Savage Seduction

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Savage Seduction


17


Every thing's so blurry

And everyone's so fake

And everybody's empty

And everything is so messed up.

Preoccupied without you

I cannot live at all.

My whole world surrounds you,

I stumble then I crawl.

You could be my ‘someone,’

You could be my scene.

You know that I'll protect you,

From all of the obscene.

I wonder what you’re doing?

Imagine where you are?

There's oceans in between us

But that's not very far.


****



Hermione heard a soft knock at the door. She stifled a sob, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. They were red, and the skin painful from exasperatingly trying to rub away the tears before Ginny came in. There was no lock. She wouldn’t hold to Hermione’s privacy for too long.


“Hermione, Can I come in?” said a voice from behind the door. Hermione shook her head and hiccupped. Then realising Ginny could not see her she spoke, in a hoarse voice;


“I don’t want to talk about it.” She heard noises from behind the door; Ginny was leaning against it now, with no intention of leaving.


“Well I’m going to talk about it. Whether you like it or not,” she said firmly, but in a soft tone. “I’m not exactly sure what happend to you in there Hermione, but what you told me isn’t all truths now is it?”


There was no answer, so the red-haired witch continued as a stony-faced Hermione stared hard into the wall. She hated lying to Ginny, but she had to, didn’t she see? No one would ever respect her again if this got out.


“If it wasn’t abuse what was it? I think I know, but I can’t say for sure – only you can tell me.” There was a pause. “Was that why you felt so odd about Ron?” There was silence once more behind the door, Hermione blinked indifferently. And then as if something had just clicked inside Ginny she began to speak; more speedily this time.


“You have feelings for Fenrir now Hermione. I know you do. You've spent too much time around him. This is why you’ve been like this! Why didn’t I notice this before?” She said crazily, as she talked to herself more than the other witch.


“Yes you must have. No wonder you've been acting strange. Why didn't I see? No matter," she flustered, "You’ve been yearning for him. All those nights you spent awake and wouldn’t let me in. You weren’t thinking of Ron at all were you?” The last remark wounded Hermione, she cried out forlornly;


“I was. It was Ron I was thinking about! It was Ron..” Hermione burst into a fit of sobs, she was telling the truth after all about Ron, she had been thinking about him. Although what Ginny said had unnerved her. Slowly the door clicked open and in peered Ginny. There was a frown on her face, and she immediately approached the slumped over figure of Hermione and brought her into a hug as she sat on the bed. After a few weak minutes of Hermione crying it out Ginny brought her face up to look into her eyes. She smeared away the tears which ran down Hermione’s face in rivulets. Each thumb was placed under her eyes and her palms lay splayed across her face. She looked deep into the witch’s caramel eyes.


“I don’t care,” Said the fire-headed witch. “I don’t care what happened. We will sort this out.” She looked seriously into Hermione’s eyes and the other witch sniffed, sucking in the cold air of the room. She gave a weak nod, and broke away from Ginny’s grasp, wiping her face on her sleeve.


“Ok, Ok. I’ll tell you about it, well what you need to know. There are things no one ever needs to know. But I’ll tell you enough - to understand. Please don’t judge me.” Ginny gave a silent sigh and a smile towards her friend as she turned away from her. As if she would judge her, there were worse things in the world than this, or was there?

****

The room was shrouded in darkness apart from the one solitary sunbeam shining through the slit in the dank curtains, half illuminating an old coffee table which sat in the centre of the room. It revealed the whimsical dust spirals rising from the floor, unnoticed by the naked eye unless sought out by light. Lazily they twirled and bobbed through the air; time was no medium to them. The silence of the room was serene.


The remainder of the room was cast in deep shadow. Dark forms took shape, broken furniture lay strewn across the place, and the walls were filthy with dark charcoal-like stains, splattered blood and other substances. Glass bottles littered the floor in deep shades of green and brown, some of them were smashed and already part of the mouldy carpet itself, trodden-in over time.


A faint humming drone wavered in through the open window as a light morning breeze attempted to shake the heavy curtains. The bees thumped lazily off the glass, and all the while inside the house was quiet. Everything was still and silent; it was almost perfect. Perhaps it would have been if the room hadn’t been so messy, or hazardous, or if the sheep carcass in the corner wasn’t rotting away and creating such a foul smell.


As the sun moved about the sky the beam of light in the room projected brighter, illuminating the other remnants of the room. The floor was littered with bones of small unnameable creatures, tufts of fur stuck to the cushions, the old armchair and blood – blood was everywhere. It was dried into every surface in the room. And there in the corner, with its nose twitching curiously sat a tiny brown rabbit. It was dwarfed by all the other objects in the room. Its eyes seemed fixed on something; but nothing in particular, as if it was trying to survey everywhere at once. Its nose twitched again nervously.


Out of the darkened corner of the room extended a hand, and with a digit it stroked the rabbits head lightly. Out of fear the animal would have run; it could smell something very bad. A predator. However it was rooted with fear, while its captor caressed it longingly. Unable to move or scramble as another hand appeared; clutching it around the middle it was lifted into the shadows.


The dark gleaming eyes of the werewolf looked at it sympathetically. The creature stared at it for a long time, its eyes concentrating at the black pupils of the rabbit. Before long he had pulled it in and was stroking it against his chest, the animal was rigid with fear; the werewolf could feel its heart beating rapidly between his fingertips.


And then he let it go. It remained in the place where he had set it down, still frightened of moving. From the depths of the werewolf’s throat came a low husky growl, and the little brown rabbit leapt away, jumping over obstacles until it was clear of the room and out of sight. It would live another day.


The werewolf growled again. He was irritable now. Slowly he got up kicking a broken end table as he went. The bottles that sat on top scattered everywhere but he ignored them. The brawny figure braced himself against the door-frame as he looked out into the hall. Dust and debris covered the original floor. Broken banisters lay splintered in a heap. A picture frame lay shattered on the ground, the shards broken now into dust and tiny fragments. A large oak door stood at one end, near the stairwell; it had once been covered in thick, heavy curtains – but they had been savagely torn down and thrown around like most of the objects in the house.


The werewolf stared at the remnants of a broken chair he had hurled over the landing one night, it had landed on the last two steps. His eyes drifted wearily to the stained glass window at the stairwell as they began to mist over. The glass in the beautiful window had been destroyed, only a few remaining red and blue fragments stood rigidly in their places.


He breathed out, clenching his jaw. His vision was impaired as he stared at the destruction. Suddenly he turned violently and kicked at the wall, his foot went through easily. He ripped it out, snarling, but calmed himself quickly. Both hands stretched against the wall as he rested his head on it and closed his eyes. He frowned and stood in that position for awhile. Before letting his nails run down the wall as he pushed himself away. Looking mournfully up at the first floor, he decided to visit the library. Her favourite place.




****


Hermione sat at the kitchen table, wearing pink blossom dress robes. She stared at the teapot, on the stove across from her. Although right now she was in a world of her own. Ginny waltzed past clicking her fingers in front of the witch’s face, “Hermione, earth to Hermione.”


The brunette blinked, and gave a sudden smile to her friend, but quickly disappeared into her thoughts again. Yesterday she had related the whole story to Ginny, omitting certain private details; of course. But Ginny had understood, and that was the most important thing. She was not judgemental of Hermione, but she had joked she could have picked a better contender.


Ginny had wanted Hermione to decide what to do, but the brunette was hopeless at this kind of thing. So it was up to Mrs Potter, sorter-of-all-relationship-problems. Of course the first thing Hermione really had to do, Ginny relayed, was to squash all feelings for him.


“You know who he is right?” she battered into Hermione again and again that night. Of course she did. But she couldn’t help now what had happened, still Ginny had pointed a finger at Hermione. She wasn’t judging, but she did tell her friend off. She did a very silly thing that could potentially put everyone in danger. And at this Hermione had retaliated, however Ginny brought down her iron rolling pin on this one.


“You.know.who.he.is! This.has.got.to.stop!” Ginny repeated often that night. Ginny was right of course, Hermione knew she could do it if she tried. She’d forget him soon enough. It’s not as if it was anything too serious.


The witch blinked, awakening from her reverie as Ginny bustled about setting the table. Hermione was meeting Ron tonight, to talk things through. Yipee, Hermione thought dejectedly.


However the night didn’t go to badly, she and Ron worked a few things out, and apologised of course. They decided to move back into the flat, on certain terms. Hermione could not just go back to being affianced with him, in a matter of speaking. They’d have to take it slow, they decided. After all, Hermione wanted to move back in, if not for Ron, but for her house. It was half hers after all.

****

The werewolf stood in the library, sunlight pored through its big bright windows. His eyes were clouded over in thought. He rested one arm on the top of an armchair near the fire to support himself as he dreamt. A bird chirping outside brought him back to earth, he glanced down at the small reading table wedged in between the two armchairs. A forgotten book lay face down and spread open, as if the reader had only just left to fetch their reading glasses. The werewolf’s mouth twitched as his fingers glided across the cover, picking it up slowly. He turned it over to see tear stains blotched about the page, making the ink run in places.


The werewolf frowned, and began to read the passage, but soon stopped after it was revealed to be a romantic novel. Too dewy-eyed for him, he wasn’t a young and impressionable witch. However he kept the book in his grasp, running his fingers over the tear stains. But suddenly it fell out of his grasp, not accidentally either. The werewolf turned away, he could not give her the happy ending she wanted.


He paced towards the bay window, and sat in its alcove. He placed his chin on his knee and watched through the window as blackbirds dived and swooped from their nests in the trees outside. How he’d like to eat them. Crunch their bones, pull out their feathers, rip them to pieces. But nothing tasted right. He hadn’t been eating properly. He’d grown gaunt in her absence; his muscle was still present for he was still using it to batter furniture with whenever he felt frustrated. But he was skinnier, his face leaner and his eyes more sunken. He watched the blackbirds catch worms and licked his lips at the size of their plump stomachs. But he reminded himself of the sheep in the sitting room. Nothing was right since she left.


He began to feel lonely, and vulnerable. At first he stayed out almost all the time, running wild and ravaging nearby farms. But now he seldom went out. He had no appetite, no aspiration, no energy. He wondered where she was, what she had done, what she was doing. It was driving him insane. He had to know, he wanted to know, he wished he could, wished she had never provoked him into a temper, wished she had never seen the papers, wished he never made her leave.


But he had to; he knew he’d have to let her go someday, couldn’t keep her locked up forever. Best to make her go before she found out anymore of his rotten past. The werewolf sighed. He couldn’t shake who he was. She could never be ok with that, and he could never give her everything she wanted. The werewolf moaned pitifully, thrusting his head into his hands as he sat drowning in the fast approaching darkness.

****

A/N: Ta-da? Well it’s a filler sort of chapter anyways. Next one is like super cool. So stay tuned. :)


Up next: Howling & Bastards

Rate n’ Review guys, can’t wait to hear your thoughts on the new stuff :)



*Lyrics - Puddle of Mudd, Blurry