Rotkäppchen
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Remus/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
5,339
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Remus/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
5,339
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.
Predator
Title: Predator
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: #6 – Predator. ‘Nothing ever gets in my way, nothing ever gets on my mind, nothing ever makes me stop to think about, nothing of the kind.’ ‘Harold and Joe’ by The Cure
Word Count: 1,035 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/
#6 – Predator
Hermione had dozed off, a copy of Carl Sagan’s ‘Cosmos’ over her face. She had trekked into Puzzlewood again with a picnic lunch and book. For once, she could read for pleasure, and the prospect of enjoying the autumn leaves, a turkey sandwich, some tea, and biscuits while reading under a majestic tree, thrilled her.
Of course, the night before had shaken her resolve to stay at the cottage, but the more she thought about the shape she had seen by the jetty, the more she thought it a dream. The scratches on the door were gone when she left the cottage…
Hermione knew she had to be cautious, and as she lay back on her crimson cloak as leaves fell upon the book over her face, she kept her hand on the handle of her wand. She was not far into the forest, and at times, she could hear Muggle voices, tourists walking along the marked paths of Puzzlewood.
Dozing, Hermione edged back and forth across the formative stages of dreaming. So comfortable wrapped in her cloak, Hermione was vaguely aware of the passage of time. When she moved the book away, stretched, the sky through the thick red leaves had changed, and the clouds that drifted past were tinged red from a late day sun.
‘Holiday’ meant not getting anything done, relaxing, Hermione knew, but still, she felt slightly guilty that she had dozed for a long while in the embrace of the forest. Tucking her book into her cloak and fasting the metal clasp of the garment before her throat, Hermione shivered as the first cool breeze of late day drifted through the trees and around her. Lifting the cowl of the crimson cloak over her unruly hair, she sighed. She was hungry and she mentally made a checklist of the supplies she had brought with her.
Walking through the tangle of trees, it did not take long for Hermione to realize that the falling leaves had obscured her path. It was not just that, she felt, the landmarks were slightly different. The tangled oaks had shifted somehow, as if danced about while she dozed.
Drawing her wand, she used a directional spell, finding west easily, the direction of the cottage. However, finding a path west would take time, the terrain at times rugged without the aid of a path…
Hermione slipped her wand away and sighed as clouds began to gather, obscuring the direct sunlight in the western sky. Apparation, she had been told before renting the cottage, was a tricky matter in Puzzlewood. There was something in the earth under Puzzlewood that did not take well to Apparation and some types of spell craft. It was speculated it had to do with the minerals in the ground, the rock that conducted natural magical energy, but Hermione was at a loss as how to explain it. She had been told to not try and Apparate in the confines of the forest.
She wondered if the prospect of a holiday had somehow numbed her brain.
Hermione lifted her chin in self-defiance, and began walking west as directly as she could. Losing track of time, Hermione could not judge the hour for the gathering rain clouds overhead. It was as she was glancing up through the branches that her boot caught a root and she tumbled down a slope to the edge of brook she had not known existed. Her cloak was tangled around her waist, and as she huffed and groaned, uninjured, but definitely aggravated, a sound of soft laughter caught her attention.
Crouching on the other side of the brook was man, and as Hermione stilled at the sound of his raspy laughter, the man rose to full height. From under the edge of her cowl, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man who was dressed in rags, it appeared. His hair was wild and long with streaks of grey in a mousy brown. He was dirty, barefoot, and scarred.
There was something so familiar about the eyes that Hermione shuddered.
“Lost, little one?”
The voice was even more familiar to Hermione, but the man she associated with the voice was long dead—a decade gone. However, the resemblance was striking.
Hermione managed to rise to her feet, letting her cloak swirl about her body.
“Perhaps,” was all she answered, wary.
The man had a kind face, though scarred and grubby, but as he reached out a long fingered hand to her as she neared the brook, Hermione hesitated. The fingernails were not nails at all, but claws, and were blackened with dirt.
As if noticing her hesitation, the man smiled, and Hermione took his hand as he helped her to jump across the brook. The man looked so much, seemed so much like…
“Which path were you taking?”
Hermione slipped her hand from his, and continued west while he followed. She knew he could not simply be a man, he was a wizard, and though she did not see a wand, she could feel his power in his touch. It was more than that however, and as she told the man that she had rented the cottage by the river, she wanted to clap a hand over her mouth.
“Let me take you, little one. Night is near, and there are dangerous things in this wood for little ones like you…”
He walked beside her, towering over her, and Hermione was not sure why she felt relatively safe with the stranger, or why she felt as if there were eyes watching her from the depths of the forest.
There was something so strange about the man and how she felt about him, and as they walked, she began to ask questions. His answers were smooth and natural. He lived nearby, he was a wizard, and he liked his privacy. However, he was not unsympathetic to those tricked by Puzzlewood, thus his free assistance.
Hermione kept her hand under her cloak to touch her wand handle. Despite the man’s well-spoken manner, his light smiles, Hermione knew this man was not simply what he appeared to be. If anything, he was a predator, but of what prey, Hermione had yet to discern.
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: #6 – Predator. ‘Nothing ever gets in my way, nothing ever gets on my mind, nothing ever makes me stop to think about, nothing of the kind.’ ‘Harold and Joe’ by The Cure
Word Count: 1,035 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/
#6 – Predator
Hermione had dozed off, a copy of Carl Sagan’s ‘Cosmos’ over her face. She had trekked into Puzzlewood again with a picnic lunch and book. For once, she could read for pleasure, and the prospect of enjoying the autumn leaves, a turkey sandwich, some tea, and biscuits while reading under a majestic tree, thrilled her.
Of course, the night before had shaken her resolve to stay at the cottage, but the more she thought about the shape she had seen by the jetty, the more she thought it a dream. The scratches on the door were gone when she left the cottage…
Hermione knew she had to be cautious, and as she lay back on her crimson cloak as leaves fell upon the book over her face, she kept her hand on the handle of her wand. She was not far into the forest, and at times, she could hear Muggle voices, tourists walking along the marked paths of Puzzlewood.
Dozing, Hermione edged back and forth across the formative stages of dreaming. So comfortable wrapped in her cloak, Hermione was vaguely aware of the passage of time. When she moved the book away, stretched, the sky through the thick red leaves had changed, and the clouds that drifted past were tinged red from a late day sun.
‘Holiday’ meant not getting anything done, relaxing, Hermione knew, but still, she felt slightly guilty that she had dozed for a long while in the embrace of the forest. Tucking her book into her cloak and fasting the metal clasp of the garment before her throat, Hermione shivered as the first cool breeze of late day drifted through the trees and around her. Lifting the cowl of the crimson cloak over her unruly hair, she sighed. She was hungry and she mentally made a checklist of the supplies she had brought with her.
Walking through the tangle of trees, it did not take long for Hermione to realize that the falling leaves had obscured her path. It was not just that, she felt, the landmarks were slightly different. The tangled oaks had shifted somehow, as if danced about while she dozed.
Drawing her wand, she used a directional spell, finding west easily, the direction of the cottage. However, finding a path west would take time, the terrain at times rugged without the aid of a path…
Hermione slipped her wand away and sighed as clouds began to gather, obscuring the direct sunlight in the western sky. Apparation, she had been told before renting the cottage, was a tricky matter in Puzzlewood. There was something in the earth under Puzzlewood that did not take well to Apparation and some types of spell craft. It was speculated it had to do with the minerals in the ground, the rock that conducted natural magical energy, but Hermione was at a loss as how to explain it. She had been told to not try and Apparate in the confines of the forest.
She wondered if the prospect of a holiday had somehow numbed her brain.
Hermione lifted her chin in self-defiance, and began walking west as directly as she could. Losing track of time, Hermione could not judge the hour for the gathering rain clouds overhead. It was as she was glancing up through the branches that her boot caught a root and she tumbled down a slope to the edge of brook she had not known existed. Her cloak was tangled around her waist, and as she huffed and groaned, uninjured, but definitely aggravated, a sound of soft laughter caught her attention.
Crouching on the other side of the brook was man, and as Hermione stilled at the sound of his raspy laughter, the man rose to full height. From under the edge of her cowl, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man who was dressed in rags, it appeared. His hair was wild and long with streaks of grey in a mousy brown. He was dirty, barefoot, and scarred.
There was something so familiar about the eyes that Hermione shuddered.
“Lost, little one?”
The voice was even more familiar to Hermione, but the man she associated with the voice was long dead—a decade gone. However, the resemblance was striking.
Hermione managed to rise to her feet, letting her cloak swirl about her body.
“Perhaps,” was all she answered, wary.
The man had a kind face, though scarred and grubby, but as he reached out a long fingered hand to her as she neared the brook, Hermione hesitated. The fingernails were not nails at all, but claws, and were blackened with dirt.
As if noticing her hesitation, the man smiled, and Hermione took his hand as he helped her to jump across the brook. The man looked so much, seemed so much like…
“Which path were you taking?”
Hermione slipped her hand from his, and continued west while he followed. She knew he could not simply be a man, he was a wizard, and though she did not see a wand, she could feel his power in his touch. It was more than that however, and as she told the man that she had rented the cottage by the river, she wanted to clap a hand over her mouth.
“Let me take you, little one. Night is near, and there are dangerous things in this wood for little ones like you…”
He walked beside her, towering over her, and Hermione was not sure why she felt relatively safe with the stranger, or why she felt as if there were eyes watching her from the depths of the forest.
There was something so strange about the man and how she felt about him, and as they walked, she began to ask questions. His answers were smooth and natural. He lived nearby, he was a wizard, and he liked his privacy. However, he was not unsympathetic to those tricked by Puzzlewood, thus his free assistance.
Hermione kept her hand under her cloak to touch her wand handle. Despite the man’s well-spoken manner, his light smiles, Hermione knew this man was not simply what he appeared to be. If anything, he was a predator, but of what prey, Hermione had yet to discern.