Author's Note: Thanks for the positive feedback. Here's more!

Chapter 3

Two weeks had passed since Remus was in a shabby bedroom in a quaint cottage north of Montpellier. In that week he'd learned four important things about himself. Firstly, he realized that he had become spoiled, used to the rather nice living conditions at the castle and his holiday housing arrangement at Sirius's extravagant flat in the middle of the city. The surrounding area was beautiful. The weather was mild, and depending on the weather to the south, he could sometimes catch a whiff of the salty ocean air. The land was supple and perfect for growing plants necessary for the master's brewing, and was ample and guarded enough by various wards to ensure that monthly testing of their progress was unhindered and not dangerous to the largely Muggle population that inhabited the area.

Still, his actual living arrangements were horrid. He had a tiny bedroom he was forced to call his own, and on a particularly warm night, he'd discovered the lack of central air. He learned that Professor Masson, the elderly Potions Master and lycanthropy expert who didn't actually suffer from the affliction himself, devoted his life to living in a way that was most advantageous for his work - without magic not pertaining to his research. He was afraid the unstable draughts and charms cast on his potions would be affected by residual magic left in the air from things such as cooling spells. His wand was put away for all times, except when outside of the boundaries of his property or when doing something pertinent to his research.

Upon Remus's arrival, he'd instructed Remus to lock away his wand, as he wouldn't be allowed to use it unless under supervision. And that meant that Remus woke up sweaty, had to learn to cook the Muggle way, and become independent of his wand. It wasn't easy. Especially when he had to scrub the toilet by hand.

The second thing he realized was that he was not immune to the drowsy drifting-off-to-sleep feeling he chastised his students for possessing during theory lessons. The Professor, although a brilliant man, had lost some of his wits, and he'd sometimes babble on about theory, and not advanced theory either - basic theory - the sort of thing he learned about his first year of Hogwarts. It didn't matter than Remus was an academic himself. Professor Masson went on and on and on about the mundane, and when Remus tried to fill in the blanks for him to show him that he knew them as well, he scolded him and told him the importance of a good foundation.

Remus wasn't sure whether he'd been chosen for this research because of his qualifications or because he was someone patient enough to put up with it. Still, he sometimes had to admit that he dozed a bit over lunch and dinner, when the Professor prattled on for ages, only to be jolted out of his daydreaming by the Professor advancing the subject rapidly forward to something cutting edge and new. It happened in an instant and lasted about as long, before he reverted back to something he'd already said a dozen times before, and Remus was lulled back to sleep.

Third, he discovered how much of a pervert he was. It was probably his quickest discovery. He'd spent his very first day with the professor gardening. He saw some of the strangest plants he'd ever seen, and it was more physical labor than he was used to. He wouldn't be surprised if he came out of this summer as fit as Sirius.

That was the thought that flittered across his closed eyelids when he laid down underneath the covers of the lumpy mattress. The thought led him back to finding his friend in bed (or on the couch, rather) with Hermione. She'd been covered up, but he saw the outline of her supple breasts, the smooth skin of her shoulders, and the flush that accompanied her post-coital bliss. He'd also smelled her. And if Sirius's reaction was anything to go by, Hermione was every bit as good as he thought she would be.

And he imagined it was him. He imagined her young, lithe body writhing underneath his, sweat covering both of them, as she mewled in pleasure. Oh, he would make sure she got pleasure. It all went back to her scent. It was like a drug to him, one that he'd vicariously gotten a taste of and couldn't get out of his mind since that moment. He wanted to taste it - drive her to the edge and taste her.

Before Remus realized what was happening, a spurt of his own semen landed on his stomach, his hand still loosely draped around the shaft of his penis.

Instead of feeling the woes of his perversion, Remus awaited her arrival. She would owl him when she got there, she'd said. He didn't know what she was doing back in England, but Remus knew that Sirius would stay away from her or at least ward her off until Remus got his chance. Sirius seemed much more confident that Remus could tempt her than he did, but it didn't matter.

Sirius had been right. Remus was feeling sorry for himself like a petulant child, and if he showed her what he had to offer and she wanted it, then that should be good enough for him. If she didn't, then at least he tried.

And if he had to be honest, the competition with Sirius only spurred him on. Some part of him knew this could turn ugly very fast, but a bigger part of him bathed in the excitement.

Oh, and the last thing Remus learned about himself was that he hated crowds. Football was off season, wasn't it? And yet every time he passed by Montpellier's pitch on his journeys into the city, it was crowded. Not that that revelation had much significance compared to the others.

Tonight was another hot night. The Professor had gone into town - left him there in the dingy old cottage by himself while he went off with the promise of returning in two days' time. What he was up to, Remus didn't know, but he didn't ask. He was to stay here and guard the research, not that he expected anyone to attempt sabotage anyway. He doubted anyone in the world could understand the Professor's research but him, and it wasn't particularly lucrative anyway. The number of wizards afflicted by lycanthropy was incredibly small, and most of the good ones were poor and humble and grateful that anyone at all cared. None were wealthy enough for any kind of cure to be a lucrative thing.

He felt jealous of the Professor, going into town and getting to experience cool air while he was stuck here in his stifling room, on his tiny bed, drenched in his own sweat, waiting on an owl from a witch with not much else to do. He had books, of course, but for the first time in his life, Remus felt all read out. He'd done so much reading lately. He wanted to sit back and relax.

A light bulb in his head went off, as he realized he could do that. Just outside the house, there was a small, old-fashioned bath tub that looked like a giant barrel. He could fill it with cold water from the well, sit down in it chin deep, and clear his mind.

That sounded downright lovely in fact. So that's exactly where he went.


Hermione stood on the balcony of the upper deck of the beach house, watching the tide come in and change the patterns of the sand. She looked out into the distance, not seeing the beauty of the sunset, the green-blue water turning midnight as kelp washed ashore. Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the railing in frustration.

"Hermione, dear," her mum called from below on the beach, when she turned her head and spotted her daughter standing there, her brown hair swaying in the breeze, beads of moisture pooling at her hairline. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know where Gemma is," Hermione squealed anxiously. "I sent her out with a letter three days ago, and that delivery should have only taken a few hours, even if she'd waited for a response."

"Maybe she's gone on and found herself a nice male owl," Mrs. Granger suggested with a coy smile.

"Not helping, Mum," Hermione said with a frown on her face.

"Why are you so concerned?" Her dad asked, handing his mother a glass of iced tea below. "You usually aren't wound so tightly about a letter gone missing."

"This was going to a colleague," Hermione said, her frown deepening, "a friend - a good friend. And he's only an hour away from here. If Gemma's gone this long, she must not have been able to find him. What if something's happened to him?"

"But owls are smart, aren't they?" Mrs. Granger asked, although her voice seemed concerned now as well. "You told me once that owls know when a task is too difficult for them. If an owl can find a person anywhere in the world, then can't it sense if they're dead? What if this man is reachable but unreachable?"

Hermione furrowed her brow and bent over the railing to look at her mother. How could he be 'reachable but unreachable?' That didn't make sense. Unless her mum meant that the person could be found but didn't want to be found.

Like with a spell or a ward!

The Professor and Remus were doing important research in the middle of a mostly Muggle area, and they had werewolves running around unhinged during full moons. Surely there had to be something that kept them from leaving the property or stopping Muggles from wandering on. Maybe there was a barrier or a cloaking charm or a combination of both, and that was why Gemma was gone for so long. She would be circling the same area, knowing she was close, but unable to go in.

"Mum, you're a genius," Hermione said suddenly. Her dad put his arm around her mum, and they both smiled proudly. "But I have to go for a bit."

"Where are you going?" her dad asked.

"If he's in a protected area, Gemma's never going to be able to get to him. I have to find my poor little owl, and I have to explain to Remus why I haven't owled yet when I said I would. He probably didn't realize it either."

"Is this the Remus fellow from your cousin Helena's wedding?" her mum asked.

Hermione blinked in confusion, trying to decipher what she was talking about. Then she remembered it. Easter of last year, her cousin Helena was getting married. Hermione, obligated to take a date, had planned on it being Ron, except that she'd broken up with Ron the day before. Out of options but still obligated to go, Hermione had gone through the list of every single person she could think of to go.

Most people had families, Easter plans, lives. Remus had stepped up, had bitten the bullet, and had volunteered to go with her so that she wouldn't have to listen to her cousin and her friends' pedantic babble about things of the least amount of importance in the entire world. That was when she first began to like and respect Remus. She got to know him well at that wedding, and she realized how funny and intelligent and witty he could be.

They were two-of-a-kind, Hermione and Remus, birds of the same feather, and whatever other overused cliches that Sirius liked to use. And it had all begun there, at that wedding. It was Remus that had brought up that a Potions position was opening and told her to apply, about a week afterward when they met for coffee as friends (something which they'd never done before, just the two of them). She couldn't believe she'd forgotten. She still remembered the shocked look on Helena's face when she showed up with someone more handsome than her husband. She always liked to tease Hermione, saying that only bottom-feeders would be interested in a bookworm like her. And yet she brought Remus - who was handsome, older, and gained favor with almost anyone he spoke to immediately, because of his soft-spoken persona and gentle demeanor. Despite the age gap, Remus was the star of the show.

"Yes, it is," she said fondly. "He's here on research."

"I liked him," her mother said. "So well-mannered."

"Seemed like a good man," her father agreed.

Hermione smiled. "He is. Which is why I have to find him now."

"Be safe," her mother said with an encouraging smile.

"I will," Hermione responded, going inside of the house, and apparating with a POP!

When Hermione arrived at her destination in the familiar region north of Montpellier, she looked around to make sure there were no Muggles and summoned her patronus to guide the way. She knew she was in the right area, because she was met with her barn owl, Gemma, who hooted in relief and perched on her arm. Hermione took the letter from her beak and stuck it in the back pocket of her jean shorts. She then kissed the top of the owl's head and told her she could go on home and that her mum would have a treat for her.

The owl flew off, and Hermione followed her otter through an area that was thick with magic. It was a barrier, just as Hermione had thought, and that meant that Remus was probably nearby.

Her patronus faded away, and Hermione continue walking down a well-worn path, thinking about the past few weeks. Hermione queued at the fireplace in McGonagall's office along with everyone else, waiting to go home, when she'd seen Sirius last. She'd awkwardly asked him if he'd like to have coffee with her sometime, and he said he'd be busy for the next while but that he'd owl her when available.

He never had.

This was incredibly hurtful for Hermione, who thought that the kind words he'd said to her after their bout of carnal pleasure were a hint that he maybe did hold her in at least a somewhat high esteem. Now she felt embarrassed and stupid.

Remus, on the other hand, had owled her once, telling her where he was and that he was looking forward to seeing her. She didn't know if she had the courage to ask him if he knew anything about Sirius, but she did know that it was nice that someone cared about her enough to not blatantly lie to her.

As she stomped down the dirt path, her sour mood dissipated when she saw a small cottage come into the view. It was rather picturesque, various vines and plants entangled in it and the white picket fence surrounding it.

This must be it, she thought.

She stepped around, trying to find a door, when she was greeted by a sight that made her stop in her tracks and pause, unable to look away. In a wooden, round outdoor bath, she saw Remus with his eyes closed, his head tossed back over the planks. Thick, light brown tufts of hair hung over the edge of the tub and fell away from his face, showing his strong jaw line and pink-tinged porcelain skin that reflected the moonlight. His lips were candy apple red and slightly parted, surrounded by smooth skin.

He had his relaxed arms sitting on the edge of the tub, but they still had definition to them. They looked strong, his wrists limp and his fingers swaying to unheard music, a symphony he was conducting in his head. She knew he must have been lost in his own thoughts, because otherwise, she assumed he would have sensed her. He lived 'constant vigilance' the way Mad-Eye preached it, spurred on by his wolfish intuition.

She knew she should've greeted him, announced her presence, but instead she stood around the corner of the cottage entranced. She was mesmerized.

Then, as if that wasn't enough for her, he stretched out his long limbs and stood up, his back to her. He hummed a happy tune and stepped out of the tub, but all she could focus on was his long, lean frame, his sculpted back, and that round, perfect ass she'd been enchanted by even through pants.

She realized she was salivating when she gulped down a wave of spit that nearly caused her to choke. Even while hiding, she still craned around, trying to catch a glimpse at his front end. Her mind was blank, the site of Remus Lupin, naked in the forest, too much for her to comprehend. It looked so natural, so primal, and her conscious thoughts gave way to her most carnal desires, a tight knot forming in her gut, moisture pooling between her legs. She was too far gone, too hypnotized to wonder where these thoughts and feelings came from. They were there now, and she didn't know what to do.

He walked over to a nearby picnic table and took the towel that laid atop it.

"I can smell you, Hermione," he said, beginning to dry himself off.

Hermione flushed scarlet, even though he wasn't looking at her. She didn't know how long he'd sensed her, but the second he bent his leg at the knee and lifted one foot on the bench, giving her a perfect view of his manhood, she didn't care. She took a step forward, from around the corner.

"It's the same delicious scent I smelled our last day at Hogwarts," he continued, still drying himself.

So that's what he meant by smelling her - her arousal. And judging by his choice of words, he wasn't disgusted by it.

He finally turned around, giving her full view of his lean abdomen, and his now erect manhood. Her gaze immediately dropped to it, even though she tried to look at his face. It wasn't until he dropped the towel back on top of the table that her eyes shot to his. His sky blue orbs matched the time of night, darkening with arousal, a wicked glint in them. His smile was still soft and gentle, like she always knew, but there was something different about him - something more confident.

She swallowed again.

"Won't you let me have a taste as well?" he asked impishly.

Lightning shot through her body. She still didn't move, incredibly aroused by his words but unable to control her limbs.

"Come to me, Hermione," he demanded, stretching out his hand.

She acquiesced to his request and walked through the thick summer air into his awaiting hands. She stood in front of him, breathing heavily, returning his steady gaze, waiting for him to make his move. To her surprise, he backed into the side of the table and sat down, a mischievous smile gracing his red lips.

"You've had your show. Now it's my turn," he said darkly. "Strip."

Hermione's entire body flushed, and she parted her lips, searching for any words to express the feeling of self-consciousness racking her body. It was one thing to be naked underneath a man or in the darkness of a room, but to strip for his viewing pleasure under the light of the moon was something that excited and terrified her at the same time.

"Don't think about it," he commanded, his gaze unwavering. "Just do it."

It was the opposite of everything both of them stood for. They were thinkers - overthinkers. They calculated their actions, weighed their options, rationalized everything, and only then did they act. The act was always followed by the same amount of thinking and analyzing and fretting. And now he was telling her to cut out that process.

The only time she'd ever done that - the only time either of them had ever done that - was during the war. But she supposed that this was another type of -

"Take off your clothes, Hermione," he demanded, cutting off her thoughts.

She shivered despite the warm air and the sweat that was dripping down her body. His voice was deeper than she'd ever heard it before, and she couldn't resist it. With shaking hands, she grabbed the hem of her tank top and brought it up, past the swell of her breasts, over the top of her head, and let it drop onto the grass next to her.

She brought her slender arms behind her back and latched her fingers onto the clasp of her bra, hesitating momentarily so she could look at him. His attention was rapt and focused on her movements, his light eyes popping up from her breasts and to her face when she paused. There wasn't a hint of gentility on his face. His intense stare made her shiver again, and she followed through with her movement, dropping her undone bra on the growing pile of clothing on the grass.

She looked down, feeling exposed but more aroused than she could have thought possible. She brought her fingers to the button of her shorts, and some part of her mind realized that she liked being watched like this. But that's where her train of thought stopped, as she grasped the top of her shorts and her panties. She didn't know how much courage she'd have left after taking off her shorts, so she thought she'd take off both her bottom pieces at once.

With a deep breath, she lowered them quickly, bending down to step out of both holes, her breasts swinging uncomfortably from the rapid motion. She didn't have time to dwell on this discomfort, as she felt arms around her waist while she was still bent over.

Remus picked her up, swung her around, and laid her on the picnic table, the hard wood still digging into her back despite the towel that acted as a barrier. Her legs swung over the side of the table. Remus wasted no time climbing on top of her, his lips crashing against hers.

Hermione's arms found his back, and she ran her hands up and down his strong muscles as his rough lips sucked on hers. Her heartbeat increased as he roughly bit her lower lip, pulling and tugging like an animal, before he'd return to suck on it again. It was painful and passionate, and bundled in with the feeling of the length of his manhood sliding up and down the length of her slit, it was incredible. Her legs were hanging on either side of his waist, so she had little leverage to thrust herself upward. In fact, she was completely at his mercy as his rough hands squeezed and pulled at her breasts the same way that his mouth did.

She never imagined that he had this side to him, but it was clear to her now that Remus Lupin was a man with primal urges just like any other man, if not moreso.

"I can't take this," she cried out when he released her swollen and bruised lips. "Please, Remus, I'm begging you."

He lifted his body off of hers, and she saw him look her body up and down, a sly smile on his face. She wanted to protest the lack of contact, but before she got the chance, Remus dropped to his knees in front of her opening. He inhaled deeply, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, incredibly embarrassed at this bold and unabashed act.

Then, she felt his cold tongue make contact with her throbbing clit. There was no more buildup - no kissing on her thighs and gentle foreplay. He licked the length of her slit once and then latched onto the bundle of nerves roughly, sucking powerfully, painfully.

Hermione released a strangled cry and covered her face with her hands to muffle her groans. Remus laughed, his tongue running in circles around her swollen bud, the vibrations sending another thrill through her core. She lifted her legs positioned them on his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. His tongue was electrifying, and she felt her orgasm building more quickly than she could even reach it herself.

"I'm close," she moaned.

Remus brought up his hand and wasted no time in plunging two fingers into her slick core, meeting no resistant whatsoever. He continued licking in circular motions, and his fingers arched, stretching her and putting pressure against her walls. She bit her bottom lip as he found a particularly pleasurable spot, and she unconsciously arched into him.

He thrust his fingers in and out, and he sucked on her clit roughly a second time. This motion was all she needed, and she came undone, releasing a high-pitched cry in time to a wave of juices which Remus lapped up hungrily.

"Remus," she groaned, uncovering her face and reaching for him.

Remus grasped her thighs and moved them out to the side, then stood up, and wrapped them back around his waist. She looked up at him, still feeling raw from her orgasm, her vision hazy but unable to escape the look of hunger that was still on his face. Despite how weak she felt, she still kept her legs wrapped around his waist when he let go.

He inched forward with purpose, and without a single warning beside the way he tightly grabbed her waist, he thrust into her.

She couldn't help the scream that escaped her lips. She was startled, unused to such stimulation after orgasm, and he hit so deeply inside of her that her vision went dark for a moment. Her entire body scraped upward on the table from the vigorous motion, and Remus had to crawl on top of the table to maintain his thrusts.

Hermione's legs dropped from around his hips, and her feet made contact with the table. She used the leverage to meet his thrusts, feeling a second wave of pleasure building up inside of her. The surface was rough, Remus was rough, but despite this, she found herself unable to stop moaning.

"Remus," she cried out repeatedly, gasping for air.

He bent over and captured her lips, more gingerly than before, his tongue entering her mouth. She could taste herself on him. It was unsettling but served to turn her on even more, and combined with Remus's long, deep thrusts and the repeated pressure against her swollen clit, she came again.

Her walls clamped around his manhood, and his strokes became uneven until he followed her in orgasm.

She tried to catch her breath, unable to stop herself from noticing how wet she was when he pulled out. The combination of both of their orgasms ran out of her, making her thighs feel sticky. Then again, her entire body was covered in both of their sweat. Even her hair had become damp.

She looked up at him, her entire body limp, and saw that he had a big smile on his face that reached his eyes and lit him up entirely. He took both her arms, pulled her up into a sitting position, and then picked her up. She coiled her hands around his neck, and he carried them over to the bath she'd seen him in when she first arrived.

He walked up the small steps and lowered himself, along with her, into the water. The water was cool but refreshing, and when he sat down, Hermione in his lap, he sighed contently.

Hermione closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest, her arms circling around his waist, listening to his steady but slightly sped up heartbeat. His arms were draped around her, and she felt at ease as he rubbed his hand up and down her back.

She felt awkward. This felt awkward. But she refused to give into her brain and decided to block out the nagging thoughts that ran through the back of her head and the self-deprecating names her psyche was calling her.

"I tried owling you a few days ago, but Gemma couldn't find you through the wards," Hermione said quietly.

"Sorry," he apologized. "That must have worried you."

"It did," she admitted, "but it's alright. I'm glad you're okay and that I managed to find you."

"As am I," he said slyly, kissing the top of her head.

The warmth cut through her, and she felt the flush return to her cheeks.

"Just so you know, I wasn't planning on..." she trailed off, unsure of how to word what she wanted to say. She didn't mean to gawk at his naked form, thus initiating what happened.

"I'm glad you did," he said genuinely.

Hermione's head disconnected from his chest, and she turned her brown eyes up to meet his blue ones and saw nothing but honesty.

"And don't worry; despite what's happened with myself and with Sirius, I don't suddenly think you're a trollop," he added.

She groaned and dropped her chin to her chest, unable to meet his gaze. He might not think so, but now that he brought it up, she couldn't ignore the thoughts running through her head. At least with Sirius, she'd had feelings building up for him for months. With Remus, she saw an attractive, naked man, and threw herself at his feet, purely because of her hormonal response.

Not that she didn't like Remus. If she'd seen a random, equally or moreso attractive man in the same position, she might have been aroused, but she didn't think she would strip for him and let him do to her what Remus did. She let her guard down with him, because... it was him. She trusted Remus with her life and her body. She felt the need to explain this to him.

"I was - umm - aroused, because you're obviously an attractive man, Remus, but I listened to you when you said to stop thinking and just act, because - well - it's you. I don't follow up on every attraction," she said, trying her best not to stumble over her words. She'd hate it if Remus thought she was an easy lay simply because she'd been one for Sirius and now for him.

Remus brought his hand up to her cheek and caressed it gently. She looked up to meet his gaze and saw his meek smile. He bent his head down and kissed her so softly that she barely felt it.

"You're a beautiful, intelligent witch, Hermione Granger. I'm glad you've put your trust in me, and I hope I didn't abuse it. I enjoyed what just happened," he said frankly.

"You didn't abuse anything," she said, shaking her head before resting it back on his chest. "I've never experienced anything like that before, and I'm so glad I have. It was incredible, Remus."

She squirmed a little as she admitted her opinion on the events that transpired on the picnic table outside the cottage. When she moved again, she felt a hardness rubbing against her outer thigh.

Was he getting turned on again? She felt her own body heat up in response, and she realized how attracted she truly was to this man. She always found him attractive, but finding someone attractive and being attracted to them were two separate matters.

Of course, now that she'd had a taste of him, she knew what he brought to the table, no pun intended, and her young body craved it, although realistically, she still felt exhausted from their last bout.

"The Master isn't coming back for two days. The accommodations aren't luxurious, but you're welcome to the stay the night," he offered, his voice smooth and husky, "to sleep or... to not sleep."

She flushed, looked down at the still water in the tub, trying to start her brain back up. Was this a good idea? Was it a bad idea? Did it even matter anymore? What was the difference in consequences between once and twice having sex with this man? It's not as if she was dating anyone; Sirius blew her off, and Remus was, without a doubt, the most passionate lover she'd ever experienced. Her libido didn't want her to say no, and her mind couldn't think of a good reason to refuse at this point either.

"We can sleep," she answered quietly, "after a bit more of not sleeping."

Remus laughed loudly and connected his lips with hers.