Chapter 38 - Hallway Havoc

Hermione darted out of the library, pushing past a stunned Ron as she went. She hurried down the hallway toward her room, heat still climbing up her face. Despite her pounding heart, she let a smile find its way to her lips. That was close, she thought. There had been part of her that hadn't cared; that did not want to leave the werewolf's arms. She should have known something was wrong as soon as he tried to protest; but she hadn't wanted anything to stop her. He was never against her kissing him, not in her limited experience. Just the thought of their brief encounter made her weak in the knees; she had never been so forward, and the way she felt when he touched her...She very nearly stopped and headed straight back to where she had left him, but she tucked her head down and continued to walk in the opposite direction.

Her mind was so preoccupied that she did not notice another form in front of her; half a second later she crashed into Harry, who managed to catch her when she lost her balance. She looked up at him, all too aware of her flaming cheeks and short breaths.

"Are you alright, Hermione?"

"Yes." She replied, unable to keep the lingering breathiness out of her voice. "Yes, I'm fine." She tried to will her body to calm itself; but her cheeks only seemed to get hotter when Harry frowned at her slightly. She gave him a slight grin and rushed down the hall, quickly closing her bedroom door behind her.

The moment she was settled on her bed, she let her mind wander straight back into that library chair and Fenrir's arms. Her heart pounded and her limbs tingled at the mere thought of him; and a strange sensation toiled in her stomach. She could feel the imprint of his lips on hers; and the heat lingered where his hands had held her. She had no idea what had come over her; she had only meant to give him that first kiss, but when his thumb had brushed against the skin on her neck, she had lost the ability to think straight. All of his touches since he had bitten had been brief; but what she had experienced in the library was anything but that. She brought her hand up to her shoulder, lightly tracing the same pattern that Fenrir had along her teeth-scarred skin. It was just normal flesh when she touched it; but when it was Fenrir, she very nearly melted. She groaned slightly, now that her initial panic was wearing off. She wished his hand was still there, brushing smoothly against the mark he had claimed her with. There was something...different, an indescribable pull that only seemed to intensify when she was close to him.

She could still smell him; his scent lingering on her clothing, driving her to want to immediately find him once more. She just wanted to spend time with him. And kiss him...and… Hermione shook her head and refused to follow that trail of thought. She needed to calm down, and this was not helping. Just breathe, Hermione. It worked for a few seconds; but she could not keep the werewolf out of her mind. Everything she tried to think about just led back to Fenrir. Why couldn't she spend time with him? He was her mate. She did not even balk at her own thoughts any more. She believed him; every word he said, and she— she froze momentarily— she loved him.

I love him. I'm in love with Fenrir Greyback. The notion was so absurd that she had to laugh; but then, it wasn't. It was true, every bit of it. She would have laughed if someone had told her a month ago that she would even like the werewolf; but now it was the simple truth. There was no horror for her at the thought; no hesitation. There was magic at work, she was not going to deny that; but it was good, it was natural. It was a peculiar thing, werewolf magic; but it seemed to work. It was incredible. The more she thought about it, the more she was amazed by what she had once thought was a simple curse. She felt her shoulder once more. A magic that she now seemed to share, if only in part.

It was undeniable: Hermione Granger was in love with the most savage werewolf in all of England; and she did not mind one single bit. She was not certain she was ready to tell the werewolf of her feelings, but she had finally admitted them to herself.

Harry stared after Hermione's disappearing form, contemplating his friend's odd demeanor. He turned at the sound of footsteps only to be nearly run over by Ron.

"Did 'Mione come this way?" He asked, apparently in a hurry.

"Yeah, she went toward her room," Harry said, still rather stunned. He caught Ron's arm before the redhead could walk away, "Ron, did something happen?"

"I just found her in the library with that bloody werewolf. I bet he did something to her. I'm gonna make sure she's alright."

Harry nodded slowly, but did not release the grip he had on his friend. He was not certain Ron's plan was the best idea. Hermione had looked flustered, but not upset. He had promised her that he would trust Fenrir, and was trying to not jump to the same conclusion Ron had; not without any sort of proof.

"Maybe…" he began halfheartedly, not wanting to have another argument.

"You wanna let me go, Harry?" Ron stared down at where Harry still gripped his arm.

Harry slowly removed his hand, but did not move out of the redhead's way. "Ron— maybe you ought to wait to talk to her. She looked kind of upset." Perhaps she had been arguing with the werewolf; that would explain her shortness of breath and her flushed cheeks. The smile he gave her could just have been reassurance.

"Yeah? It's his fault if she is. She needs someone who understands her."

"Since when has that been either of us?" Harry said abruptly; trying not to be frustrated with his friend. Hermione obviously needed space; and she was not getting it. "When has it ever been a good idea to barge in on her when she's upset. I— I think you should wait until she comes out of there."

Ron stared at him for a moment, but finally nodded grudgingly.

Harry breathed a slight sigh of relief. He wanted Hermione back to normal as much as Ron did, but he had a feeling they shouldn't push it. She had lived with werewolves for a month; it might take her some time to get over it.

The two teenagers turned to walk back down toward the living areas of the house.

"What do you reckon—" Harry began, but his speech was cut short when he saw Ron's face.

Red was climbing up the Weasley's face as he glared toward the library door.

Harry followed his taller friend's line of sight to see Greyback leaning casually against the door-frame; a smirk on his face. Knowing immediately where this was going, he attempted to stop Ron from doing something stupid, but his friend brushed him off.

"Ron. I don't think that—"

"Why did you do that to her?"

The werewolf cocked his head to the side, the grin never leaving his face. Harry swallowed. Ron may have beaten Fenrir in height, but certainly not in mass. Or experience. The smirk on his face unnerved Harry; the werewolf was not even mildly intimidated by any of them. The young man was not certain he should be. He looked every bit as formidable as the stories told, and he somehow seemed to be looking down at Ron, despite the fact that the Weasley was taller.

"Do what, ginger?" The werewolf did not look the least bit disturbed at Ron's presence in his face. In fact, he looked cheerier than Harry had seen in the last few days.

"She trusts you, and you upset her!"

"I wouldn't say that." The werewolf's grin seemed to grow further.

Harry tensed slightly at the sight of Fenrir's cruelly pointed canines. This was really not a good idea.

"Ron— Ron—"

"Leave out of it, Harry!" The redhead did not even look at him as he dismissed him to once again rage at Greyback.

"I think you may want to listen to Potter, ginger." Greyback cautioned calmly before the redhead could speak.

"You aren't going to get away with this! What do you have over her‽"

"You think I threatened her?" The werewolf's smile brightened further, if that was even possible. "You're out of your league, boy. Maybe one day you'll understand."

Harry did not think the werewolf could be more condescending if he tried. He seemed to know exactly what would rile Ron up the quickest; and it was certainly working. He obviously knew something they didn't, and was not above rubbing it in.

"What is that supposed to mean‽"

"Ask Hermione. Maybe she'll tell you. If you ask nicely."

The werewolf was not acting like he had been arguing with Hermione; unless he enjoyed arguing with her. Harry would not put it past him; he certainly seemed to gain pleasure out of arguing with them. Not that he could truly call what was happening arguing. Fenrir clearly had the upper hand; and Harry had no wish to stir up the werewolf. He was just here to make sure Ron didn't say anything too foolish. A feat that seemed to become more difficult by the moment. Ron's ears were red; and his face was not far behind them.

"Stop acting like you know her! You're not her friend! You kidnapped her!"

Fenrir growled with a smirk; the conflicting signals confusing Harry further. He was certain Ron was aggravating the werewolf, and that was not going to end well. No matter what Hermione said, Fenrir was dangerous, and even she had admitted that.

"And who was it that was tortured? Shall I leave her for Bellatrix next time?"

Ron opened his mouth to continue to argue, but Greyback spoke over him.

"As for knowing her," Fenrir's voice came out with a growl, "I don't think you have any idea how well I know her. There are so many ways to know someone…"

Harry could not help but swallow at the werewolf's tone. It very much reminded him of how he had spoken to them in Malfoy Manor.

"I love her!" Ron exclaimed.

"Do you?" Fenrir's tone was still mocking, but Harry swore there was a dangerous glint in the werewolf's eyes that had not been there before.

Fenrir bit back a snarl. He told Hermione he would try; but what little patience he had was wearing thin. Hermione was his; he knew it, but the boy didn't. That knowledge did nothing to prevent Fenrir from becoming increasingly irate at the boy's claims. It was not fueled by a mistrust of his mate; quite the opposite. He didn't trust anyone else; especially the boy. He had waited years for her; anyone else trying to even hint at staking a claim immediately unleashed his possessive nature. Wolves didn't stray; and wolves certainly did not share.

When the redheaded whelp did not reply to his question, Fenrir growled, "Perhaps you should talk to her about it."

"She knows!"

"Oh, I'm sure she does." The werewolf grit his teeth. He wanted them to know; all of them. Hermione was his mate; and nothing was going to change that. Even she was accepting it.

Hermione must have heard them arguing, because Fenrir saw her out of the corner of his eye, coming down the hallway with her arms crossed. "I'm certain, after all you've been through together she knows exactly how you feel. Isn't that right, Hermione?" He glanced over the red-head's shoulder, smirking at his horrified face when he turned to face the young woman.

"Is it possible for any of you to go ten minutes without arguing‽" she exclaimed; her shrill voice making both teenagers shrink back from her.

Fenrir smirked at her from across the hall; merely observing the scene.

"He provoked me!"

Fenrir snorted; he had to hand it to the boy, he was certainly persistent. If persistent also meant impudent. His mate tossed her wavy hair behind her, her frown deepening.

"I'll believe that when I see it." She said shortly, shooting Fenrir a questioning glance.

He shook his head subtly, but he knew she had caught it when she nodded at turned back to the Weasley.

"Hermione!"

"How long are you going to argue with me about this?"
"As long as it takes to get you back to normal!"

Fenrir watched Hermione as she froze; she seemed to be processing exactly what that meant. Something seemed to click in her head, and she rounded on the red-head, more fiercely than before. Fenrir could not help the small smile that made its way onto his face as she turned on the boy. He was certainly in for it now, if he hadn't been already. His witch was fiery enough to stand up to him, she could destroy the Weasley if she chose to. She wouldn't; but he was not concerned about her.

"And what exactly is normal for me, Ronald Weasley‽"

"Not hanging around that damn werewolf! Spending time with me! And Harry. We're your friends!"

Fenrir knew Hermione had not missed the boy's quick addition of the other points. They both knew what the whelp wanted; and he was never going to get her.

"Fenrir is my friend too!"

Fenrir could not see the boy's face, but he assumed it was turning red.

"Can I at least talk to you about this‽"

Hermione stared at the boy. "If you can do it without shouting. All you had to do was ask, Ron."

Fenrir watched the boy's posture droop as soon as the words had left his mate's mouth. He hoped she would sort a few things out. He trusted her; it was the Weasley he didn't trust.

Harry wanted to perpetually flinch at the conflict in the hallway. He had been trying to avoid it since he had spoken to Hermione earlier that evening, but it seemed impossible. After an exasperated Hermione had left with a moping Ron, Harry had looked up at the werewolf. He was frowning at the backs of his friends. He bit his lip; Hermione said they could trust him, perhaps he could take a small step now.

"Greyb— Fenrir?"

"Either works, boy."

Harry nodded, swallowing. He did not seem to be angry, though he continued to stare in the same direction.

"Do you like wizard's chess?"

The werewolf glanced down, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He nodded, his brow furrowed slightly.

"Fancy a game?" Harry managed. Fenrir was intimidating just to talk to, he did not know how Hermione was so at ease around the werewolf.

He let out a breath when the larger man nodded, the frown on his face slowly fading as they turned to head down the stairs.

A/N: Finals are over! That'll mean more time to write! Also, if you care for an excellent Dolohov/Hermione fic, Aphotic Sage by Thrifty-Crimson is wonderful. She's about 40,000 words in now, and I can't get enough of it.