,

“Do I have to answer that for you?” The witch blushed, but the werewolf continued so she didn’t have to answer. “It’s more like a hobby isn’t it? Trying new things and stuff - well you just feel more, animals don’t tend to have a very big sex drive,” he shrugged and the witch knew what he meant.


Hermione shivered, the wind outside was picking up and she could hear it rattle against the windows. Fenrir was off in a day dream she noticed, probably about sex, rolling her eyes she got up quietly and crossed the room to the other side of the bed.


She pulled back the sheets so she could get in and warm up. The werewolf lay on the other side, still staring up at the hangings surrounding the bed. When she was comfortable she turned to watch him for a few seconds, his plaits hung down and tickled against his neck as he breathed and she grew frustrated that he wasn’t doing anything about them. They would annoy her if she had them, but she supposed he was used to them. His hair was tucked behind his ears, the stubble on his face was darker and bushier than usual and she had the odd urge to reach out and brush her fingertips against it but she resisted.


“Tell me more about you,” she said faintly before curling herself up around the sheets. The werewolf awoke from his reverie and turned his head to look at her, his teal eyes lingered on her face. Before he spoke he looked away again, smoothing his hair down with a hand absent-mindedly (or nervously).


“Well I was a pureblood, but we weren’t particularly wealthy. Rather like that Weasley family, my father was a suspected werewolf but at the time they couldn’t prove it, he was deemed insane by most. Rightly so, it was hard for us to establish ourselves with him around.” The werewolf paused and his eyes seemed to focus on something just out of Hermione’s gaze.


“I remember my mother was treated horribly by the townspeople. We lived on the outskirts of a wizarding village – I forget the name – but they were very cruel to her, they wouldn’t accept her, I think they too suspected what we were. As for me? Well I didn’t get to see much of them either. I went to school when I was young, but I was kicked out soon enough.” He gave Hermione a flippant grin and she immediately began to wonder just why he was expelled; Bad behaviour or because of his lycanthropy?


“So my mother homeschooled me, I was such a recluse – Never allowed out – just in case something happened. After all I’d grown a liking to my furry side, and why should I not? – it was part of me!” Fenrir puffed out his chest before speaking again, “My mother’s family didn’t even know what I was. We didn’t see them often, and they had no idea what my father was like – perhaps if they had known it would have been what saved her. They were very kind to us, when we did visit. They had already set up a betrothal with another pureblood witch for me” – He laughed heartily. “Can you imagine?”


“Did you meet her?” Inquired the witch.

“Not then,” he averted his gaze quickly, changing the subject, “Can’t stand betrothals – don’t know why they have them. Although,” he started, “I guess it cuts out the hassle of having to fall in love.”


The witch looked at him curiously, “Have you ever been in love?” His gaze turned to Hermione, who was lying on her side; her eyes were so warm and gentle. She shivered with cold and pulled the blankets tighter around her.


“No,” he said unsettled.

“Let’s not talk about me anymore,” he said buoyantly. The witch returned a smile as the werewolf slipped into bed beside her. The day had been long and eventful and she could already feel the enticing arms of sleep wrap around her. Closing her eyes she felt Fenrir move closer to her, his body heat was welcomed – she could feel his warm hands move up her back and settle just below her shoulder blades.


She remembered drowsily opening an eye, and saw that he had already closed his. The witch gave a weak smile before finally drifting into a much needed slumber.


****

A/N: :o well what you think? Sorrrrry lot’s of humorous bits here but really felt like they needed a big long conversation. After all she may not be seeing him for awhile >.> .....oh? What was that I said? ........................................ :D MUAHAHAH

*Lyrics - Puddle of Mudd, Nobody told me