A/N: Lookie! A new chapter! Aren't you pleased?

xx-Kitten.


Addicted to You

By Kittenshift17


Chapter 7


Hermione Granger gasped in surprise to suddenly find herself perched on Draco Malfoy's lap. She held her breath, trying to control her breathing and trying not to blush crimson. She was sitting on Draco Malfoy's lap. Sweet Thanatos, he was going to kill her.

"Sorry," Hermione said automatically, panicking as she tried to squirm out of his hold. His grip was unforgiving upon her hips as he latched onto her in surprise to find her suddenly on his lap and wirggling. She expected that any second now he was going to shove her to the floor and Hermione didn't fancy the bruise she'd likely end up with or the scathing words he would spit when he stepped over her. He'd probably kick her for good measure, the wretch.

"What do you think you're doing, Granger?" he drawled in a wicked voice when her squall of shock was heard by Pansy, Ron and several others as they tried to leave the compartment. "I mean, I'm know I'm swoon-worthy, but this is pathetically desperate, even for a mudblood like you."

Hermione's back stiffened and she shoved at him, still wriggling, trying to find her feet. He hadn't shoved her yet, but his grip was alarmingly tight and made her ache a little even through her robes.

"Believe me, Malfoy, you're not swoon-worthy. I'd sooner Avada myself than ever be attracted to the likes of you," Hermione retorted, still shoving at his shoulders and trying to make him let her go since he didn't seem so keen on it when he could continue to torment her.

"Tell that to your arse, witch," he muttered and Hermione froze, turning slowly to level him her iciest glare. Oh, he wanted to talk about her arse, did he? The arse that was being prodded by the most decidedly masculine part of him?

"You really don't want to play the word game with me today, Malfoy," Hermione said in a soft voice, glaring at him.

"Really?" he smirked wickedly, pinching her even tighter when Hermione tried to get up.

Ceasing her struggles, Hermione glared at him before leaning closer to whisper in his ear, not wanting to point out his problem with Ron or Pansy listening, but all too willing to ridicule the boy whose lap she'd landed upon.

"Don't argue about who's reacting to whom when you're prodding at my arse like that, Malfoy," Hermione whispered, being sure to let her lips brush his ear, just to watch him squirm. "Is that a broomstick in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

He growled at her. Legitimately growled. Hermione froze for a moment before pulling away quickly. She took Ron's hand when he offered it to her, yanking her out of Malfoy's grip and back to her feet.

"Don't think I won't get you for this, mudblood," Draco sneered, also getting to his feet. "Pansy, any good at Fiendfyre? It seems I've got a little scum on my robes."

Pansy tittered like the ridiculous, spiteful cow she was and Hermione curled her lip in annoyance.

"Tell that to what's inside your robes, Malfoy," Hermione retorted. "Come on, Ron. I feel like I need a bath. Snakes always give me the creeps."

Ron laughed, shoving Pansy down into a seat and out of their way, making the witch squeal in protest. Hermione's heart was pounding inside her chest and she needed to get away as quickly as possible. Malfoy smelled familiar, she realised, but not in a way she could put her finger on. Hermione was certain she'd heard Draco growl, and her mind recoiled at the idea. Was he the werewolf who'd bitten her in the woods?

No, surely he couldn't be.

Remus had said that whomever her wolf-mate was, he would likely be unable to resist her at the very sight or scent of her when they were both in human form. He'd said that the man would jump her, spurred by the wolf to claim what Fate had deemed rightfully his. He'd told Hermione that she'd potentially end up ravaged upon first interaction with her mate in human form. It couldn't be Draco Malfoy. Her luck couldn't be that bad. Maybe her sensitive Animagus hearing was just attributing too much to the sound of a human making an animal sound. After all, it wasn't uncommon for wizards to much such a sound. Harry made it often when he was annoyed about something, and Ron was prone to it too, when he was extremely frustrated or biting back words he knew he shouldn't say.

Why shouldn't Malfoy be the same? Certainly it was unexpected for such a noise to come from a boy who prided himself on being refined and pompous and dignified by wizarding standards, but she had provoked him. When Malfoy made no attempts to stop her departure or to hunt her down, as Remus had said her mate would, she sighed in relief.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ron asked. "You wanted to get out of there and away from Malfoy in a hurry."

"He's just so vile," Hermione said. "And I fell into his lap. I'm surprised he didn't hex me or shove me onto the floor."

"He's a right foul git, is what he is," Ron agreed. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "Thanks for helping me up before he could dump me onto the floor, Ron."

"What are friends for, right?" Ron said, slinging an arm around her shoulder as they made their way back down the corridor of the train in search of Harry. "Reckon he's a Death Eater like Harry thinks?"

"Maybe," Hermione sighed. "He's vile enough, but I still don't think Voldemort would ask someone so bloody thick to be in his ranks. Not while he's still at school. Certainly not while he might be caught with a Dark Mark. And it's not like he actually gives those out lightly. My understanding is that they only get Marked and get to call themselves Death Eaters when they've proven their unwavering loyalty to him. If he just went around Marking everyone who agreed with his radical notions, it would have been a lot easier to round them all up and prove who was and wasn't a Death Eater the first time he fell."

"He probably wouldn't want a sod like Malfoy, anyway. He's a right bastard, but he's a coward. What use is there making a soldier out of someone who'll be too scared to do your bidding?"

"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "Oh, this one is us. Harry looks grumpy again."

"He's always bloody grumpy these days," Ron sighed. "Listen... about earlier..."

"With Lavender?" Hermione asked, smirking. "You realise she fancies you, right?"

"What?" Ron said blankly, his ears turning red. "You reckon?"

"Boys are so impossible dense sometimes," Hermione pretended to lament. "Of course she fancies you, Ron. She's had her eye on you since the end of last year when you did so well at Quidditch. Not to mention she thinks we're all famous for our stunts at the Ministry and she probably wants to mooch off the idea of you being famous to make a bigger name for herself."

"She..." Ron frowned. "But I thought you...?"

Ron's eyes searched her face for a moment, obviously looking for some hint of jealousy or some indication that she fancied him and was hurt at the idea of another girl doing the same.

"Maybe you should ask her to Hogsmeade," Hermione said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue even as she delivered them as sweetly and as encouragingly as possible.

Ron's face reflected hurt for a few moments before he concealed it.

"Yeah," he grunted. "Maybe I will."

With that said, he jerked open the door to the compartment and let himself back inside, leaving Hermione in the corridor before she followed him. He didn't look at her or speak to her for the remainder of the journey to Hogwarts.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

"Are you alright?" Pansy asked him in a low voice when they sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall later that night. Draco was in a positively foul mood. Letting Granger go from his lap had almost cost him his sanity. He could barely stand to sit there, unmoving, across the hall from the wretched little bitch, without getting up and going to her. His wolf was driving him mad and he wanted to bite her.

She was the she-wolf from the forest, the little animagus who'd played with him all night in the forest. The one he'd bitten. She'd sought him out again at the following full moon, when he'd been unable to get away from Greyback and the rest of the pack. Had she seen him transform? Did she know he was a werewolf? Draco didn't know and he needed to find out. Greyback had pulled him aside for a conversation shortly after that night at the last full moon to tell him some extremely frustrating facts about lycanthropy and Draco was snarling softly under his breath with the restraint it took to remain in his chair.

He knew all about the Soulmate Principle. He knew he was fated to find one witch in all existence who was meant for him. The Fates certainly were cruel fucking bitches that they'd chosen Hermione bloody Granger for him.

He'd bitten her as the wolf, marking her, claiming her. And Greyback had warned him that until he bit her in human form and fucked her stupid, claiming her as the man as well as the monster, she could potentially figure out his secret and kill him off before he could tie her to him for the rest of their lives. He had to fuck her before she could bump him off to guarantee she'd be able to one day have kids with whomever she liked, rather than only with him.

Greyback had told him that he'd done what he could to keep her from figuring out it was him after the full moon, chasing the little bitch away from them before dawn so he'd be lost in the confusion as the transformation reversed, refusing to let her figure out his secret. Greyback had said he thought the bitch was with the Order of the Phoenix because he'd smelled Lupin on her and he'd been right.

Of all the witches in the fucking world, why did it have to be her?

Greyback had urged him to find whoever the little bitch happened to be when she was human, and insisted that Draco mark her before she could figure out his secret and give him away. Before she could kill him off. Draco's Alpha had also made mention of the types of offspring that came from mate-bonds, how they were stronger, more powerful, simply better than any other werewolf and any other wizard. Greyback had stressed how rare it was for anyone to ever encounter their mate at all, let alone be able to claim them before they figured it out. He'd claimed it was nigh on impossible to find one's mate.

And Granger was Draco's.

The idea sickened him. What kind of rotten, fucked up luck did he have that all in one year he was a Death Eater, a werewolf and now fucking fated to a Merlin cursed Mudblood. A bitch of one, no less. She was a right bitch and Draco loathed her.

"I'm fine," Draco growled in response to Pansy's tentative question, slanting a glare toward the girl when she put her hand on his arm. He suspected he was unintentionally baring his teeth because Pansy recoiled at the grimace upon his lips.

"Fine, sorry," Pansy said, withdrawing and sliding away down the table to sit closer to Theo.

Theo eyed him worriedly. Nott Senior was a Death Eater alongside Draco, and Draco suddenly wondered if the bastard had told Theo about his lycanthropy, too. The idea annoyed him. Zabini looked suspicious and curious over his foul mood, rather resembling a big cat who's just spied a gopher to toy with. Draco fought the urge to lunge at the dark-skinned wizard just to warn him away from the idea. Zabini had always been too curious for his own good and Draco was all too willing to defend his secret. Crabbe and Goyle remained stoic, neither of them saying a word, though they too eyed him warily, obviously having heard all about how he'd killed a man to earn the Dark Mark burned into his flesh. Draco was surer than ever that both dolts knew he was a werewolf.

He wondered if any of them were going to say anything or going to treat him differently. He knew that, were their situations reversed, Draco would already be shunning the bastards and it made him feel like shit when he realised that if they did know and they weren't being cunts to him, he was all the more rubbish a bloke. He fought the urge to bare his teeth at them, too. It wasn't their fault his was a fucking monster, and it wasn't their fault being a monster had fucked him sideways and landed him with Hermione fucking Granger for a fucking soul-mate.

The noise of the hall was giving him a headache and Draco vibrated with the urge to jump up, race across the hall, fling Granger down and claim her. The wolf was undoubtedly in his eyes, threatening to give him away, and his nails kept almost sharpening to feral black claws. If this kept up he'd have to nick Pansy's black nail-polish and paint it onto his fingers to hide the way they changed colour every time they sharpened. He'd prefer everyone to think him some angst-riddled tosspot than a werewolf. He didn't want to shift in front of his friends, he didn't want to claim Granger – no matter what the fucking beast in him wanted - and if he wasn't so hungry after skipping breakfast and being unable to stomach anything on the train, he'd have already left the Great Hall to better leash the wolf and hide his condition.

Draco growled again, furious that this new development might expose his secret to his friends. Hell, at this rate he was liable to expose himself to the whole fucking school! One more thing to blame Granger for. The fucking bitch!

Draco wanted to hate her for being in that glade that night, on his first full moon. He wanted to rip into her flesh with his teeth and make her pay for being his mate, for being there, for this wretched twist of fate. But he also knew that had she not been in the glade that night, he wouldn't have marked her as the wolf and he wouldn't have had any warning that she was his mate. When she'd fallen in his lap on the train, he'd have had zero warning not to throw her down and claim her.

Hell, it wasn't as though she was likely to agree with what his wolf wanted, either, given that the hatred between them was tangible and entirely mutual. He'd have risked raping the wretched bitch, right there in front of everyone. No, he couldn't hate her for being in the glade that night, or for being an Animagus or even for being his Mate. He could hate her for existing, but Draco was a rational human being – most of the time – and he wouldn't stoop low enough to blame her for things as beyond her control as they were beyond his.

"If you keep growling like that," Goyle leaned over a short time later as they all dug into the feast, devouring the food and not talking much thanks to Draco's foul mood. "I'm going to drag you down to the dungeons and beat you senseless. You're going to give everything away and tip off the whole fucking school, you tosspot!"

Draco almost ripped his throat out. Only Goyle's big meaty hand shooting out and catching Draco by the throat kept him from lunging at the bastard and ripping his throat out. Draco was so shocked by Goyle's threat and by the strength in his arm that kept him from attacking, that he actually stopped growling.

"Fuck!" Draco cursed, jerking back out of Goyle's grip before anyone could notice.

"Yeah," Goyle said, narrowing his eyes slightly and making Draco remember just that in spite of sometimes seeming thicker than a concussed troll, the bastard was his best bloody mate. "That's what I thought. Get a hold of yourself, or I'll chain you up until you do, Malfoy."

"Sorry," Draco said between clenched teeth, his nails shifting enough to bite into the palms of his hands.

"What do you need me to do to get this shit under control?" Goyle asked in a low voice, flicking his wand to keep the others from noticing their interactions and from overhearing their discussion.

"Nothing. It's nothing. Don't worry about it," Draco growled.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Goyle swore at him, his eyes narrowing angrily. "You're a right fucking cunt for thinking you could actually keep this shit from me to begin with, mostly because Dad's a Death Eater, too, but also because I'm your best bloody friend and just about the only one who can still throw you around if it comes to it, werewolf or not."

"You know, then?"

"Course I do," Goyle grunted. "No thanks to you, fuck face. Now what's your fucking problem? You weren't this bad over the summer except for before the full moons."

Draco curled his lip.

"It's a…" Draco frowned, glancing around before pulling his own wand to make sure no one would hear them. "Being a half-breed monster comes with perks."

"Strength, hearing, speed?" Goyle listed. "I know, mate. I might seem bloody stupid, but I do remember studying werewolves in class."

"Extra perks," Draco sighed, trying to drain the tension from his body and almost losing control of the wolf. He was nearly out of his chair before Goyle pinned him, this time with that meaty hand on Draco's knee.

"Such as?" Goyle asked.

"It's called a fucking Soul-Mate Principle," Draco admitted to the boy, realising as he did so that it felt good to actually be able to tell someone; to talk about his condition to someone who wasn't Greyback.

"Read about that," Goyle nodded, surprising the hell out of Draco.

"You… read about it?" Draco frowned.

"If you pretend to be surprised that I can read again, fuck-face, I'll thump you for spite," Goyle threatened him. "When your best mate becomes a fucking werewolf and you've got to share a bloody dormitory with him, you figure out what the hell you need to know about werewolves, you idiot. I know all about your condition. Likely know more than you, at this point."

"Doubtful," Draco drawled and Goyle socked him in the arm hard enough to deaden it. "If you know what it is then you don't need me to explain it."

"You found her?" Goyle confirmed, looking shocked. "You... that's supposed to be rare, Draco. Really rare. Like, they call it a bloody myth because it's so infrequent that people doubt its factual correctness."

"I'm aware. Let's just say my luck officially ran out last year and leave it at that, yeah?" Draco sighed.

"Who is it?" Goyle wanted to know.

"I'm not telling you that," Draco shot him a witheringly glare.

"Someone embarrassing then," Goyle smirked. He kept hold of Draco as he scanned the hall with his eyes, searching for the most likely candidate.

Draco kept his eyes resolutely fixed anywhere but on Granger.

"It's Granger, isn't it?" Goyle said after a long moment and Draco's eyebrows became extremely acquainted with his hairline. "It is. You've got that look you get when something's true but you don't want to admit it. Your soul-mate is Granger."

"If you tell anyone I will literally rip your throat out with my teeth," Draco threatened.

"Save it for someone who's afraid of you, mate," Goyle laughed. "Puny thing like you? I can hold you off with one hand, werewolf-strength or not."

"Let's never test the theory," Draco muttered.

"You've got to claim her, you know?" Goyle told him. "The longer you put it off, the worse things are going to get. You're barely staying in your chair with your beast riding you hard enough to claim her."

"I've already bitten her," Draco admitted softly, glancing over at Goyle, the anchoring hold of being pinned in place actually helping him leash the wolf. He felt the tingle in his eyes when they returned to their usual silver.

"Granger's a werewolf too?" Goyle asked, raising his eyebrows.

"She's an Animagus," Draco shook his head. "Unregistered. A wolf."

"They always are when they're mated to a werewolf," Goyle nodded, surprising Draco again. The bastard really had done his research. The idea baffled Draco. "You marked her while you were both transformed, then?"

Draco nodded his head.

"Shit. That's even worse. You got to claim her, mate. If you don't, eventually you'll lose control and likely fuck her in the halls for everyone to see. Potter and Weasley will use the Killing Curse on you if you touch her."

"And how the fuck am I supposed to claim her when she bloody hates me, Goyle?" Draco demanded. "She's a fucking mudblood. Father will kill me! Worse, she's joined the Order. I reckon she's going to take issue with my new tattoo when she sees it."

"She's all about advocating creature rights, though," Goyle shrugged. "She's not going to care that you're a werewolf. She'll care that you're a Death Eater. And that you're… you know… you."

Draco growled at him.

"I don't know what to tell you, Draco. She'll never willingly go out with you. Even if she were inclined to fancy you, she wouldn't go out with you. Not with her friends being who they are, yours being who we are, and your family being who they are. Not when we're at war and her best mate is the bloody Chosen One. You'll have to claim he by force."

"You're encouraging me to rape her?" Draco spat, glaring at Goyle.

"I'm saying you've got no fucking choice. Unless you want to go to her and spill your secrets and ask her, real sweet, if she'll let you shag her stupid and tie her to you for the rest of her life. She can't have kids with anyone else once you mark her, even if you die. She's more likely to murder you than to agree to fuck you. We could get her drunk and you could seduce her, if you've got moral issues with needing her consent."

"Inebriation doesn't substitute for consent, you fucking ingrate!" Draco growled.

"No big words, mate. I read up on your condition, but I'm still fucking slow. Don't laugh at me, fucker!" Goyle scowled when Draco did, indeed, laugh.

"If she's drunk she can't agree to it."

"Bullshit. Millie gets drunk and agrees to fuck me all the time," Goyle said.

"Millie has a few and gets frisky," Draco corrected. "The amount of whiskey I'd have to pour into Granger to get her to fuck me would likely kill her. And if it didn't kill her, she'd certainly be unconscious or black-out drunk and not know what she was saying, if she could talk at all."

"I'm not seeing another option, Draco," Goyle shrugged. "Drunk and pliant would be better than screaming, crying and trying to fight you off, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not going to fucking rape her!" Draco growled.

"You won't have a choice!" Goyle argued hotly. "If you resist too long, your wolf is going to take you over and fuck her to claim her whether you're keen or not. Do you get that?"

Draco growled in coherently.

"There's always… love potion," Goyle suggested when Draco didn't say anything for several long minutes.

"I don't want to claim her. I don't want to be associated with a bushy-haired little mudblood!" he snapped.

"Yeah?" Goyle asked, turning to look in Granger's direction. "I don't know, mate. Those wild curls aren't really bushy anymore. Just… wild. I wouldn't mind sinking my hands into all that while I fucked her face."

He caught Draco by the throat a second time when Draco lunged at him, snarling, and he deflected the clawed-hand Draco slashed in his direction, catching the dagger-sharp claws across his forearm rather than his face.

"Oh yeah," Goyle laughed, holding him off and surprising the hell out of Draco with his quick reflexes and his apparent strength as he held Draco at arm's length, one hand crushing his windpipe until he stopped snarling.

Draco hadn't realised Goyle was actually that strong.

"You… how are you…?" Draco floundered, trying to understand.

Goyle stared at him drolly. "You didn't actually think I was this big and this slow without reason, did you?"

Draco frowned at him, trying to understand.

"Come on, Malfoy," Goyle sneered. "Don't be thick. You know what they say about my family and our 'purity'."

Draco's eyes went wide in shock. Yeah, he knew what they said. The said that two hundred years ago one of the Goyle men had married a half-giantess. They whispered that the Goyle line was still tainted with the strain, making them big and slow and stupid. Draco had never really believed it. He'd joked about it a time or two, but he hadn't actually thought there was any truth in it. They were purebloods.

"You really didn't know?" Goyle laughed. "You teased me often enough, I figured you did."

"You're… part-giant?" Draco asked.

"You're lucky I am, puny werewolf, or you'd have murdered your best mate," Goyle told him. "What? No sneer on your lips this time to find out I'm a half-breed, too?"

"I never believed it," Draco frowned. "How did…?"

"They get away with it and bury the fact?" Goyle smirked at him. "Same way all the pureblood families hide their quirks and idiosyncrasies, mate. Sweep it under the rug and lie through your fucking teeth. Now, stop trying to rip my throat out or I'm going to sit on you."

"You're bleeding," Draco pointed out, nodding at the blood now dripping from the gashes his ripped into the other boy's forearm.

"I'll live," Goyle shrugged, apparently unfazed by the pain. "The sooner you get over the denial you feel at the idea of fucking a mudblood, the better. If you don't claim her, you're going to kill someone. She's old enough to be dating and she's pretty enough to catch a few eyes. I might not always be around to keep you from slashing throats if she doesn't know who she belongs to."

"If I tell her, she'll kill me," Draco said, pulling his friend's hand from his windpipe and gasping for breath.

"Then don't tell her. She's seen the wolf, right? You bit her when you transformed. She's a fucking know-it-all, mate, and she's been living with Lupin. She'll know about the Mate Principle and likely knows she's got a mate who's a werewolf. She'll be expecting an attack of some kind. So give her the attack, just don't let her know it's you."

"How am I going to keep her from knowing it's me if I've got to fuck her to claim her?" Draco asked.

Goyle punched him again, deadening his other arm. "Fuck her from behind, you idiot!"

Draco glanced across the hall at the witch in question where she was sitting, eyeing the occupants of the hall suspiciously. She was prettier than she'd been in their early years, but she was still no great beauty. Never would be, he imagined. Draco curled his lip at the idea that she belonged to him. Maybe Goyle was right. Maybe it would be in his best interests to claim her just to keep him from killing anyone.

She tensed, feeling his gaze, and Draco looked away before she could catch him staring. If he was going to claim her without letting her know he was her mate, he would have to make a plan, he supposed.

One thing was certain, the witch wouldn't see him coming until it was entirely too late.