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Hermione knows it’s foolish to enter the Forbidden Forest on her own. Especially tonight, which happens to be a full moon. But the full moon is precisely the reason she’s here in the first place. She’s in desperate need of fluxweed and won’t dare break into Professor Snape’s stores—the man is far too suspicious of her since the incident in Second Year.
If she remains vigilant and close to the boundary, the chances of meeting a werewolf are slim. Predictably, Hermione is forced to venture further into the Forbidden Forest than ever before to find a suitable amount of fluxweed.
“Bloody Polyjuice Potion,” Hermione mutters to herself as she tramples over twisting roots and mud-slicked leaves. “Bloody Ron.”
Hermione can admit that part of the idiocy of this endeavour is related to her need to impress Ron. After all, it had been Ron who had come begging for her to brew Polyjuice Potion. Hermione didn’t agree with his reasoning for needing it. That being that he wanted to use it to spy and possibly cheat in Gryffindor’s Quidditch matches against Slytherin somehow. But Hermione fancied herself in love with Ron and even though he was still rude and occasionally took her for granted, Hermione supposed that he would eventually come around. Especially now that she had agreed to do this favour. This extremely dangerous favour.
Finally, after what feels like hours of walking hunched towards the ground, Hermione spies the fluxweed she so desperately needs. She drops her wand on the ground, Lumos casting just enough light that she can see what she’s doing but hopefully not enough to draw attention. From her trusty beaded bag, she pulls a knife she stole from the Potions classroom and begins collecting the finicky ingredient.
She’s carefully tucking her second handful of fluxweed into her bag when she hears it. A sound that chills her to the bone. A howl. She thinks perhaps she’s imagining it and reaches for the plant once more. It comes again, not a moment later, that terrible howling. Hermione pauses, knife pressed to the base of the bundle of fluxweed in her hand. There’s a wind shivering through the trees, carrying the howl to her ears and Hermione thinks that if she’s fast, she’ll have time to collect enough fluxweed for the sixteen scruples needed for the Polyjuice.
But the wind is deceptive, much like the Forbidden Forest. For not a minute later, comes a third howl. Closer than the first. Closer than the second. Much closer. Hermione carelessly picks the rest of the fluxweed, slashing almost blindly at the plant, and prays it will be enough. Then she shoves it into her little beaded bag along with her knife, wipes her hands on her skirt, and reaches for her wand.
Cautiously, she stands, hoping that the werewolf won’t catch her scent. If she’s careful, she should be able to make it out of the Forbidden Forest. But when she turns around to do just that, her blood freezes in her veins and her Lumos dims until the only light is that of the full moon.
A werewolf stands barely ten feet away. Hermione doesn’t dare take her eyes off the creature, breathing shallowly through her mouth, trying to think through the panic that clouds her mind. The werewolf’s fur stands on end and, in the moonlight, Hermione can’t tell whether it’s brown or perhaps even orange. She’s not sure why the colour of its fur matters so much to her right now, her nerves are making it hard to think rationally.
She chances a glance at her surroundings and thinks that perhaps if she can somehow distract the werewolf, she can make a run for it. The werewolf takes a step closer and Hermione swallows audibly.
She doesn’t know whether this werewolf is someone from Hogwarts or a wolf from the pack rumoured to live in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione can only hope that Wolfsbane Potion had been consumed prior to transformation, though part of her seriously doubts it given the way this werewolf is approaching her.
The werewolf sniffs the air, scenting her, and Hermione shuffles backwards with one very small step. She watches as the werewolf hunches down, like perhaps it might lunge at her even though it doesn’t. Instead, it almost crawls a few steps towards her before standing on its hind legs once again. The air is filled with the sounds of harsh breathing and Hermione realises that despite her fear and her pounding heart, it’s the werewolf that’s panting.
Pressing her lips together lest a whimper escape, Hermione warily begins to raise her wand. She’s terrified of this werewolf because she’s starting to suspect it doesn’t want to bite her. Well, it doesn’t only want to bite her.
She has read enough of dark magic rituals and the less acceptable parts of magical history to know that on a full moon, witches and wizards have been known to give themselves to werewolves. She had blushed her way through the accounts of one particularly shameless witch who frequently coupled with werewolves on full moons. The witch had described the act of werewolf sex in great detail, including the interesting adage that the scent of some werewolves heightened her desire and made the act more pleasurable. Hermione cannot understand the recklessness that would lead a person to seek out such pleasure and potential danger, no matter how flustered and intrigued the topic made her feel.
The werewolf before her now clearly wants to have its way with her. The wind carries a foul stench towards her and Hermione realises it is coming from the werewolf. Thinking back on her readings, Hermione realises that even should she want to mate—she shudders to think such a term—with this werewolf, they would not be compatible.
Saliva streams from the werewolf’s jaw, little droplets carried away on the wind towards her, the tips of its sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. Hungry eyes track every movement of her body and Hermione can only watch in horror as the werewolf reaches down to rub a clawed hand against its rapidly hardening penis.
“Incarcerous,” Hermione all but screams, whipping her wand towards the werewolf.
Howls of anger fill the night air as it struggles against the thick binds she has conjured. Hermione knows she doesn’t have long. Already, the werewolf has managed to work its sharp claws against one of the ropes, snapping it in half. Not wanting to waste another moment, Hermione turns and runs in the direction she thinks will take her back to Hogwarts.
Lungs burning, muscles protesting, Hermione sprints through the forest, a hastily cast Lumos barely lighting the way. Chancing a glance back over her shoulder at the sound of something charging through the forest, Hermione spots the werewolf. Naturally, because she’s not watching where she’s going and because the ground is more root than soil, Hermione trips.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
Sprawled on the ground, Hermione listens to the werewolf coming closer. She’s dropped her wand, but it barely registers because her mind is screaming at her to escape the creature behind her. Pushing herself to her feet, Hermione winces. She must have twisted her ankle, or perhaps scraped her leg, she’s not quite sure where the pain is coming from. With no time to cry about it, she runs, limping slightly, eyes rapidly adjusting to the darkness.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t get far before something is gripping her cloak and tugging her to the ground. Hermione lands on her back, air whooshing from her lungs at the impact. Strangely familiar eyes gaze down upon her, covetous when they ought not to be. A low growl sounds from deep within the werewolf and it looms over her, dribbling and snarling, her cloak dangling from its claws. At this angle, Hermione is forced to stare at its leaking hardness, it doesn’t appear to be overly large, thick rather than long, perhaps. Either way, Hermione has no desire to take it inside her body.
Hermione has never truly desired to kill another living creature, or even harm one. But right now, she’ll do just about anything to save herself. A horrifying realisation sweeps over her when she lifts her hand. Her empty hand. She lost her wand somewhere back in the forest and she’s too scared to even think about summoning it to herself now.
The werewolf prowls around her before lowering itself over her, sniffing at her neck, teeth inches away from her jugular. There’s nothing for it now, Hermione opens her mouth and screams. Someone has to hear her. Something has to hear her. She can’t die like this. She won’t die like this—Hermione Granger will not be finished off by some horny werewolf because she was stupid enough to agree to making Polyjuice Potion for Ronald Weasley.
Foulness fills the air. Every breath Hermione takes is panicked and disgusting as the werewolf crouches above her. Its teeth are at her throat. She can feel the heat radiating from its body through her clothes. This is the end, she thinks. This is the end. Only it isn’t the end at all. One moment the werewolf is there and the next moment it’s gone.
So quickly Hermione thinks she’s imagining it, the werewolf is knocked to the ground beside her in a blinding flash of white. Another werewolf, she realises with a daze. She watches, so entranced she can’t move, as the two creatures snap and snarl at one another, claws scratching and teeth scraping.
One of the werewolves cries out in pain and Hermione jolts because for a moment it sounded so human. The pale werewolf dominates the orange-brown werewolf. Hermione feels a sick sense of satisfaction watching the pale creature’s claws slash the other werewolf’s face.
With a growl both ominous and victorious, the pale werewolf stands upon its hind legs, and Hermione swears it smiles down at its battered enemy. For one moment, she thinks it is over. She’s safe. She will be able to creep away from the fight. But the fight is over, and the pale werewolf turns to regard her, still sprawled on the filthy ground.
Hermione stares up at the werewolf in horror. It licks the blood, dripping crimson in the moonlight, from its claws. She’s too frozen in fear to even think about scrambling backwards.
The werewolf simply stares at her and Hermione stares back. It’s certainly taller than the orange wolf had been, more muscled too. How odd, she thinks, the way its pale colouring reminds her of Draco Malfoy. Its eyes glint silver in the moonlight and Hermione swallows at the way her heart pounds—not in fear as it had seconds ago, but with a strange sort of anticipation.
She spies from the corner of her eye as the other werewolf slinks off into the night, wounded from the pale beast’s attack.
She doesn’t understand why this werewolf saved her. Or fought for her. Until it sniffs at the air, eerily reminiscent of the other werewolf before it had attempted to take her. Hermione tries to push herself along the ground away from the werewolf as it drops onto all fours and starts towards her. But then her back hits the twisted root of an enormous tree and she’s trapped with nowhere to go as the beast finally reaches her.
The werewolf nuzzles between her thighs and Hermione struggles to keep her legs shut. She wants to push it away but she’s wary of putting her fingers too close to its sharp teeth, though the werewolf doesn’t seem inclined to bite her.
Hermione takes a steadying breath, and everything changes. Green apples, ripe and crisp; the scent of parchment, of old books waiting to be read for the first time in an age; and something else that smells so achingly familiar, but Hermione cannot put a name to. These scents fill the air and Hermione realises she is relaxed in the presence of the pale werewolf. Calm. Aroused.
Once more, the werewolf nuzzles between her thighs, whining in a needy manner and Hermione will never be able to explain precisely why she does what she does next.
She spreads her thighs.
Muzzle pressed to the cotton of her dampening knickers, the werewolf inhales. Hermione gasps as her underwear suddenly becomes even wetter. With a start, she realises the werewolf is licking at her crotch. It paws at the ground in irritation, unable to feast upon that which it desires.
Slowly, so as not to distress the werewolf with any sudden movements, Hermione bunches her skirt around her waist. Slips her fingers underneath the waistband of her underwear and begins to edge them off. As though the werewolf understands what she’s doing, it moves back, eagerly eyeing the space between her thighs. Hermione flinches as it lifts a clawed paw, but the werewolf does not touch her. Instead, it shreds her knickers to bits, and she watches in disbelief as the remains fall to the forest floor.
Hot and wet, the werewolf’s tongue is lapping at Hermione’s slit before she can think to do anything else.
“Oh, Merlin! This is wrong,” she cries, hands trying to push its head away. “Please, oh please, you mustn’t!”
But the creature between her legs only rubs its muzzle against her, breathing deeply of her scent. Hermione squirms against the rough tongue that laps at her arousal. Her clit pulses when her pale werewolf brushes its tongue against the little bud. Lust takes over, she wants this, wants to know just how good this werewolf can make her feel.
“There! Just there,” she cries out as its tongue swirls around her clit. Her fingers fumble to grip the werewolf’s head, sliding through pale hair that truly reminds her of Malfoy. At the thought of him, a little gush of arousal drips from her cunt. The werewolf eagerly laps it up. Hermione feels so wet, for the creature between her thighs is salivating.
Uninhibited, for nobody is here to witness this, Hermione shamelessly grinds her cunt against the werewolf’s face. She shrieks as the werewolf hardens its long tongue and thrusts it inside her pussy.
“Malfoy!” Hermione can’t believe she’s just called out that name. Neither can the werewolf, apparently, for it pauses its actions, staring up at her with luminous silvery eyes. Hermione thinks for a moment she sees rage in them but then she recognises the lust. She can pretend this werewolf is Draco Malfoy, even though it seems impossible that the Malfoy heir could ever be a werewolf. It makes it easier to give in to her body’s urges. With any luck, this werewolf will turn out to be a complete stranger and she’ll never see them again.
Hermione guides the werewolf’s head down, fingers stroking its soft ears briefly, encouraging it to lap at her sopping cunt once more. Malfoy—because that’s what she’s decided to call the werewolf—eagerly returns its tongue to the exploration of the most intimate part of herself.
Malfoy’s tongue is slick and warm, swirling within her tight pussy, touching places Hermione has never been able to reach herself. It’s too good. It’s not nearly enough. With a broken moan, Hermione wipes her fingers on the edge of her skirt and reaches down to touch her clit.
Malfoy lets out a pleased little whine at her action, grey eyes locking onto her own.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers, fingers slipping over her clit, bumping against Malfoy’s muzzle. The werewolf licks into her with renewed vigour and every swipe of its tongue is pure sin. “Just like that! Don’t stop, Malfoy. Tongue me, please, oh fuck oh fuck.”
Hermione’s fingers work her clit furiously and she can feel her walls clenching on Malfoy’s tongue. Her other hand grips the pale hairs upon Malfoy’s head as she orgasms with a scream. Malfoy growls, lapping up her juices as she cums harder than ever before, her whole body trembling in ecstasy. The noise that escapes her is almost a howl and Hermione gasps as her orgasm leaves her feeling boneless and breathless.
Once again, she inhales the intoxicating scent of the werewolf, her arousal only growing as the werewolf continues to feast upon her cunt. Hermione feels as though there’s still a release she desperately needs. Knows deep in the back of her mind that something has been set in motion, some kind of ritual that will not be completed until she has let this dark creature of the night take her completely.
Claws sliding gently under the collar of her jumper bring Hermione back down from her high. Malfoy gives a little tug and Hermione thinks she understands.
“Yes, take it off,” she nods, unable to believe the control of this werewolf. It must have consumed Wolfsbane Potion earlier tonight but even if that’s the case, it’s been so careful not to scratch or bite her. If anything, the control is turning her on.
The smooth edges of the werewolf’s claws slide from her neck to her waist, effortlessly shredding her jumper and her bra. It doesn’t stop there, slicing her skirt too, and suddenly her entire body is exposed to this creature. Malfoy lets out an appreciative little growl at the sight of her, naked and wanton, craving the forbidden passion only this werewolf can provide.
Hermione gasps as the cool night air touches her skin, nipples pebbling into hard little peaks. As if asking for permission, the werewolf tentatively licks at her breast, eyes locked onto her own. Hermione cups the back of Malfoy’s neck, bringing his head closer to her chest, trying not to think about how close the mouth of this werewolf is to her heart.
Malfoy gives firm little licks to the bud of one nipple then the other, sending pleasure shooting straight to her core. An arm wraps underneath her, and the werewolf drags her body downwards, away from the tree, so she’s resting on her back.
The roots of the tree are hard beneath her head and Hermione scrambles to shed the tattered remains of her jumper and shove them underneath her head. Inadvertently, she pushes her breasts closer to the werewolf’s muzzle and moans as Malfoy runs his tongue around her areola.
Spreading her thighs, she reaches out to grasp Malfoy’s hips, positioning him between them. The werewolf’s cock rests heavily against her thigh, and when she glances down, she cannot contain her moan at the sight. Malfoy’s cock is hard, thick, and long. Hermione’s cunt pulses with need at the size of him. She wants this werewolf to fill her up, to fuck her raw, to spill its seed inside her needy pussy.
“Malfoy, please,” she reaches down with a shaking hand to stroke his erection, the skin soft against her palm. The werewolf grunts, shifting its head to the curve of her neck. Hermione is too far gone to worry about being bitten. She needs this cock. Needs to be stretched open and fucked senseless. Gone are her inhibitions, lust has spirited them away into the shadows of the trees.
Malfoy bucks into her hand with an impatient whine and Hermione knows its time, guiding the leaking tip of his dick to her entrance. The werewolf pulls back to look at her and strangely, Hermione once again feels as though it’s silently asking if she’s sure about this. It’s madness, to want such a thing, to allow herself to be defiled by such a creature. But Hermione craves it, nonetheless.
“Fuck me, please,” she brushes her lips against the werewolf’s soft muzzle. Licks her lips and tastes blood. She doesn’t care, it only makes her wetter, knowing this werewolf has fought for her. An Alpha of its kind, fighting to mate with her, worthy of her pussy. “I need it, Malfoy. Need your cock.”
The werewolf begins to press inside her, and she wraps her arms around its broad shoulders. Half clawing at the werewolf’s back for purchase, Hermione almost screams at the stretch as its cock begins filling her. Malfoy’s dick is so long and thick she worries she won’t be able to take it all. Soon enough though, the werewolf has pressed itself inside her pussy entirely and Hermione moans at the impossible fullness.
She glances down and thinks she can make out the bulge of Malfoy’s cock in her abdomen. The werewolf seems to notice too, reaching out a paw and pressing down. Hermione sighs at the feel. It makes her feel small, powerful, and yet powerless. She’s at the mercy of this beast tonight but now she feels no fear, only desire.
Soon, the anticipation is too much, she craves the friction of sex. Wants to feel the glide of this monster’s cock as it thrusts into her wanting pussy. Tilts her hips up just a little so the werewolf understands. It does.
Malfoy fucks into her relentlessly, animalistically. He doesn’t even bother to take it slow, thrusting into her with sharp snaps of his hips that have Hermione clinging to his furry frame for dear life. The werewolf lets out little grunts and snarls, claws digging into the earth for purchase. Hermione can barely believe she’s doing this. Can hardly understand how it can feel so incredible to have this dangerous creature fuck her.
She lifts her legs, wrapping them around the werewolf’s back and its cock slides impossibly deeper. A new angle that has Hermione keening with every thrust, the tip of Malfoy’s cock hitting something that makes the edges of her vision blur.
She thinks she could cum again just from this. From Malfoy’s massive dick filling her up, pounding into her at a maddening pace. Still, she trails a hand down over the werewolf’s muscular chest and abdomen, feeling the ripple and strain of muscles as it thrusts into her. Fast circles of her fingers against her clit have Hermione so close to the edge of release.
“So good, so good. Malfoy! Oh Merlin, I’m going to—” Hermione cuts off with a low moan, pussy spasming around his werewolf cock, clit pulsing beneath her fingers.
Malfoy growls and pulls out of her while she’s still orgasming and Hermione almost weeps at the emptiness. She barely has time to process the sight of Malfoy’s length, hard and dripping with her arousal and precum before the werewolf has her flipped onto her stomach.
It paws at her hips and Hermione shifts onto all fours, her wet pussy waiting for him to take her once again. Malfoy howls as he slides his cock back inside her tight heat. Fingers curling into the dirt beneath her, Hermione holds herself up as her werewolf fucks into her.
Every slide of its cock fills her with more pleasure than she ever thought possible, and she moans as it runs its paws along her body, cupping her breasts and managing not to scratch her. She doesn’t even think she would care if it did.
Her arms give out and eventually, Hermione falls to the forest floor, reaching out for her shredded clothes to cushion her forearms and chest. Her back is arched so brilliantly she almost thinks it will break, pussy on perfect display for her beastly lover.
Something strange presses against the rim of her cunt, as though the werewolf is trying to fuck more of itself inside her. With a gasp, Hermione recalls the mentions of knotting in magical texts. She’s not sure it’s possible for a witch to take a knot, her pussy feels impossibly worked open from Malfoy’s cock alone, but she wants to try.
Her doubts are erased as the scent of crisp green apples surrounds her once more. Each thrust splits Hermione’s cunt open and she loves being filled so deep. Loves the way Malfoy’s balls slap heavily against her clit, heightening her pleasure. She wants to take all of him, even if it hurts.
“Knot me!” she cries out, sobbing with unrestrained need. “Malfoy take me, please. Knot me, knot me please, it’s all I want.”
Hermione needs to be filled; wants to know what it is to be knotted. To be claimed. She can feel her werewolf’s knot swelling, catching at the entrance of her cunt with every thrust and suddenly, she’s impossibly full of his cock.
Malfoy’s knot fills her spasming cunt and Hermione shrieks her orgasm into the silence of the forest. Malfoy throws back his head and howls as he cums too. Hermione can feel his werewolf seed spilling hot and deep inside her cunt.
The sensation is so arousing, and she comes again, pussy clenching uncontrollably. Her legs almost give out, but the werewolf pulls her upright, holding her against its chest as it continues to roll its hips. Trying to fuck her still even though she’s full of its cock.
Hermione pants as the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple through her body. She glances down between her legs, sighing wantonly at the sight of the werewolf’s knot just peeking out of her cunt. She clenches down and another wave of pleasure radiates out from her core. Malfoy pants behind her, occasionally letting out contented growls, nuzzling into the hair at the nape of her neck.
She’s not sure how long they stay like that, joined so intimately together, Malfoy spilling his seed into her so much so that it begins to leak from her cunt onto the forest floor. Each time the werewolf spills inside her, another orgasm wracks her body.
Eventually, Malfoy’s knot reduces enough for him to pull his softening cock from her body and Hermione slumps to the ground, exhausted, arse in the air.
The werewolf leans in and sniffs at her dripping pussy. To Hermione’s surprise, the werewolf licks up their cum, tongue brushing over her clit as it goes. A soft, delicate orgasm floods through her and Hermione gasps and moans at the overwhelming pleasure.
“Malfoy, please,” she begs. “It’s too much.”
With one last lick, the werewolf leaves her pussy. She glances back over her shoulder at the creature, watching her with an unnerving gaze. She could swear it looks far too pleased to have just taken her the way it did.
Realisation washes over Hermione and she scrambles to gather her ruined clothes and tug them onto her body enough to be presentable. She’s just had sex with a werewolf. One of the most dangerous magical creatures in the world, in her opinion. She stands on wobbly legs, pussy still slick with the result of their coupling.
“I have to go, oh Merlin. What have I done?” Hermione knows she’s hysterical right now. “I cannot believe I enjoyed that, oh no oh no oh no.”
The werewolf just watches her lazily. The corner of its mouth seems to twitch up at her ranting and Hermione scowls because it almost looks as if Malfoy—no, the werewolf, it’s just a werewolf now—is smirking at her.
Without another word, Hermione summons her wand, hastily repairing her tattered clothes. Her knickers are beyond repair, so she just leaves them on the forest floor. Nobody will venture far enough in to find them, she thinks. Or if they do, they won’t know who they belong to. She needs to flee before anything else can happen. Before she lets this werewolf fuck her again, because Hermione can admit that if it wanted to have her again, she would let it.
“Right,” she says, unsure why she’s conversing with the werewolf who just gave her multiple orgasms in some bizarre full moon mating ritual. “Goodbye.”
And then she’s sprinting from the Forbidden Forest, all the way to her dormitory, thankful it’s late enough that everyone is in bed and that nothing follows her. After spending far too long in the shower scrubbing the dirt and scent of werewolf from her body, Hermione climbs into bed, utterly exhausted. Just before she drifts off, she thinks she hears a howl in the distance.
Hermione wakes with a pleasant ache between her thighs. If she touches herself to the memory of her pale werewolf knotting her last night, nobody else needs to know. Eventually, she manages to drag herself to the Great Hall for breakfast.
“Morning,” she slides onto the bench across from Ron, but he doesn’t return her greeting. In fact, he barely meets her eye. She can feel a deep furrow form between her brows and opens her mouth to ask what’s wrong when another voice fills the silence.
“Granger.” Malfoy sounds far too pleased with himself, and she closes her eyes briefly before turning to watch him stride towards the Gryffindor table, wondering what he could possibly be looking so smug about. She can begrudgingly admit that he’s unfairly attractive. “You look wrecked.”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Ron lifts his head, finally finding his voice and Hermione gasps at the sight of his face. Four deep red cuts, barely healed, run down the side of his face. Something stirs in the back of her mind, but she doesn’t have time to think about it because Malfoy has finally reached her.
“Actually, Granger,” Malfoy leans against the table beside her, smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, voice low. “You look rather ravished.”
There’s a glint in his eyes that Hermione doesn’t trust. She takes a fortifying breath and freezes. Her heart quickens, pounding relentlessly against the cage of her ribs. She can smell Malfoy’s aftershave and she thinks she might die here and now. Because it’s the same thing she could smell last night in the Forbidden Forest, the scent of the werewolf that she couldn’t put a name to. And as the blond reaches out to swipe a green apple from the table, Hermione comes to a horrifying realisation.
Draco Malfoy is a werewolf.
Draco Malfoy is the werewolf.
She’s had sex with Draco Malfoy. In werewolf form. And she loved every minute of it.
“Oh no,” she mumbles, trying to focus on the Slytherin beside her.
“That looks nasty Weasley,” he sneers at Ron. “Did you get into a fight?”
Hermione’s second realisation of the morning fills her with rage, but she keeps her mouth shut, content to glare at Ronald as he tries to stutter out some excuse that doesn’t involve him revealing that he too is a werewolf. Most certainly the first werewolf she unfortunately encountered last night. The nerve of him!
“Oh, by the way, Granger,” Malfoy goes right back to ignoring Ron and tosses something onto the table in front of her. “You left this in the Forbidden Forest.”
She looks down at her little beaded bag—she’d forgotten all about it in her haste to return to the castle last night. Very deliberately, she reaches inside to retrieve the fluxweed she managed to collect and sets it in front of Ron.
“Hermione, I didn’t think—I didn’t mean—” he starts, only to cut himself off abruptly because Hermione sets the fluxweed on fire and vanishes the ashes right before his eyes.
“I think it best if you kept your distance for a while, Ronald,” Hermione says primly, glaring at him as though he too might burst into flames if she wills it enough.
Ron opens his mouth, no doubt to argue, but closes it again and stands from the table with an air of resignation. Good. She watches him leave the Great Hall, unable to comprehend how someone she’s so close to could lie to her the way he has. It hardly surprises her though; Ron has been treating her differently for months. Now, perhaps, she has some inkling as to why.
Beside her, Malfoy lets out a little chuckle, distracting her from thoughts of Ron.
“Oh, do shut up,” she turns to glare at him, unable to keep from blushing as she meets his silvery gaze.
“I didn’t say anything, Granger,” Malfoy raises his hands and Hermione lets out a huff.
“Well? Why are you still standing there?” she asks, crossing her arms and glaring as though it will send him away sooner. "Off you go."
Instead of leaving, he leans in closer, lips brushing against her ear as he whispers, “Do you fancy another round? I’m sure there’s a broom closet somewhere.”
“Malfoy!” Hermione swallows, eyes darting around the Great Hall, but nobody seems to be paying much attention to them. She wants him. Part of her thinks she always has and it’s not like he doesn’t know how much she enjoyed being with him last night as a werewolf.
“Tick tock, Granger,” he raises an annoyingly perfect eyebrow and when Hermione gives in with a sigh, he gives her a shit-eating grin.
“Fine,” she whispers, standing from the table. “But we have to be quick.”
“Who would have guessed you have a werewolf kink, eh?”
“Oh my—just go,” Hermione shoves him toward the door, blushing all the while. As much as she enjoyed him in werewolf form, she thinks she prefers Malfoy like this (she knows it for sure when he kisses her for the first time minutes later). “Unbelievable. Honestly, Malfoy.”
And when Malfoy turns his head to smile over his shoulder, sending a little thrill of anticipation down her spine, Hermione can’t fight the urge to smile back.