He'd kissed her first, Hermione's pride reminded her as she trembled in upset and confusion. She hadn't been the one to initiate that bruising collision of lips, no matter how wonderful it had been. It didn't matter that she'd probably have given into her desires, regardless, if he hadn't seized that opportunity exactly when he had; the fact was that he had kissed her.
He'd caressed her, fondled her, cradled her every curve. Her shirt had been ripped down the center in his eagerness to feel her flesh. She had felt some small satisfaction in knowing that she had made that man want just as desperately as she had wanted; she might have reveled in that satisfaction, in fact, if mere moments later he hadn't left her panting and alone in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place .
Hermione dragged in a heavy breath, feeling her heart throbbing painfully in her chest. She should go, she thought. Standing in the kitchen was asking to be noticed, and she wasn't in a proper state for that. She needed to change clothes, and recalling the heat that she'd felt between her legs several minutes ago, Hermione decided that she would benefit from a shower, also.
She methodically gathered up what was left of her ripped nightshirt and hugged it close to her chest to shield herself from exposure, before quickly Apparating to her room. Ginny slept soundly, and so Hermione mutely gathered her clothes for the day, along with her favorite terrycloth robe, and made her way to the loo.
As she lathered her hair with shampoo and conditioner, she allowed herself to begin considering the repercussions of the morning's events. She wasn't sure how she'd face him again. Although her pride heavily protested the idea of actively avoiding him, the rest of her felt embarrassed, ashamed, and incredibly inadequate. He'd made her feel lonely by leaving her that way, and also terribly promiscuous.
She'd allowed herself to be touched by that man. She'd been incredibly pliant as she arched into his questing fingertips, as he'd brushed thumbs against her nipples and scraped whiskers down her neck. She'd even complied when his big, strong hands had taken her shapely bum and kneaded into her, later using his firm grip to lift her on top of the kitchen table. Hermione had touched him, her own digits mapping out the feel of his uncovered chest and shoulders, and her lips bending under his furiously searching ones. She'd enjoyed the moans that ripped through her, and the touches that had caused them. She remembered his possessive growl, and the deep, sexy moan she'd received as a reward when she'd slanted her clothed hips up to meet his, and again she met with confusion.
Remus Lupin had taken pleasure from their incredibly-too-brief encounter. There was no other way to justify the sounds that he'd made or the areas of her that he had been so inclined to touch. But he'd run from the kitchen without so much as a word to her.
Hermione wasn't the type of woman who enjoyed being used, or who agreed with using others at all, but that was how she felt now. She felt like he must have thought her some sort of harlot, ridiculous as she knew that was. She wasn't a woman with loose morals, by any means imaginable.
She concluded that, no, she would not actively avoid Remus, but she would certainly not actively seek him out to discuss what had happened, either. In fact, she had no intentions of speaking to him at all, unless directly addressed by him, and she would certainly not discuss the heart wrenching kiss that they had shared without specifically being asked about it.
Her strategy remained successful well through lunch and most of the afternoon, but he found her – whether it was intentional or not, Hermione did not know – reading, curled into her favorite lounge chair in the Black family library. She spared him a glance and then, feeling a red gust color her cheeks, she quickly returned her eyes to the pages of her book.
"Hermione." His voice was scratchy, and so different from the hot whispers and deep rumbles that she remembered from that morning.
Seeking reprieve, Hermione's eyes closed momentarily, steeling herself, and as soon as she was able, she looked up to respond. "Yes?" She'd wanted desperately to tack a "sir" onto the end, not to spite him for his actions, but because she truly felt demeaned as a result of them, and somehow felt subordinate to him.
It hurt, she realized. Her friendly relationship with him had been something that she'd prized very much, and although her feelings for him had been rapidly escalating over the last several months, she'd considered her relationship with him something to be incredibly valued, regardless of a potential (perhaps imagined) romantic situation.
"I – " He cleared his throat awkwardly, and shuffled his feet. "I owe you an apology. What happened this morning… Well, I don't even know what happened this morning, but whatever it is that you would call what happened this morning shouldn't have happened. It was a mistake that I am entirely at fault for. I dearly hope that you can forgive me."
Hermione swallowed, hard, and felt a strong, lasting ache spread through her. She'd been called a 'mistake' many times in her life, most often by her parents, but she couldn't recall ever being hurt by a friend this horribly. Even if he'd decided that a romantic or intimate relationship with her was not what he wanted, she never would have imagined that he would regret it so horribly that he considered it – her, really, or at least what he'd done with her – to be a mistake.
Feeling a concentration of tears in her throat, Hermione whispered whatever she could to make him leave. "Okay," she said, knowing that it wasn't.
Remus seemed skeptical, and frowned in response to the short answer. Perhaps he'd thought that she would want to justify herself, or that she would try to sway his opinion, but he would receive none of it.
Apparently sensing that he was no longer wanted, Remus waved an uncomfortable farewell, thanking her for understanding. He wasn't out the door for more than ten seconds before Hermione had it warded and silenced, and she sunk into the chair miserably, her treasured novel falling forgotten to the now-clean carpet, as sobs heaved through her body.
Remus was a man that she'd chosen to respect, initially, and later chosen to befriend. And he was, quite naturally, a very kind and generous man. He'd accomplished very much in his life, and had done a few things that he would never be proud of, but she couldn't have imagined that kissing her would rate as one of those things.
As the tears cleared, slowly, Hermione gathered her things. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt, one last time, and hurried to sleep. Ginny wasn't in, and Hermione was all the happier for it. She woke around six the following morning, as she had the day previous. She'd gone to fetch coffee the morning before when she'd run into Remus, but she refused to allow the similarities between the situations rule her morning. So, dressed in a separate nightshirt, Hermione quietly made the journey from her room to the kitchen.
She prepared her coffee the muggle way, to occupy her hands. When she heard steps behind her, she could not bring herself to be surprised. They'd always been the first two to wake, and she couldn't expect that to change solely because they'd had a complication in their relationship.
Remus cleared his throat again, uncomfortably, and although she did not feel at ease, Hermione asked if he would like some coffee.
"That… would be lovely," he replied, reaching up to grab two mugs for them both, and as he did so, Hermione unwillingly admired the lean body of Remus Lupin, and the muscles that stretched in his arms as he moved.
He handed one to her, and she very consciously avoiding brushing her fingers against his. He fiddled in the refrigerator for a while, and asked, "You only take cream, correct?"
He knew damn well she only took cream. She couldn't count the number of times that he'd prepared her coffee for her, and this regression between them pained her. Instead of voicing her thoughts, Hermione simply nodded as the coffee finished up. She poured her own cup, as Remus was still puttering about, and then asked for his. She filled it, and, knowing what he was looking for, told him, "It's in the bottom drawer."
He appeared momentarily confused, so she elaborated. "The chocolate. It's in the bottom drawer, at the back." She'd started off with eye contact, but as she began to flush red, her gaze slid sideways and she returned the coffeepot to the maker.
"Thank you," Remus muttered sincerely, as he pulled it from its wrapper and took his first bite. He carried the milk to her as he finished up the piece and left the rest of the bar on the table, then proceeded to fill the rest of her cup with cream. She took a sip from it, and as he set the cream down, she noted that he still stood very close to her.
She eyed him thoughtfully, and as her eyes met his, she felt a steady throb permeate her body. Something in those blue orbs sparked, and Hermione recognized the gleam immediately. His hand came up, and she forced herself to remain steady as his fingers ghosted over her cheek.
"So soft," he murmured.
It felt so wonderful, Hermione thought, wanting so much to lean into his shadowy touches. His skin was warm against hers, and she felt her blood heating as he expressed his desires through his eyes.
Setting her coffee down, Hermione reached one hand up to cover his, and instead of pushing it fully against her face, she did what she knew she ought to and pulled it away. She studied his rough hands, and lifted the one she held up to her lips, where she placed an open-mouthed kiss upon his palm.
"Hermione," Remus whispered.
She raised her eyes to meet his. She'd done well to pull his hand away from her, she thought, but there was no use trying to deny what she knew her body wanted.
He was gentle with her, this time, as he cautiously rested a hand upon her hip, the other cupping the line of her jaw. Remus moved with hesitation, but after several intense moments during which his eyes bore through hers, reading every emotion that could not hide from him quickly enough, he lifted the hem of her shirt just enough to smooth circles on her hip, and almost simultaneously, the werewolf inched forward to catch her lips with his.
Hermione tilted her head upward and, against her better judgment, reciprocated. One of her hands clutched for purchase at his worn t-shirt, and the other performed a similar action in his hair.
Remus had her against the counter now, and Hermione's subconscious noted that he seemed to enjoy having her pressed against objects as he bent her to his will. She swallowed when he rested his forehead against hers, and they both panted heavily, his thumb still drawing patterns against her skin, heating her. He pressed himself flush against her, so that she could feel his chest against her breasts, and his hips angled up to hers.
His lips touched hers again, briefly, and then her jaw, her neck, the lobe of her ear. Hermione mewled, entirely unwillingly, and offered her flesh to his lips. His grazing fingertips coasted beneath her shirt, palming her breasts and gently brushing against her nipples. Her eyelids closed with her pleasure, head tilted aside as she enjoyed it thoroughly. "Remus," she murmured.
She immediately felt the whisper of his fingertips draw away, and her lids lifted again. She wished they hadn't.
Remus stood a foot away from her, blue pools drowning in horror.
Hermione swallowed again, feeling a fresh wave of misery course through her, knowing what came next. She watched him stumble further away from her as his head shook from side to side, denying what he'd done. His gaze met hers one last time, and Hermione knew that she would always remember the pure terror in his eyes, and the disgust that radiated from him.
Remus fled again, and Hermione turned to face the counter, bracing her arms upon it, as tears of absolute desertion and rejection plagued her. Her coffee and his both sat side by side on the countertop, and Hermione wished that she could undo the past several minutes, because she knew that if this hadn't just happened, they would have repaired their friendship. They'd been working toward it just that morning with coffee and chocolate.
She would still want him, but continuing their friendship was of the utmost importance. But now, she felt dirtied by the things she'd done with him, and stupid for allowing them to happen twice. She wasn't sure if friendship remained an option for them. Further, she wasn't sure if she could get past her mortification long enough to try.
Her day persisted onward much as it had the day previous, despite how snappish and wretched she felt. Only, she did not meet up with Remus in the library today. He did not even deign to show up for supper that evening. In fact, Hermione did not see Remus again for another two weeks – which was still not quite long enough for Hermione to mend her broken emotions and self-esteem.
Nevertheless, she missed him. She missed their discussions, and she missed playfully bantering with him. She missed admonishing him for his dirty mind, which often elected to point out Hermione's unintentional double entendres. She missed being around him, and reading with her head in his lap. She missed his scent, and the feel of his arms around her as he hugged her goodbye.
As tainted as their relationship was by the occurrences of their recent interactions, her memories were not. Although he regretted her, she regretted nothing that she'd done with him, and that included their shared intimacy and all the things before it.
Still, she avoided him (yes, actively, she spat at her pride) when he stopped by to visit with Harry, and announced that he would stay for lunch. She decided that, really, she'd suffer more from sitting through lunch with that man than she would by skipping a meal, and so she barricaded herself in the library, instead.
When Harry pleaded with him to stay for dinner, though, Hermione understood that she would not be able to evade him any longer. She could only hope that she would not be required to converse with him over the course of the meal.
Two hours later, Hermione stole back every poor thought she'd ever had about the dynamics of the large Weasley family. She'd scarcely said two words during supper, but no one noticed. Fred and George kept their siblings thoroughly entertained, and Harry kept Remus occupied for the most part. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared idle conversation and a few prideful smiles as they studied their herd. Although it was not at its fullest, Ginny, Ron, Fred, and George were the last of their children remaining nearby, and they would hope to keep it that way for a little while longer.
After they ate, Hermione quietly insisted that Mrs. Weasley ought to take a rest, as she had slaved over supper for hours, and offered to take care of the dishes. If that chore just happened to keep her out of Remus' way, it was simply for the better, Hermione thought.
When she finished that task, Hermione made her way to the library, and it was there that she began to wonder if the rugged werewolf ever planned to leave the morbid home. He was seated at one of the small, round tables that decorated the rather well preserved room, playing a game of chess with Harry.
Hermione steadfastly ignored them on her way in, and wondered if it would be terribly obvious to Harry that she was avoiding his mentor if she simply turned back around and went to bed. She determined that after skipping out on lunch, it would probably become too obvious if she were to leave her sanctuary at half eight to go to sleep, even for Harry.
So she resigned herself to tolerating Lupin's presence, as long as she could evade conversation with him, and selected a hopefully interesting novel to drown her shame and embarrassment in.
She did manage to read some, although she noticed that her thoughts often strayed to the cause of her emotional torment, and distracted her from the pages she was attempting to indulge herself with. Hermione refused to glance in their direction, though she could feel Remus' eyes boring through her neck, blazing a hot trail of fire that burned slowly and fiercely down her spine.
Panic gripped her, hard and by the heart, when Remus called checkmate and Harry huffed a little before announcing his intentions to go speak with Ron about some important thing or another. Alone, Hermione thought, with the man who emotionally held her captive. She tried to refocus on her book, but was resigned to staring blankly at the pages, simply to avoid eye contact.
It seemed, however, that he had other plans. She heard him stand, and walk toward her with steady, determined steps. Hermione wondered about his back-and-forth between control and hesitancy, but she had no doubt about which side of Remus she'd inevitably be facing.
"Stop," she murmured quietly, still not turning to face him.
"Stop?" Remus asked, feigning confusion as he paused in front of her. "I haven't yet started with you, Hermione."
"You don't get to do this to me, Remus," she said, hoping with everything in her that she managed to keep the tremor from her voice. He looked so hard, standing at his full height before her in a pair of worn jeans and a plain white t-shirt, and that was just what she could see from her periphery, as she couldn't look into his eyes and say this. "You don't get to make me feel the way that you have, get me that… hot and worked up, and leave me feeling as if I've done something to wrong you."
"You did nothing," Remus intoned quietly, although strength remained in his words.
Hermione snorted inelegantly, and finally tossed her useless book aside and stared into his ocean-like eyes. "No, I didn't," she said firmly, "but you certainly acted as if I had, didn't you?" He tried to edge in some sort of defense for himself, but Hermione interrupted. "Both times, Remus," she paused, hurt, anger, and only a small portion of the shame she felt flaring through her eyes. "Both times you ran from me, as if I was the greatest mistake of your life, as if you were absolutely disgusted with the idea of sharing any sort of intimacy with me at all. And if that's the case, then fine; I'll get over it eventually. I understand that I'm not the most appealing of female creatures, and I swear to you that I will deal with the havoc you've arisen within me in short order, but so help me, Remus, I will not allow you to toy with me the way you have been. I'm not a game for you to pick up when you feel the fancy to play, and drop when something better comes along. No matter how much I care for you, how much I desire you, I refuse to be that for you."
Something akin to sorrow settled in his eyes as he knelt before her, keeping his gaze direct and unyieldingly firm against hers. "You could never be my mistake, Hermione. Making you feel this way – used, if I understand you correctly – was never my intention, and I sincerely apologize for that."
"So horrified," she whispered, brows furrowing with her confusion, eyes stinging with the tears that she didn't want to fall while he could still see them. "You look so horrified just before you ran from me, so disgusted by what you'd done with me."
"No," he interrupted fiercely. "Not by what I'd done with you, Hermione… never that. I was horrified by what I'd done to you. Disgusted that I'd allowed myself to lose that much control, that I'd almost let myself take you. Never, never by what I'd done with you."
"Why?" She nearly sobbed. "Why is it so horrid to allow yourself to take me, when you can so clearly see that I want to be taken? I was weak in your arms, Remus; putty in your hands. I arched for you, moaned for you… I whispered your name. I wanted it. I needed it. Needed you."
His hands reached for one of hers, and held it tightly, dragging it to his mouth and placing a kiss upon her knuckles as her eyes closed heavily. "I'm sure you recall," he murmured lowly, hotly, "that near the full moon I become… looser, for lack of a better term. The wolf does not understand restraint, does not understand the practice of self control. And the wolf does not understand at all the need to resist when its primal, baser urges need to be satisfied. I could not control it when it decided that it wanted you, and by Merlin, Hermione, the wolf wanted you desperately." His eyes clouded as he recalled their encounters two weeks prior. "The wolf wanted you, wanted to claim you, take you in that kitchen, and it would not have been gentle. He wanted you, wet, screaming, and so, so tight. And all his, Hermione."
Hermione moaned, knowing that Remus had meant for the whole thing to sound unappealing, but God, that was just so bloody hot. She would have submitted, she knew. She would have screamed, and she already knew that she had been wet, and very tight, eagerly awaiting Remus to finish her.
Shocked, Remus' eyes met hers, unable to believe that she found that arousing. "You… wanted that?"
"God, Remus, I want you," she breathed desperately. "You can't continue to separate yourself from the wolf the way that you do. You are the wolf. Just because it brings out the darkest of your thoughts doesn't mean that those thoughts aren't yours. I'm not offended by the idea of being fucked, Remus. I understand that there's a difference between making love and fucking, but I'm not so innocent as to only desire one of them. Being taken like that, hard, fast, and slightly violent up against the counter? That's terribly hot," she said confidently. She leaned forward and whispered delicately in his ear, "I would have screamed, Remus. I would have screamed for you and for your wolf, and I would have begged for it harder, faster, deeper, over and over and over until I came; until you came inside me."
Remus' hands had tightened around hers, desperately hoping for his control to help him out. And then, "Take me, Remus," she pleaded, still whispering. "Make me yours. I want to be yours."
He furiously released her hands and pulled her to him, hands fisted tightly in her hair, and he slammed his mouth to hers, frantically and forcefully parting her full, eager lips and plundering her mouth with his tongue. She moaned, and he gripped her hair tighter as she gasped into his mouth.
Releasing her hair with one hand, he skipped flirtations and directly inserted his hand beneath her top, grabbing a breast with one hand and toying roughly with the hardened nipple that easily made itself known to him. She mewled and bit his lip, hard, and pulled him closer to her so that he was kneeling between her knees, his face level with her breasts as she bent to find his mouth.
Remus stood sharply and tore his shirt over his head, revealing many, many hard muscles to her eager eyes. As he gritted out a silencing and locking charm, and covered her with a contraceptive, Hermione's hands reached for him, digging into his skin, sure that her nails would leave dents in his flesh and absolutely not caring about it. Then she slid from the couch to her knees, allowing her to drop open-mouthed kisses to the bunched muscles in his stomach, and Remus snarled slightly as he worked to undo his trousers. When he'd undone them, he dropped them, along with his boxers, and kicked them out of their way, leaving the unrelenting, solid man naked before her, and his most intimate parts so obviously hard and aching for her.
"Take it," he hissed through his clenched teeth, holding himself in his hand and directing toward her lips. Not unfamiliar with what he was asking her to do, Hermione took him in her mouth and used her tongue to lick the tip of him, and around the sides. And then his hips began jerking towards her, urging his cock deeper inside as he once again gripped her by her hair, this time to hold her still as he thrust in and out of her mouth.
"Fuck," he growled, "just right. Fuck, you're just right." And then he began thrusting faster, deeper down her throat, and Hermione took him as deep as she could, feeling really, bloody wet and slightly submissive as he so roughly pushed himself in her mouth. He withdrew, looking slightly pained to do so. "Not finished," he grumbled, pulling her upward by her shoulders.
He stared at her then, and Hermione wondered if he liked how she looked, hair destroyed because of his hard, tight grasp, lips swollen from kisses, yes, and also from the rough treatment that his cock had delivered to it. "Off," he said hastily, suddenly, bunching and releasing her top, before finally ripping it up the front and tearing it from her, tearing the clasp of her bra as he removed that from her, too, descending unceremoniously upon her breasts as he sucked and bit against them, and Hermione whimpered and gasped as he tugged her nipples with his teeth. "Off," he repeated impatiently, snapping the button of her jeans off as he slid them down her legs, along with her panties, and suddenly he was much lower, in an area that she knew required his attentions.
Remus breathed deeply and released. "Fuck, so good. You smell so fucking good. And so fucking wet." And then his mouth attacked her, tongue swiping at her clit and, very briefly, his teeth captured it and she released a cry of unadulterated pleasure. He growled against her, and she shuddered at the desire that coursed through her. And his tongue immediately dipped inside her, thrusting quickly, absorbing her heat and her wetness and not pausing as her first orgasm tore through her unannounced, and she gripped his head tightly against her as he kept thrusting, kept licking, and a second orgasm followed shortly after.
Ready, now, more than he ever had been, Remus stood and lifted her, and her legs quickly wrapped around him, and he turned her around so that her back was against the wall, and he viciously attacked her neck with his mouth, sucking and biting as she tossed her head against the wall, shaking it from side to side.
"Mine," he said possessively, his teeth marking her as such as his whiskers made heated rashes against her skin.
"Yours," she gasped. "Fuck, Remus, I'm yours."
"Again," he demanded. "Say it again. Tell me again."
"I'm yours!" She screamed, and it seemed to last forever as his hardness tore into her, and she just kept screaming as he thrust himself toward her, inching her up the wall each time he did.
"Mine," he snarled again.
"Fuck. Fuck, Remus. I'm so yours. Yours. I'm yours," and each word came out in the form of a gasp, whisper, scream, purr, grunt, or moan.
Remus bit her shoulder, deeply, and Hermione shouted for him to do her harder, fuck her faster, and the werewolf obeyed, breathing obscenities and possessive remarks into her ear. "Mine. My little, fucking slut, aren't you? Mine," he barked dirtily, hotly against her neck. "Say it!"
"Yours," she screamed again as she felt herself nearing completion, walls gripping him tightly.
"All of it! Say all of it!" Remus ordered.
"I'm yours!" She shouted desperately, nails clawing down his back as she felt so close to where she needed to be. "Your slut. Yours!" She gasped as he thrust faster than she thought he could and she screamed, and screamed, and screamed as she came, and heard nothing but his roar as he emptied himself inside her. She felt the heat of it as it gusted through her and she gripped him tighter as she felt herself come down, and her body slackened against him.
He must have felt it, too, because he slid her down the wall until her feet could touch the ground, and they both held tightly to one another as they took to the floor.
They panted, almost in unison. Remus studied her warily, assessing the damage done. "My face, Remus," she muttered. "Look at my face. See how pleased I am?" And a small smile stole the corners of her mouth.
"It's claimed you, now," Remus informed her, resolutely. "The wolf will not release you. I may, if I am able, but not the wolf… Never the wolf."
Hermione bit her lip and looked down from his eyes, dared to stare down his body and appraise those powerful muscles. "I do not want you to release me, Remus," she determined. Then she leaned forward, whispering naughtily to him, "And I enjoy playing with the wolf, too."