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Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Remus/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
5,337
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Remus/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
5,337
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Door
Title: Door
Set: Lilac
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: AU/AR
Summary: #4 – Door. ‘I love it all, these games we play, I close my eyes, you run away.’ ‘The Upstairs Room’ by The Cure.
Word Count: 859 words.
Author's Notes: This set of drabbles is based off of ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ you can read the fairy story here: http://www.tonightsbedtimestory.com/little-red-riding-hood/
#4 – Door
A scratching sound at the door woke her from a light sleep. Hermione had bathed and dressed in a soft shift for bed, the evening was cold, but Hermione buried deeper into the quilts upon the cottage’s bed.
At first, she thought she was dreaming the noise, as she often dreamt so close to the edge of true sleep. However, the scratching continued, reminding her of the sound Crookshanks’ claws made on her bedroom door in her London flat. Crookshanks was with Harry at Grimmauld place during her holiday, and she idly wondered if Harry remembered to feed the half-kneazle.
The scratching became more insistent and Hermione opened her eyes. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, and she could easily see the small cottage interior. She rose slowly, still quite sleepy, and let the ankle length shift swirl about the tops of her feet. The stone floor was cool, but it was not enough to make Hermione wake further than her bleary eyed lumbering across the cottage.
As she neared the wide oak door, the scratching stopped. Hermione yawned and reached for the handle, pulling the heavy door open just a crack.
There was nothing.
The moon was high overhead, a day away from being full, and its light made the river below the cottage appear like a silver ribbon in a dark landscape. Hermione opened the door wider, her eyes moving to the sky, and the full canvas of stars against a Prussian blue sky.
Stepping out onto the stone threshold and step, Hermione woke more fully as she took in the stars. She had almost forgotten how vast and how beautiful an early autumn sky could be. In London, stars were rare.
In that moment, Hermione was glad she had taken a holiday.
The night was cool, and as a fragrant wind blew from the forest to the east, Hermione could smell leaves, moss, and magic. Inhaling deeply, she felt sleep return to her; a night breeze bade her to return to bed.
However, a noise came that made Hermione pause as she started to turn into the cottage. It was a strange sound, one that she would not hear in London. A fox barked in the distance, the sound akin to a person screaming. The noise was distant, toward the west, in the fields. Another sound found her ears, this time nearer, and not a fox.
A howl came from the forest, a sound that made her insides seem to jerk instinctually. She bit her lower lip, knowing that her wand was in the cottage. The distant sound was not dangerous, and Hermione knew that her solitude at the cottage had made her jumpy. Living in a city of millions and suddenly deciding for a holiday where the nearest village was miles off, was a definite change.
Finally, Hermione shifted on her feet, her soles numb from the cold stone, and turned to the door. In the moonlight, she could see the scratches in the wood, claw marks too high to be a cat’s or a fox. The scratches reached higher than the door handle, and were deep into the grain, fresh and new.
A snuffling noise had Hermione turning again toward the river, finally hearing the course of the waterway once she regarded it fully. Narrowing her eyes, she could see the source of the noise and possibly the source of the claw marks on the door.
The edge of the river was perhaps a hundred meters or more from the level of the yard before the cottage and down a slope. There was a small jetty off a path to the river, and there, sitting on the bank before the jetty was a shape. Despite the brightness of the moonlight, Hermione could only see a strangely indistinct shape of a large animal.
Of course, she was aware that Puzzlewood had magical creatures—Thestrals, certainly. This creature was not as large as a Thestral, but not small enough to be a domesticated dog or wild fox. Glancing to the moon, Hermione’s hands itched for her wand.
Werewolves, from what she had read in her research, could turn fully into a wolf several days before and after the full moon…
Eyes flashed in the moonlight and Hermione stiffened.
A yip sounded, and from the forest, Hermione could hear barks of other wolves, and then howls.
The wolf’s eyes were a dark colour, like chocolate, but she could not see anything more of the beast than its eyes. The colour of its fur was lost in the moonlight, and as it rose to its paws, Hermione was certain that its front shoulders would rise past her hip.
A dire wolf…
It had been the wolf that had scratched at the door, leaving the marks, and as Hermione backed into the cottage, she wondered why it had not simply broken through the door to get to her.
Perhaps it was a warning. Perhaps it was a promise…
She shut the door slowly, trying not to make a noise, and as soon as the outside was shut away, Hermione launched herself to the bedside table and clutched her wand.
Set: Lilac
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: AU/AR
Summary: #4 – Door. ‘I love it all, these games we play, I close my eyes, you run away.’ ‘The Upstairs Room’ by The Cure.
Word Count: 859 words.
Author's Notes: This set of drabbles is based off of ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ you can read the fairy story here: http://www.tonightsbedtimestory.com/little-red-riding-hood/
#4 – Door
A scratching sound at the door woke her from a light sleep. Hermione had bathed and dressed in a soft shift for bed, the evening was cold, but Hermione buried deeper into the quilts upon the cottage’s bed.
At first, she thought she was dreaming the noise, as she often dreamt so close to the edge of true sleep. However, the scratching continued, reminding her of the sound Crookshanks’ claws made on her bedroom door in her London flat. Crookshanks was with Harry at Grimmauld place during her holiday, and she idly wondered if Harry remembered to feed the half-kneazle.
The scratching became more insistent and Hermione opened her eyes. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, and she could easily see the small cottage interior. She rose slowly, still quite sleepy, and let the ankle length shift swirl about the tops of her feet. The stone floor was cool, but it was not enough to make Hermione wake further than her bleary eyed lumbering across the cottage.
As she neared the wide oak door, the scratching stopped. Hermione yawned and reached for the handle, pulling the heavy door open just a crack.
There was nothing.
The moon was high overhead, a day away from being full, and its light made the river below the cottage appear like a silver ribbon in a dark landscape. Hermione opened the door wider, her eyes moving to the sky, and the full canvas of stars against a Prussian blue sky.
Stepping out onto the stone threshold and step, Hermione woke more fully as she took in the stars. She had almost forgotten how vast and how beautiful an early autumn sky could be. In London, stars were rare.
In that moment, Hermione was glad she had taken a holiday.
The night was cool, and as a fragrant wind blew from the forest to the east, Hermione could smell leaves, moss, and magic. Inhaling deeply, she felt sleep return to her; a night breeze bade her to return to bed.
However, a noise came that made Hermione pause as she started to turn into the cottage. It was a strange sound, one that she would not hear in London. A fox barked in the distance, the sound akin to a person screaming. The noise was distant, toward the west, in the fields. Another sound found her ears, this time nearer, and not a fox.
A howl came from the forest, a sound that made her insides seem to jerk instinctually. She bit her lower lip, knowing that her wand was in the cottage. The distant sound was not dangerous, and Hermione knew that her solitude at the cottage had made her jumpy. Living in a city of millions and suddenly deciding for a holiday where the nearest village was miles off, was a definite change.
Finally, Hermione shifted on her feet, her soles numb from the cold stone, and turned to the door. In the moonlight, she could see the scratches in the wood, claw marks too high to be a cat’s or a fox. The scratches reached higher than the door handle, and were deep into the grain, fresh and new.
A snuffling noise had Hermione turning again toward the river, finally hearing the course of the waterway once she regarded it fully. Narrowing her eyes, she could see the source of the noise and possibly the source of the claw marks on the door.
The edge of the river was perhaps a hundred meters or more from the level of the yard before the cottage and down a slope. There was a small jetty off a path to the river, and there, sitting on the bank before the jetty was a shape. Despite the brightness of the moonlight, Hermione could only see a strangely indistinct shape of a large animal.
Of course, she was aware that Puzzlewood had magical creatures—Thestrals, certainly. This creature was not as large as a Thestral, but not small enough to be a domesticated dog or wild fox. Glancing to the moon, Hermione’s hands itched for her wand.
Werewolves, from what she had read in her research, could turn fully into a wolf several days before and after the full moon…
Eyes flashed in the moonlight and Hermione stiffened.
A yip sounded, and from the forest, Hermione could hear barks of other wolves, and then howls.
The wolf’s eyes were a dark colour, like chocolate, but she could not see anything more of the beast than its eyes. The colour of its fur was lost in the moonlight, and as it rose to its paws, Hermione was certain that its front shoulders would rise past her hip.
A dire wolf…
It had been the wolf that had scratched at the door, leaving the marks, and as Hermione backed into the cottage, she wondered why it had not simply broken through the door to get to her.
Perhaps it was a warning. Perhaps it was a promise…
She shut the door slowly, trying not to make a noise, and as soon as the outside was shut away, Hermione launched herself to the bedside table and clutched her wand.