Prurient
pru· ri· ent | \ ˈpru̇r-ē-ənt
: marked by or arousing an immoderate or unwholesome interest or desire
Mornings faded to night in slow movements that brought along with it the stagnant air of July heat. Her office at the Ministry had been stifling all day. Sweat sat uncomfortably on her skin beneath her robes and her collar felt too tight. It was with a sigh of relief that Hermione finally entered her flat and stripped off the heavy material, making her way straight to the shower.
The water was cool, refreshing, as it beat against her bare back. Hermione dragged her nails across her scalp, massaging the shampoo through her curls. As she so often did in moments of quiet, she thought of Remus.
Alecto Carrow had been the bag of bones that showed up on Harry's desk in June. The list Hermione had compiled was dwindling. She wondered what would happen when Remus reached the end of it. Would he begin hunting down more Snatchers or low level Death Eaters that had been present during the Battle and made it out alive? Would he begin capturing run of the mill criminals? Did he enjoy doing it?
The thought sent a peculiar ripple down Hermione's spine as she tipped her head back to rinse her hair. He was dangerous. And, although that knowledge should terrify her, Hermione was excited by it. Perhaps, it was that her life had become too mundane after the war. Merlin knew she was bored with The Prophet and the unending stream of gossip and tabloid articles she seemed to be assigned. It lacked a certain recklessness that she found herself craving. Deprived her of the adrenaline of doing something she knew was risky.
There was no risk in writing beauty potion reviews or coverage pieces of Celstina Warbeck's latest divorce.
While Remus stuck true to his habitual nature, there was an unpredictability about him that had dug its claws beneath her skin. She wondered if he had always been as surly as he was now. Though, he had moments of his old self that would peek through. A smile that would crinkle his eyes or a soft chuckle that sounded low in his chest. Sometimes he would look at her and his brow would soften slightly and he would unclench his jaw just a bit. Like he'd forgotten she could see him too. Then his eyes would lock with hers and his face would harden back to the unapproachable mask of indifference he sported most of the time.
He had always been despondent, she supposed. Never wanting anyone to get too close. Had it really been because of his fear of infecting others, or simply because he was aware of the power of mercilessness he possessed?
And his eyes. The way they remained golden now—as if the wolf sat barely contained. She could see it in his expression when his sharp teeth poked through a smirk or when his face danced with amusement. She could feel it surge from him in the waves of territorial, primal rage that pulsed through the air around him.
It wasn't the fact that he could perform a killing curse with barely a thought about it that made him dangerous to her. It was the way his eyes traced her face, her hands, her body every time they were in the same space. Rapacious. Predatory. Like he was stalking prey, ready to pounce at any given moment.
She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry. Her skin seemed too hot beneath the spray of the cool water. Her hands smoothed over her breasts, teasing the stiff peaks of her nipples before sliding down the flat of her stomach. She thought of the way his lips had crashed against hers. All gnashing teeth and snarling breath as he consumed her.
Her hand dipped lower, her fingers brushing lightly against her clit. She thought of how dominating the kiss had felt. How despite her fingers squeezing his jaw, Remus had taken control and made sure she knew that she was powerless against him. She circled her clit, applying just enough pressure to cause her breath to hitch. She thought of his tongue and if it would feel just as hot against her core as it had in her mouth.
Another swipe and she leaned her back against the cold tile, letting the water run in rivulets over her breasts as she toyed with her clit. Petting the sensitive nub with faster strokes as she thought of his strong shoulders and how they would feel with her nails dug into him. How his narrow hips would slot perfectly between her thighs. Her fingers wandered lower, pressing against her entrance.
There was no doubt in her mind that his scarred fingers would know exactly where to press, when to pinch, how to flicker against her. She plunged a second finger in and her hips bucked forward. She needed more. She needed him. Not this fantasized version that she extrapolated from a kiss. She needed to feel his cock inside of her, to feel the muscles of his back shift beneath her palms.
She hiked a leg up, placing her foot on the edge of the tub as she picked up the pace, thrusting her fingers in and out of her cunt with quick, short, strokes. She moaned his name as her other hand moved to swipe across her clit. Her back arching, hips rolling against her fingers. She thought of his teeth, sharp and straight, and hoped he would bite into the spot where her neck and shoulder met. Leave a mark to lay claim that would smart against her robes for days after.
Hermione pushed her fingers further into her cunt, jerking her wrist slightly as they found the spot that she had been searching for. She moaned loudly and applied more pressure to her clit before she finally snapped. Her movements stilled, shoulders slumping while her chest heaved to catch a proper breath. Slowly, Hermione pulled her fingers from her wet slit and blinked several times to clear her vision.
This had gone beyond the harboured attraction of a school girl's crush. It felt significant, somehow, now that she was giving into the thrill of lusting after the older man who had the ability to snuff out lives with ease. And if she was so willing to overlook the heinousness of his crimes, what did that make her?
Remus seemed especially tense when Hermione arrived late the next evening. He was outside pacing around the boundaries of his property while muttering protection and repelling charms. He had shaved since the last time she'd seen him. His jaw was still covered in a layer of stubble but it wasn't the same wiry scruff that had been there previously. A henley shirt hung loose off his shoulders, riding up slightly as he raised his arms. She couldn't help but catch the glimpse of the pale skin of his hips, her breath caught at the sight of a thin trail of hair beneath his navel.
He didn't ask what she was doing there. He had finally stopped asking, altogether. She assumed it was because he knew she wouldn't give a good enough answer for what he wanted to hear. And lately, she didn't have one. She hadn't brought him any additional information since telling him Harry was head of the case. Hermione was here simply because she wanted to be. Regardless if it was reciprocated.
"Strengthening your wards?" Hermione observed, finally stepping nearer to him.
He grunted some response of affirmation, remaining focused on his spellwork.
She listened as he took a few more paces. The lyrical beat of the spells sounded strange, although not unpleasant, coming from his deep, gravelly voice. Like the rustling of fallen leaves against a footpath or the crunching of snow beneath her boots. Harsh but beautiful.
"The kettle should still be hot," he offered.
Hermione felt a smile pull her lips, "Are you acting as a host now? After all this time?"
He turned his head to look at her, his eyes narrowed but amusement glittering in them. "If you're going to insist on invading my space."
"I think you like that I'm here," Hermione challenged. "I think you like having someone to spit your venom at every once in a while. Someone who can take it."
"Can you?" he asked, his arms falling to his side as he turned to face her fully.
She tilted her head to one side in question. A breeze kicked up around them, rustling the skirt of the sundress she wore. She watched his eyes as they followed the movement. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.
"Can you take it?" he repeated.
Despite the heat of the sun beating down on them, Hermione felt her skin ripple with goosebumps. Remus watched her closely, intently. His eyes came to rest on hers. An eyebrow slowly creeping up in question or challenge, Hermione wasn't sure. She shifted her weight, trying to be inconspicuous, as she pressed her thighs together in a sad attempt to release some of the budding pressure.
She cleared her throat. "I guess we'll have to see."
That wolfish grin crept across Remus' face. "I guess so."
Remus turned his back to her again, finally releasing her from the intense stare-down. She inhaled slowly, counting to five as she blew the air back out and made her way over to the cabin.
The door creaked loudly as she pushed it open. The cabin, decades deep in its neglect, always groaned with the effort to remain standing. She closed it gently, taking a moment to appreciate the cooling charm that Remus must have placed. Her physical attraction to the man was getting to be a bit ridiculous.
A cup of tea made and a bit of tidying up later, Hermione picked up the copy of the Quibbler that sat atop the pile of newspapers from the day. On the front, a picture of Harry with the headline:
Chosen One Chosen Again
Harry Potter Chosen to Take the Lead on High Profile Murder Case
(turn to page 14 for details)
Hermione sat at the table and flipped to page fourteen, wondering what details Xenophilius Lovegood could possibly have.
Harry Potter has been named Head Auror on a High Profile case involving the murder of Ministry Official Augustus Rookwood. Rookwood, once thought to be part of You-Know-Who's followers, was cleared of all charges under claims of the Imperius Curse four years ago.
When asked if the killing of Rookwood had any connection to the fifteen other missing people on the Ministry's Most Wanted, Auror Potter elected not to comment.
And while Potter may have given an answer that we expected to hear; we at The Quibbler are dedicated (as always) to ensuring the safety and integrity of our community remains intact. We have collected a list of the Ministry's Most Wanted that have gone missing or been pronounced dead since The Battle of Hogwarts on 2 May, 1998.
Beneath the article was a picture listing all the names of Death Eaters and Snatchers Hermione knew now, to be dead. Along with a handful of names she did not recognize. That was good, at least. If there were additional names on the list, it would be far more difficult to figure out who was apprehending the Death Eaters. She skimmed the article some more, picking up bits and pieces of theory and speculation, but nothing that led her to believe that Mr Lovegood had any inside knowledge on the killings.
"...I don't see what anyone cares if the Death Eaters are going missing. We ought to just thank Merlin that we don't have to worry about them coming back again! They're worse than doxies, that lot." Says Hog's Head Inn Owner Aberforth Dumbledore. Aberforth, of course, is the brother of the Late Professor Albus Dumbledore and a pillar of the community who…
"They're printing about it now," Remus' voice cut through her concentration and she closed the magazine, tossing it carelessly aside. "They've listed the names."
"I saw," Hermione hummed, lifting her mug to take a sip of her tea.
"Xeno is a loose cannon. Always has been."
Hermione nodded, "Half the community takes his word as gold after The Prophet's flop during the war. Half of them think he's still full of shit."
Remus let out a puff of laughter, "That may be true. But he's intelligent—thinks outside of the box. And that makes him dangerous."
"You think he'll catch on to you?"
"I think," Remus began slowly, falling into the chair across from her and lighting a cigarette. "Xeno will do the Aurors jobs for them in ways of digging down avenues they wouldn't have previously thought of. I appreciate Harry lying for me, though."
"What happens when you're done?" Hermione finally asked, the question had been sitting in the back of her mind for months now.
Remus lifted a shoulder, took a long puff from his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly before answering. "I didn't think I'd make it this far, truthfully. I assumed they'd catch me sooner."
Hermione pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, "Who is the last target, Remus?"
He pushed a hand through his hair. "Does it matter?"
"You've been methodical this far," Hermione reasoned. "So, I think it does."
"After word gets out of the last one, I don't think it will," he mumbled.
"I don't understand," Hermione said.
"Nott."
Hermione set her mug to the table, the soft clinking sound the only thing reverberating in the air. "Theodros Nott," she confirmed.
"Yes."
"Remus, he's on the Wizengamot. The Nott's are part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Hermione began working out the problem aloud. "If the Ministry came down for Rookwood…"
"I know."
"They're not going to stop now."
He caught her eye, a hardened look of contempt at her words legible on his face. He didn't care. He truly didn't care.
"They'll kill you," she whispered. "No. It'll be worse than that. They'll...they'll sentence you to a kiss."
His jaw worked against clenched teeth, the cigarette between his fingers burning down to the filter. He remained silent. The mask of stoic indifference slid back into place.
"And you don't care," she spoke the words out loud against a bark of laughter. "You don't give a shit if they kill you or leave you to rot without a soul."
"At this point, I don't think I have one anymore."
His tone was sharp. Factual. But, Hermione could read between the lines. Could see the flash of anguish in his eyes.
"That isn't true," she murmured. "You've done some bad things but—"
"Some bad things?" Remus laughed. Biting and sarcastic. He stood from the table and began pacing. A tell-tale sign that she had, yet again, struck a nerve. "I've killed more people than I have fingers to count them off on. And that was before I started hunting down Death Eaters after the Battle."
Hermione reeled. Her head snapped up and she pulled herself from the chair, turning to look at him. "What are you talking about?"
"You don't honestly believe our side made it through two wars without actively killing, did you? I know you're young but you cannot possibly be that naive."
"I always assumed…"
"Assumed what? That Dumbledore wouldn't allow it?" Remus barked another laugh, "Dumbledore is the one who ordered it. Do you think I disappeared for months of my own free will? He held me in the palm of his hand the same way he did Snape. The same way he did Hagrid. The same fucking way he did Harry."
"I thought you were trying to connect with other werewolves," Hermione voiced. "I just assumed you went to try and persuade them to help."
"And when they didn't, when they threatened The Order or Dumbledore, I slaughtered them. I have been a killer since I was nineteen years old, Hermione."
"It was war," she argued. "There are—there are casualties! It's par for the course."
"Don't fucking talk to me about par for the course," he hissed. "You don't know the things I was asked to do. The way I had to hunt and kill or be killed. You don't know that kind of fear."
"I've never killed," Hermione agreed. "But don't tell me I don't understand the fear of being hunted. I may not be a werewolf but there is mud in my veins and I spent months on the run being reminded of that!" She could feel her voice rising, the anger pulsing through her as she let out the words she never even dared to whisper to anyone.
"You are not the only person who gave a part of themselves to the war, Remus. You are not the only person to watch people you love die or do things you aren't proud of to survive. I may not know what it feels like to take a life, but I know fear. I know hunger. And I damn well know what it feels like to be afraid."
The cooling charm in the cabin seemed to do little to quell the heat rising on Hermione's face as her chest rose and fell in angry breaths. She understood Remus and where he was coming from. She put her own morals surrounding the situation on the back burner to prove it. But, to assume she didn't know what it was like to be afraid? That she had no experience when it came to the war and the fear it brought with it? That was asinine. She may not have killed anyone, but she had erased lives.
There was barely three feet of space between them. Space pregnant with implications. Bursting at the seams with the words that hung in the air. Heavy as the tobacco smoke that constantly swirled in the streams of sunlight that broke through boarded up windows.
Hermione closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.
"I'm sorry you lost Tonks," Hermione finally murmured.
"Don't."
"No, I need...I need to say it, Remus." Hermione insisted, taking another step forward. "I'm sorry you were robbed of the sliver of happiness you were able to carve out of the war. And I know that now all you care about is vengeance—"
"That isn't true."
Hermione stopped mid-sentence. Her mouth gaped open, words dying on her tongue. After a few beats, she snapped it shut, trying to work the whispered words into what she knew of the man in front of her. Of the walls surrounding her filled with contradictions to that statement.
"It isn't?" she asked, doubtfully. "Because, it certainly seems that way."
Remus moved back toward the table, pulling a cigarette from his holder and lighting the end of it with a snap of his fingers. He moved back to his spot in the center of the room, facing her fully now.
"No. It isn't."
"Could have fooled me."
"That's the point."
She narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "What?"
He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Diplomatically. More like the Remus she had known years ago, a bit of that man shining through this isolated version of himself.
"Five months ago I cared about little else," he admitted. "And once I was finished, I had planned to finally lay myself in the grave they began digging for me thirty-eight years ago."
Hermione inhaled sharply. She knew he had long since been suffering. That he had clearly lost all sense of himself between fighting two wars and losing his best friends and his wife. But, she never would have imagined Remus would take his own life. It seemed contradictory to everything she knew of him. He was a fighter. Clearly. He had fought for his right to live his entire life.
"You must be so exhausted," she whispered, as the thought struck her. She hadn't meant for the words to slip past her lips, but she didn't regret that they had.
Remus bobbed his head a few times, a sad smile taking his face. "You have no idea."
"What changed?" she asked.
He put his cigarette to his lips, the ash covered end lighting up as he sucked a long draw off of it. He blew the smoke into the air between them.
"You."
Hermione's breath hitched in her throat and her heart sped up, thumping hard behind her sternum. It hadn't been in her head. She wasn't mental for thinking there was something electric between them. That there was some strange force that kept her coming to his side.
She closed the distance between them, reaching out to pluck the cigarette from between his lips. She turned to flick it into the fireplace and when she faced him again, his face looked more earnest than she had ever seen it.
"I've been alone for so long," he admitted. "And you worked your way under my skin in a matter of minutes."
Hermione brought one hand to rest on the back of his neck, the other sitting comfortably on his chest. Digging up all of the Gryffindor courage she could muster, she shoved up to the tips of her toes and placed her lips against his.
It wasn't the gnashing, bruising kiss it had been the first time. The one she thought about in the shower or late at night when she couldn't sleep. But, it wasn't gentle and soft, by any means. It was heated. As everything with Remus had been this far. But instead of causing her to burn and blister, she melted into it. Pressing her chest against his, moulding her body to him.
His tongue swiped the seam of her lips, pushing past her teeth to tangle with her own. He tasted strongly of tobacco and tea and something else she couldn't quite name. His lips were a bit rough against hers, but they moved with care. Every pull and tug of his teeth and tongue deliberate and Hermione breathed it in.
His arms snaked around her, pulling her closer to him. His hands wandered lower, gripping the round of her arse and she hummed a moan of appreciation for the pressure of it. Her own hands trailed into his hair, fingers twisting into the short, greying strands at the back of his neck.
"I can smell it on you," he whispered as he pulled his lips away from hers. He stooped lower to catch the skin beneath her ear, nipping at it just enough to be on the edge of pain. "The way you want me."
"I do," she breathed.
He rolled his hips against hers, letting her feel the hardened evidence of his reciprocated feelings. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she wondered where this could possibly go. Remus would be caught eventually, particularly if he kept going after Ministry officials. His entire plan for vengeance wrapped so deeply in the love of the wife he had watched die. He was emotionally as unavailable as they came. But, then again, Hermione wasn't really in the place to want anything more than physicality, either. She had a career. She had her friends. She didn't need emotional availability. She needed physical release. She needed to feel him inside of her. She could assess the deeper meaning behind it all later. Preferably when her knickers weren't dampened from the delicious things Remus was doing to the skin on her neck.
"Good," he answered.
With a fluid movement, Remus' hands slipped down the backs of her thighs, pulling her up to wrap her legs around his waist. His mouth met hers again, this time with far more urgency than before. He moved to the table, shoving a stack of newspapers off the side as he set her down. He pulled away, leaving a trail of searing hot kisses down her jawline, her throat, her chest, before nudging her to lay back, her legs still wrapped around him.
He began to work the buttons that lined the front of the sundress she wore. Plucking them apart, one by one, leaving a kiss on every bit of skin exposed. Hermione tightened her thighs around him, pulling him closer. She could feel his erection straining against his jeans, pressed against her core. She tugged at the shoulders of his shirt as he revealed her breasts to the warm air of the cabin.
"Take this off," she demanded.
He chuckled against her skin, standing upright to grasp the hem of the shirt and yanking it up over his head, tossing it to the floor. He dove back down to continue his torturous kissing, pulling a nipple into his mouth and gently bit down on it. Hermione rolled her hips, desperate for friction, pressure, anything to relieve the ache of want she felt.
Finally, after several excruciatingly slow drags of his tongue over her abdomen, her dress was fully unbuttoned, leaving her bare save for her damp knickers. Remus ran a finger over the ruined lace, her favourite wolfish smile gracing his face as he gripped her thighs again, sinking down to his knees and propping them up on his shoulders.
Hermione pushed up on her elbows, watching him as he nipped the inside of her thighs, his hands kneading into the soft flesh. Finally, he pressed a kiss against the lace, his hot breath sending a spark up her spine that incinerated her from head to toe.
"Remus," she breathed. Pleaded.
"Patience," he tutted.
Hermione groaned in frustration, her hands kneading at her breasts. She needed more. She needed to finally feel him instead of the fantasized version of him she had created. She needed—
"Ohh," she breathed.
Remus shoved her knickers to the side and pressed his lips to her clit, sucking gently on the sensitive pearl. Hermione's head fell back, smacking against the table as she moaned, silently thanking Merlin he was finally giving her what she had been wanting for months.
He dragged his tongue down her slit, plunging it inside of her to taste her before moving back to her clit, working it with alternating flicks of his tongue and pulling it between his lips. Hermione's hands found the top of his head, her fingers tugging hard at his hair as her hips rolled upward of their own volition. Remus placed a firm hand to her lower belly, ceasing her movement as he pulled away to press a kiss against the inside of her thigh.
"Do you want more?" He asked, his tone teasing her. The bastard.
"Yes," Hermione pleaded. "God, please, yes."
Again, he chuckled. She thought that maybe she should be embarrassed by the keening whine of her voice as she begged for more but she couldn't be arsed to care. Every nerve in her body was ablaze with Remus, set on fire from the moment she locked eyes with him in that fucking forest in Wales. She needed this.
She could hear the buckle of his belt as he undid it. The zip of his trousers. She pushed up on her elbows again, wanting to see him fully. His thick cock stood at attention as he stepped out of his shoes and trousers, kicking them away before he dipped his thumbs beneath the waistband of her knickers and yanked them down.
Hermione lifted her hips, kicking off the lace to land somewhere on the floor beneath the table. Her legs hung off the side, dangling in the air at an angle that would probably be uncomfortable if it wasn't for the anticipation of what was next. Remus finally slotted himself between her thighs, perfectly cradled against her. He gripped his cock, his opposite hand finding her center, pressing two fingers into her. She watched him as he worked them both, the pumping of his fingers in rhythm with the slow tugs of his cock. Hermione let out a low moan, biting into her lip to keep from embarrassing herself with another whine.
Remus removed his hand from her and slid the length of his cock through her slick folds a few times, rocking gently before lining himself up at her entrance and finally pushing forward. Hermione gasped as he filled her, the stretch taking her breath more deliciously than she could have ever thought up in her own imagination. He pulled her legs up, resting her feet on the edge of the table with bent knees, hitting deeper inside of her than she could ever remember feeling before.
"Fuck you're tight," he breathed, falling forward to crash his lips into hers.
He stayed still for a few minutes, focusing more on their tangle of tongues. Hermione ran her hands over his chest, his biceps, his back. Her nails scratched lightly against the mottled skin between his shoulders.
He groaned, his forehead pressing against hers, eyes held tightly shut. Finally, he pulled his hips backward and pushed forward again, causing Hermione to let out a slow string of obscenities.
"More," Hermione bit out. "Please Remus, harder."
He opened his eyes, pulling back slightly to look down at her. The look on his face was enough to set her completely ablaze and he pulled back again, this time slamming into her with more force. His pace picked up with hard, deep strokes that stole her breath and made her dizzy. Her toes curled hard over the edge of the table, her nails cutting crescent shapes into the skin of his back.
She met him thrust for thrust, rolling her hips up to meet his as he pounded into her. The table wobbled precariously, screeching as it inched across the floor. She registered the sound of shattering ceramic as a mug slipped off the surface and crashed to the wood below. Papers sliding off their neat piles, to land carelessly in a mess of clothes and spilt tea.
He pulled out completely and Hermione wanted to sob at the loss of him, feeling a brilliant flash of anger that he would stop something so absolutely blissful until she realized he was pulling her from the table. She stepped down, allowing him to turn her, bending at the waist as he nudged her feet apart. He lined himself back up and slammed into her again, gripping her hips so tightly she knew it would bruise. That thought excited her. The thought of seeing purple fingerprints to remind her of this moment for days to come.
A hand left her hip and buried itself into her hair, gripping the curls tightly at her scalp. She could feel his fingers twist into them, tugging her head to arch her back. Hermione moaned loudly, crying out words of nonsense as he continued with a punishing pace. The hand on her hip finally moved, his arm snaking around her in an effort to swipe furious circles across her clit.
It was too much and as his hand tightened in her hair, pulling harder, she undulated completely. Her eyes slammed shut as stars burst behind her eyelids. Her thighs shook in effort to keep her standing as she came hard, coating Remus' cock. He slowed for a moment, letting her ride out her orgasm before continuing with a few more jerky thrusts of his own. A low, guttural groan slipped past his lips as he spilled his release inside her.
After a few moments of nothing but the sound of them catching their breath, Remus stepped back, pulling his softening cock from her cunt. Hermione let out a small sigh, blinking heavily as she tried to come back down from the high of the best orgasm she'd ever had.
"I should have asked before," Remus said, his voice returning to the stable, sensible cadence he typically carried. "To see if you were on the potion."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh, "I am, yeah."
"Good," he breathed.
Hermione turned to face him, glad to see his chest was still rising and falling just as rapidly as hers was. They stood there, staring at one another for what felt like an eternity. And, although it should have felt awkward. It didn't.
Hermione wondered what that meant.