Savage Seduction

This chapter is dedicated to Sampdoria, because I know how much you love Ron ;)


Ooh yay read it :D


EDIT: Ugh seriously annoying when you post a new chapter then it's got loads of coding flukes in it. If you find any let me know (krimzonbabe@gmail.com) and I'll change it right away. Too tired to see any more now u_u


EDITEDIT: I'll edited this like a hundred-kabillion times since I put it up two minutes ago!!!!! :<


EDIT: Really shouldn't write when I'm tired. Yes I made a big mistake as noticed by my lovely reviewers. They are not married, I will change this :3 I also wanted to add for some peoples benefit, that I did not enjoy writing about Ron, it felt very wooden and I know I didn't write to my best with him. At the end also, what Hermione did was wrong. Hell i think even Fenrir thought it was, but girls will be girls. When they are aroused, they are aroused. That's all I can say, it was a horrible change of heart from her, after saying she wouldn't do this to him. But girls can be horrible people, (just the same as men can) but they can be very spiteful to even those they love. I will try and develop reasons for this in the next chapter, without dwelling on it too much.




Savage Seduction


18


Well now I guess I should've listened

When you said you'd had enough

A little trick I picked up from my father

In one ear and out the other, whys love gotta’ be so tough?




****

Life went slowly back to normal after Hermione turned up again, well, it did for everyone else. Hermione, no matter how hard she tried was not settling in well. After the evening she spent with Ron, she moved back in with him soon after at their cottage near Ottery St. Catchpole. Even though they lived in the vicinity of the other Weasley’s, Molly never called around. She would not speak to Hermione now; somehow word had got out about the real story.


She’d kept the rest hidden from her friends and even her parents. The vanishing cabinet story would have to do. At first moving in seemed so surreal; everything had changed. Or just got messier, which was more often than not the case. Things were still awkward with her and Ron, but he understood and gave her as much space as she wanted.


But it was times like right now, when she was alone, that she felt so lonely, and so vulnerable. Over the past two weeks hardly anything had changed. She still spoke to Ron in a mumble or a whisper, she was always quiet around him. It wasn’t how she used to be, and although Ron had a new aspiration to be devoted to her, and to help her through this as much she needed he was beginning to grow restless with her being so distant.


Hermione already knew by the end of their first week together again, that nothing would ever improve. It couldn’t, she had to move on. Start afresh. But she wasn’t in her right mind to say it to the poor man; she’d lost her feisty side long ago. Whenever he was around she became sullen, locking herself away from him. And when he was gone? Everything would change. Almost. She was immediately less reluctant to get on with her day when he was gone, but still inside she felt an ache. She knew it was only a matter of time before she left him for good. Where she was going to go she didn’t know? Just away. Far Away. Somewhere else.

****

The witch sat alone in the small kitchen of the cottage. The evening draped the room in shadow, but a warm light shone out from the black stove, and the heat emanating from it soothed Hermione. She picked at a frayed cuff of a sweater she was wearing. Ron was working late at the office. Usually that made her happier, because when he was gone her mood would lift. But tonight the depression she had become bound too was worsening.


Before the witch knew it her eyes were welling up, she wiped a single tear away. Crying. She didn’t even know why. It happened most of the time now; it would finish as quickly as it started. Everything made her cry. Molly had had the cheek to ask her if she was expecting, the last time they dropped by. Hermione scorned that woman. Not so long ago she had thought her the kindest person alive, but now she knew if you crossed her you’d never be forgiven. Oh she was pleasant alright, but her polite questions always had underlying venom. Since the incident, Molly refused to acknowledge Hermione unless she was around visiting with Ron, and for this Hermione was always sorry. Ron didn’t deserve to be battered by his own mother, being told to leave the ‘hussy’ – Of course Ron was too chivalrous to do it, he wanted to make it work with Hermione, and this made the witch feel even worse.


A tear splashed into her teacup. But that wasn’t really what she was thinking of at all. She didn’t really know what she was thinking about; the witch just always had this throbbing, aching pain inside her. She tried not to think of him, she seldom actually did think of him outright, but he was always in her thoughts in some way or another. The more her mind concentrated on it the faster her eyes misted up. She let out the first squeak as her tears ran down her cheeks; she trembled open-mouthed, no sound issued forth.


The brunette witch raised her hands to her face and covered it. She knew why she was crying now, but she would never tell. She sat for awhile, her breathing returning to normal and she sat in silence, the kitchen getting ever darker as time passed.


Suddenly Hermione got up almost knocking the chair to one side. She strode to the window peering out at the dark forms of oat stalks in the near distance, the moon hovered somewhere overhead, she couldn’t see it but it cast its eerie glow around the dusty yard outside. She sniffed and turned towards a small dresser nearby. Opening the top drawer she thumped at the bottom, with her other hand she prised open the crack that had appeared. Underneath, in the secret compartment lay a forlorn looking pack of cigarettes.


If her parents could see her now...Hermione actually smiled airily thinking of all their sayings, about teeth and tobacco and a whole range of health problems to follow. Well right now Hermione didn’t care; she never made a habit of smoking, only twice had she ever done it. The first, before Ginny’s wedding, when she was having a major meltdown. And the second time after Charlie Weasley had made a move on her on a holiday in Romania. That had been scary; she’d locked herself in her hotel room and refused to come out for ages. It calmed her nerves; she only ever craved them when she was very depressed or very anxious or nervous.


With a cigarette in hand she decided to sit outside for awhile, the darkness was much more calming now than it used to be.


“Incendio” she muttered, stuffing her wand back into her jeans. The witch took up a seat on the back of an old wooden hay trailer. It was seldom used, and Hermione had placed it their especially for its rustic look. Right now of course she couldn’t give a toss. Her current attitude to everything was very negative. She couldn’t care about the house, work, possessions, anything. She just didn’t care. She felt as if she’d never be happy again, so what was the point?


The witch stared at the burning tip of the cigarette, the only bright light in the dark garden. Tears began to well up again, she threw the cigarette down and pushed herself from the trailer. What would she do with herself? She was inconsolable. She trundled round the yard, her cries becoming louder then softer again.


After an hour of walking aimlessly around the dusty earth her breath lingered in a cloud in front of her. It was freezing, but she wouldn’t go inside just yet. Her tears had long since dried up, now she was silently contemplating. She fell to the ground, kneeling roughly, her head drooped forward as her body heaved in another silent turmoil. Her hands lay at her side oddly; she looked up at the moon. Its curvature was so smooth, its light so radiant.


The witch frowned, her face crumpled as she set into a fresh bout of tears. She sniffed, listening to the echoes of the night. Crickets chirruped in nearby hedgerows, owls hooted, small animals rustled through undergrowth and a dog barked nearby from somewhere in Ottery St. Catchpole. Hermione blinked, the tears had half-dried to her face in the freezing wind and it felt uncomfortable.


Unexpectedly the witch sat up straighter, brought her hands to her face and howled. It was strained through all her crying, and it didn’t vary in its pitch much, but she was trying to make it last as long as possible. She took another breath quickly and howled again, this one just as pitiful sounding but yet it had more variance. Several dogs barked back from various directions in the distance. When the witch had finished her hands dropped by her sides and she sighed. The brunette wiped her face with the cuff of her sweater and picked herself up, and disappeared into the little cottage.

****

It was noon of the next day when Hermione could bring herself to make breakfast. She had had a lazy start, going to bed so late, she slept in and then took her time to get dressed for the day. She hadn’t felt so peachy after she awoke, her eyes were swollen and her cheeks were patchy and red, Ron had asked what had happened before he left. They were meant to be going out with Harry and Ginny, but Hermione had said she was not feeling well but urged Ron to go, reluctantly he did.


Hermione rubbed her face in the nearby mirror, she looked fine now. Not a trace of what had happened last night and how she had looked this morning, too much crying wasn’t good for the skin. Truthfully she had felt queasy that morning; it wasn’t a ruse to get out of an outing. But now she was feeling a little better and her appetite had come back. The witch stirred the contents of the saucepan thoughtfully, somehow she felt better today, more so than the past few weeks.


She tasted the porridge with the wooden spoon she was using, her thoughts drifted over last night. But she tried not to think of it right now, instead she took the pot off the stove and brought it to the table where she was just about to pour it into a bowl when the hairs on her neck stood up.


A long and resonant howl echoed around the kitchen, but like a crow taking a noisy flight into the sky it was over in a flash. The witch was silent, she had suddenly become queasy again, the hair on her neck prickled with anxiety. The hallowed call breached the air again, the witch was aware it was not coming from in the house. With the pot forgotten in a death-like grip in her hand she left the kitchen and approached the front door. Through the small window in the door she could not see anything; she opened it instead, strangely not feeling afraid; she stepped out into the yard.


Her hand trembled and the pot hit the dusty earthen ground with a thud, porridge spilling out everywhere. At the edge of the oat stalks stood Fenrir. He was much bigger than Hermione remembered; Taller, and broader, and more formidable. Everything about him made her think of everything that had happened. He was wearing the same trousers with the buttons on the end that she had thought he looked so sexy in with bare feet. And the black shirt he wore was the one Hermione had worn to bed, as it had one of the middle buttons missing. The coat he was wearing was the one that got soaked in the sea, ruining his cigarettes.


Hermione felt as if it had been forever as she stared at him, but it had only been a second. She started slowly towards him; he had been expressionless, though still daunting until now. The witch was still several paces away when he broke into a smirk and held up his arms to her. She frowned slightly but found herself walking faster towards him. Soon she hit his chest and was enveloped in a tight grip, waves of warmth and comfort and scent washed over her. After a few seconds, and the feel of his breath touching against her cheeks he whispered;


“I missed you Beautiful.“


The witch gripped at the back of his coat, on the brink of tears, but she wouldn’t cry, not this time. Her head was buried in his chest, with his nose just touching her hair. He smirked, strawberries.


“How did you find me?” said Hermione tearfully. The werewolf became expressionless again which confused the witch, a loose strand of hair hung down the side of his face as he looked straight at her.


“I heard you calling.”


“But how did you know?” Frowned the witch as she looked up at him. The werewolf made an odd smirk, he wasn’t sure if the witch meant how did he know it was her or how did he know what she wanted. But he knew it had been her.


A werewolf can identify its pack members and family by their howls, each is specifically unique, though they may not sound it to the common ear. He knew straight away it was the witch, it sounded quite different from when she had howled at his home, but he could feel the ‘pack bond’ in her voice. A howl can tell a lot from those who know how to listen. Hermione may have not known what she had been saying, but it was clear enough to Fenrir. She would have not understood how to properly communicate the message she wanted, in humans it’s practically impossible to learn. However emotions speak louder than words and it was clear to him she was very despondent and distressed at the time. Through the high winds that shook the trees that night, he had heard her call, Where are you? I miss you. Where are you? Are you near? I need you. Come back to me. I need you.


“I just knew you were calling me back,” the werewolf issued, pulling out of his reverie. The witch blushed, her fingertips against his chin.


“You cut them off,” she stated, wondering why the werewolf was acting so strange.


He gave an abrupt nod, touching a strand of her caramel coloured hair. Her fingers drifted down his chin to where the braids once hung, but now was barren save for a short shaggy beard.


“Oh, I was just getting used to them,” she laughed before their lips met. The kiss was savoured, as they pulled apart. Hermione hadn’t time to speak before the werewolf began.


“Come with me,” said Fenrir awkwardly, his deep teal eyes scanned her face for any sign of agreement. The witch hesitated for a second, looking at him earnestly. Could she leave everything behind? The brunette thought about how last night she wished everything to hell, and that she would secretly give everything up just to be happy again. She looked back at the werewolf, he seemed distant and it worried her. She felt a tiny twinge of unease around him now. What was wrong with him? His piercing glance persisted, and the witch had to look away.


“I don’t know,” she said quietly.


“I understand,” said the werewolf gruffly after a short silence. How could he possibly understand?


“No you don’t,” Hermione lashed back, “You don’t know why I can’t just leave. I have a family, a Fiance, a house and a job-“


“A family you never make time for, a Fiance that you hate, a house you can’t stand to be in and a job that isn’t what you want!” Hermione gasped, that stung. It was true, she never saw her parents, or made an effort with The Weasleys. She wasn’t in love with Ron, she dreaded the house because it reminded her of him and again he was right. She wasn’t even in the right job.


“What good is it to make me hate myself Fenrir?” Said Hermione, venom returning. The werewolf snorted. “You don’t understand what it’s like? I can’t just leave everything as is.”


“Why not? You left me.”


“Uh,” said Hermione putting a hand on her hip, “I believe you kicked me out actually.” The werewolf roared, and Hermione felt the hairs on her neck stand up.


“Argh, you went fucking mental. What else was I supposed to do? Explain myself for killing all those people? I am who I am,” the werewolf gave her a scornful glance.


“What good would it have done to say all that? You wouldn’t have changed your opinion. I made you leave because I was fucking afraid I’d hurt you, you fucking little bitch. Don’t you even know how I feel? – Just fucking forget it.”


He turned to leave and Hermione dashed forward, “Wait.” The werewolf turned to her with a contemptuous look. “Why can’t we both say sorry to each other and forget about it?”


“’Cuz you’re too fucking stuck-up. Like hell you’d say sorry. And anyway what have I done wrong? I kept my distance after you left, and then when you wanted me I came.” Hermione growled at his statement, men.


“Ooh if you have such great perception of people’s thoughts,” she mocked, “Why didn’t you come for me sooner you big asshole. Like when I wanted you from the start! You big jerk! ” The witch was shocked with her own language. This was the man she loved not her enemy. Wait, what did she just say? There was a silence, Fenrir had his back to her.


“Come with me,” he said again quietly, but Hermione was not finished. She ran up to him driving a fist into his back.


“I want you to say sorry you big butthead.” She heard the werewolf laugh gruffly before turning around. He threw his arms around the tiny witch and threw her over his shoulder.


“Shut up or I’ll kidnap you again,” he said with a laugh. “Now do you want this expedition to be of your own choosing or do I have to have you under lock and key?” After a few seconds of squirming the witch went limp across his shoulder, she sighed heavily.


“Let me down, I’ll come, but I need to pack,” said the witch with a refreshing change of heart. The werewolf groaned, why couldn’t she just come straight away?


Hermione was shaking, as was always the case when doing something she ought not to be doing. She would just run in and grab a few things and leave a note for Ron. Later, maybe she would send letters to Ginny.


The werewolf followed her in, but resumed being silent and expressionless. It unnerved Hermione. It seemed as if he was different, more like before they got close. Maybe he just needed time, she hoped.


He was almost too tall for the cottage, having to stoop low climbing the stairs. Inside the bedroom Hermione bustled quickly grabbing items left, right and centre. From under the bed she pulled a suitcase. The werewolf however was inspecting a scented candle on the nightstand. He pulled a face, Yeuch. Putting it down, he approached the witch as she packed things away. From behind her his arms snaked around her stomach, as he took in the scent of her hair and skin. She smelt so good.


She was also doing very well at ignoring him. “Fenrir, I am trying to pack.” But he persisted. “I still have to get some...” But it all melted away and soon they were kissing, it was fantastic. Her mouth ached from not having kissed in so long, she savoured every minute. Soon he had hitched up a leg and bent her over the bed, still endeavoured in making up for lost time.


“Fenrir, we have to go soon,” muttered Hermione trying to break away, and grab towards her case. “No really, Ron will be back soon – I’ve got to finish this. Honestly.” The werewolf let her go, but went back to shadowing her as she packed the case. And as soon after he was all over her again.


“Look, don’t make me use the F-word.” Hermione stated, thwacking him with a towel as he tried to inspect something in the case. Fenrir smirked, tossing the candle out of the case - that was certainly not coming with.


“Swear all you like Hermione, You’ll be living with a real gentleman soon.”


“I sincerely hope you don’t mean you? A spoon has better manners,” she smirked tossing a bag of jewellery in. He gave her a frosty glance and she continued, “Oh, and I didn’t mean the swear word.”


After some careful moments of thinking, he opened his mouth to speak, tossing a scarf at her. “You know I hate that,” he said bitterly.


“I know but sometimes you deserve a telling off,” the witch replied sexily. Fenrir gave her a serious frown,


“Hermione, every time you call me that I swear my manhood gets a little smaller. And I know you wouldn’t like that.”


The witch burst into a riotous laugh as she put a photo album and an old trinket box into the suitcase. However the conversation was not mentioned again.


“Aren’t you going to ask me why I tried to contact you?” said the witch quietly. The werewolf looked at her for awhile before speaking.


“I already knew. I had been hoping you would. Because...” he stopped, looked at her and turned away, obviously not going to finish his sentence. Hermione watched him for awhile, but it was clear he was done speaking; so she began.


“Last month, when there was a full moon – it made me think of you. I had wondered what you had been doing, and if you were thinking the same-”


“So you only thought of me on the full moon? Great I’m sure that image must have been nice,” he replied dejectedly.


“No I just didn’t want to say I was always thinking of you,” Hermione was perplexed now after admitting what she didn’t want to admit. The werewolf looked at her.


“What’s wrong with that? I never stopped thinking of you...I thought you’d never want to see me again. Do you know how that feels?“


“You’re the one that threw me out,” she teased again.


“Let’s not talk about that,” said Fenrir abruptly.


“And anyway, how could you think that?” The witch frowned, she had been so upset then, but because she felt so much for him.


“I don’t know,” said the werewolf, he smirked and it made Hermione shiver. Something about him seemed so odd. “It’s different because you’re human. I knew I’d see you again someday on your own terms, you’re tied to me. But I couldn’t keep you there then, against your will. I had to make you go so you could make your own decision.”


“Tied to you?” Said the witch, the werewolf leaned over to her ear,


“The forest remember?” Hermione frowned. “You were begging me. So don’t give me a frown.”


The werewolf stood up hastily and turned away. “How are you feeling by the way?” He said curiously. Hermione looked at him blankly.


“What do you mean?”


The werewolf shrugged looking back at her, “You sounded upset when you called is all.” The witch shrugged, watching him as he turned away with a confusing glance.


“I am just going to get some things from downstairs,” called Hermione already out the bedroom door. Fenrir sighed, how much was she going to take? However he used the time wisely, the werewolf approached the bed and opened the suitcase. Rummaging through the witch’s packing he found the last of the scented candles and tossed them on the floor, as well as a really hideous purple sweater. He was still looting when something rather shiny caught his eye in the mirror; turning in its direction he approached the gizmo warily. He prodded the metal object with a finger and it wobbled before coming to a standstill. Each of the five metal balls hung on strings were suspended by two frames, but Fenrir could not work out what it did or what was the point of having one.


“Ok I’m – Fenrir what have you done?” said a slightly shocked Hermione as she surveyed the mess of the room. The werewolf stood up straight at the sound of her raised voice, letting go of the little metal ball in the process. Clack – Clack – Clack – Clack . The noise continued and the werewolf turned ignoring the witch who was stuffing all the new items into the suitcase. Amazed, he watched as the gadget started to move. One of the end balls hit the other sending a wave of reactions through to the ball on the opposite end which moved and then sent the wave back again. He was transfixed. How could it do that?


“That’s a Newton’s Cradle,” said Hermione bending down beside him. She was used to having Ron amazed by all sorts of muggle objects. “Every ball gives an action and reaction, as they try to stay in perpetual motion.”


“Yeh yeh yeh,” he said cutting her off, “But how does it work?”


“I just told you! Oh no,” said Hermione looking at her watch. “We have to go, Ron will be back soon.” Hurriedly the witch rushed into the bathroom for one more item while Fenrir stealthily sneaked the amazing clacking gadget into the suitcase unnoticed. He grabbed the witch as she rushed by,


“Calm down,” he purred, kissing her neck. She struggled but soon gave in. “So what if he comes back? He’s not going to cross me.” The werewolf subconsciously puffed out his chest. “And if he does he’ll be sorry.” Hermione cringed; she couldn’t do that to Ron. She didn’t love him, but she couldn’t hurt him anymore, they would have to get out.

****

The gleaming flames of the fire turned a sickening green, illuminating the hearth with a turgid glow. In a bright flash, Ron appeared in his navy work robes. He cast aside a leather satchel on the table.


“Hermione,” he called out, noticing the empty bowl on the table. He sifted through the post, tossing a few bills aside. “Hermione?” It wasn’t like her lately to get up and go out. She had practically become house-bound. The redhead lifted the last letter, which had a neat handwritten name on it, with no address. It must have come by owl, from a friend of the family or something. He started out into the hall and was about to call for her again when he noticed the mess. A side table had been knocked over and the pot plant which stood upon it was across the floor and the soil strewn everywhere.


He glanced into the remaining rooms which looked untouched apart from a few cushions lying on the floor in the lounge. “Hermione!” he called out worried, was she hurt? He dashed up the stairs two at a time and into their bedroom. Ron gave a gasp.




There's clothes all over the floor

I don't remember them being here before

Smell of perfume isn't here, why's lipstick on the mirror?

And still I don't understand...





Most of the drawers in their room were open, and empty. Hermione’s things from the nightstand were gone, her jewellery, and the photo album. Candles littered the floor; the redhead gritted his teeth, the letter in his hand crushed. Who had done this? Where had she gone? It was him; he knew it was.


Why had she done this to him? And was she ok? Did she go of her own accord? He kicked a candle aside and it hurtled towards the wall. Lifting the bed covers up he peered under the bed, the suitcase was gone. Bloody hell. Had she really left?


The redhead stood up, surveying the room. It was then he opened the letter in his hand, it was from Hermione. He set about reading it, first slowly – trying to take it all in. In a daze he went down the stairs stepping over the pot plant. The air seemed stifling, he had to get out. Reaching for the front door he read on with the letter,


“I’m sorry, I just don’t love you anymore,”


Ron bit his lip, holding back tears. Why was she doing this to him? Hadn’t he done everything he could to help her recover? He looked to the bright sun beaming down on him. The air out here was no better, everything was stifling him. He felt sick and shaky. Clutching the letter, he lent against the white stone-washed wall of the cottage to read the remainder.


“I'll send for the rest of my things in the next few days. I didn't do this to hurt you Ron. It just has to be like this.”


The letter crumpled in his hand as he pushed himself away from the wall, tears streamed down his face, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. But he loved her. Why would she do this?




Should see the look on my face, my shit's all over the place

Why's this happening to me, why'd you take both sets of keys?

And still I don't understand...




The redhead kicked the dusty ground, throwing the letter down hastily. Then he saw it, something was catching the light in the corner of his eye. As he approached the small object on the ground it became clear that it was a jewellery bead. He picked it up, rolling it between his thumb and fore finger, its glass edges glistening in the sunshine.


Straightening up he looked towards the oat stalks at that end of the yard, he was about to turn away when he saw some had been carelessly trampled on. It could be nothing; most of the oat crop here wasn’t cared for or cropped, ever. But he just had a hunch. He advanced to the edge and started to create a way through them, he knew there was a clearing nearby, where it was mostly marsh.


The further he went in the springier the ground became, fetid pools of water sprang up, and the mud began to thicken. He swatted away flies that lazily clung to him in the midday heat. Suddenly he could hear something; very quietly he could hear voices.


“You don’t have to come you know. It will be hard. You can’t have the life you lived before. I am a convict..” said a male voice. Ron couldn’t associate it with anyone; it wasn’t a harsh tone like what Greyback had sounded like at Hogwart’s.


“I know,” said Hermione; he could recognise her straight away. “I want to.”


“Are you sure?”


No answer, but he could still hear movement up ahead. He crept forward, he had to know – had to see who she was with. As he rounded the last of the Oat stalks he could see their figures, that bastard – it was Greyback. He looked a little different, and he was turned away but he knew – he just knew. They were kissing, a knot tightened in Ron’s stomach. He wanted to scream, and rip out Greyback’s heart. Nothing could rival the hate Ron was feeling. Greyback was a criminal, how could she?


But as they kissed the two figures turned around, it was clearly Hermione that was initiating and what could be more crushing to Ron than that?



****

Hermione bit her lip playfully; ooh she had missed feeling happy. The werewolf stared at her with lucid blue eyes. She was playing with the lapels of his jacket when she caught sight of someone in the bushes. Without panicking she leaned playfully towards Fenrir’s ear.


“Ron is watching us,” she whispered quietly. The werewolf turned to look, and Hermione quickly pulled him into a kiss. Honestly, the first thing you don’t do is look.


“Mmm Fenrir,” she said provocatively. The werewolf smirked, was she doing this on purpose? He could see the redhead hiding behind the stalks to his right, as Hermione kissed his cheek he flashed him a devious sneer.


“I think we better leave Hermione,” he said casually.


“No,” said the witch, her caramel eyes flickering with mischievousness. A hand trailed down the werewolf’s stomach. “Let’s just do it here..”


At once the oat stalks shuddered and out came Ron. He stood there speechless, but obviously wanting to say something or stop them from doing anything. The werewolf kept his cool; this was clearly the witch’s call. She glanced casually at the redhead, her eyes not meeting his before turning back to Fenrir.


“As I was saying,” she continued seductively. She trailed another finger down his stomach, and bent down, kissing his navel, then his belt buckle, and then proceeding lower over his zipper and trousers. What was she doing? She never meant to hurt him, but god damn the werewolf brought out the bad side in her. The werewolf growled, smirking, Ron stood knocked for six.


The witch moaned seductively, kissing over the werewolf’s crotch. Beside her, her wand stood ready and in a flash they were both gone. The redhead stood, shaking and staring at the spot where they had been.



Well now I guess I should've listened

When you said you'd had enough

A little trick I picked up from my father

In one ear and out the other, whys love gotta’ be so tough?


****

A/N: Ooh it’s heatin up! Hermione how could you do that to RON! D:

Sometimes I think the writing is too neatly spaced. I'd like to know what you guys think and I'll change the coding if need be :)



Love n’ Kisses, Moony.

Please review :3





Nickelback - Should've listened.