Animal Magnetism

Disclaimer: I, sadly, own nothing of the Harry Potter 'Verse. I just like to play with them time to time. Especially Severus.

Chapter 8

After exhausting herself after a period of hours testing the limits of what seemed to be her jail, or at least getting sick of trying, Hermione sat on the edge of her cot and sulked. "You just take the side of that ferret? He technically started it. You all know what a troublesome pest he is!" she alternatively accused and pleaded. The mediwitch looked at her with an expression of reproach and defeated optimism. "We all also saw the wounds Hermione," she sighed tiredly. "And who's to say he didn't fake those too?" the girl protested with a slight pout. But another look from the woman quieted her, telling her it was pointless. "Harry, Ron, surely you don't think I've gone crazy and violent, do you?"

"Mione…" Ron started, stepping forward yet faltering after looking back at Harry. "We can't be sure exactly what's going on, or if some outside influence has affected you. But we know something is wrong Hermione, and we want to help. You're our priority right now." Before she could send out a scathing retort or let the betrayal hit her face, he handed her a mirror. She gave it a cursory glance and felt a shimmer of surprise. Her normally russet eyes were now an eerie gold color with large pupils, the lines reshaped so they seemed big as saucers, tipped at the corners like a cats'. Her face was narrower with more pronounced cheekbones and a wider, fuller, candy-apple red mouth. Sharp teeth pricked the inside of her lip and she ran her tongue over them wondrously.

She couldn't see what they found so alarming personally, except maybe the teeth, but it's not like they were that bad. An improvement over how her teeth used to look before she got them fixed the first time. So she just handed the gilded frame with a shrug. "Hermione, if we can't figure out what caused the physical and emotional changes, who's to say what's going to happen to you?" Harry's tone was worried and pained and out of regard she avoided rolling her eyes. Ron didn't get the same consideration. "Your temperature, according to Pomphrey, has been running about 103.5 degrees average and your cellular make-up is unstable! For all we know you could spontaneously combust. Or it could infect and destroy us all. I wouldn't be surprised if it's one of Voldemort's plots."

So she sighed. What use would it be to argue that she felt better than ever? More herself, or at least who she wanted to be. If it came with some… unusual side effects, she didn't care, so why should they? If it was because of what happened to Draco, it's not like they needed to worry. Why would she hurt them? 'Paranoia,' she scoffed inwardly. A plot by Voldemort? Why would he want to make her stronger? Unless the plan was to get her to turn on her friends. No, that was silly. So she smiled condescendingly. "I'm sure you're right, maybe I didn't consider that aspect thoroughly enough. Whatever testing you can devise, I'm on board."

This said knowing there was nothing they could do. If she was more, or even less, than what she had been, this was who she was now. She felt it. There was nothing alien about what was inside her. "Now that's the Hermione we know," Ron smiled in relief. 'No comment,' she replied in her mind as he leaned in to give her a hug before leaving. "No hug Harry?" she teased, holding out her arms once they were alone. He hesitated a long moment, making her pout again and look at him with those big eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light. And he caved. Hiding a victorious grin as he entered her space to wrap his arms around her, she held him tight, nuzzling his neck. The warmth of Harry's body was a burgeoning stroke against her. And that quickly, she was afire with sensation.

It took effort to breathe, to speak, it was so strong. Long fingers brushed her collarbone, making her moan. Every inch of her seemed to burn with a thirst she feared couldn't be quenched, until his skin touched hers like a tall glass of water. It both eased and added to her ache. 'More,' that something in her head insisted. With a shrug her sweater slipped off her shoulders and she shivered at the fleeting brush of his feathery hair. One of his hands settled over the slope of her hip onto her lower back- a more familiar gesture with unfamiliar connotations now, seeming a slow seduction that made her suck in her stomach in anticipation. And the shock of lightning as his chest brushed her breasts… Her entire being attuned to the merest shift of his. 'Just a hug,' she thought,, licking her lips and eyeing his neck.

Then his face touched hers as he hugged her close, head falling to her shoulder, nose and mouth stroking bare skin. And platonic or not, her senses splintered. Thrusting her hands deeply into his glorious shaggy hair and clenching her fists around it, she turned her head and took that beautiful hard mouth with her own. The kiss was wild, full of the fury of her need, the savage possession. One male hand moved to her hip as the other reflexively gripped her neck. The texture of her thin camisole covered breasts against the wool of his shirt was deliciously abrasive to her sensitized flesh. He bit back, but held it, releasing the swollen lower lip with a slow concentration that had her thighs pressing together in a burst of wet heat.

His magic swelled and pulsed around them, like an aphrodisiac, a drug to her senses like she couldn't understand. How had she never noticed it before? She went to slip one hand underneath his shirt to feel that firm tan skin for real, and then he caught her wrist as if that broke the spell. "No Hermione." She made a frustrated sound and his hand tightened for a second before he dropped it and took a step back, severing the connection. "Harry." Emerald sparks flashed in those eyes, as deadly and seductive as the curse that had struck down Bellatrix mere weeks ago. "Get some rest," he said in a tone of voice so calm it was like a sheet of ice to her fiery demeanor. But the hunger still raged.

Feeling her heart spasm at the lethal edge of it, she wrapped her arms around her body. She didn't know if she was protecting herself or him. "Will you visit me again tomorrow?" Another pause. "If you want me to." He turned and was gone before she could answer. She watched him go then drew the curtains closed with fingers that had dug dark red crescents into her own arms, and crawled back into bed. But though she pulled all the blankets over her, it took a long time to stop shivering. She should feel weird about all this, but she didn't. Maybe that's what she had to worry about.

It was approximately two weeks of pretending before they trusted her enough in her new condition to let her fully out of containment, though they worried about her declining health. Personally, Hermione thought they just wanted a reason to keep her under observation, but even she had to admit she wasn't as strong as she was when she first woke from her nightmare. It was her will alone that helped her make it through that time. She'd be damned if they kept her for longer. The first half of her time was spent raging, snarling, and fighting except when her friends came to visit, which hadn't helped her case at all. So the second was spent waiting, watching and learning control with a deadly calm.

Her more… 'animalistic behavior' was something they had to learn to accept eventually, because it wasn't going to just go away, but she had no reason after the last two weeks to reveal herself quite yet. She studied her reflection in the mirror in passing and touched her face. You could hardly even tell her whole genetic structure had been changed. Because that's what she was told had happened. Nobody could find proof that Voldemort was behind anything, though the speculation still swung towards that possibility, especially knowing his love for creatures and experimentation. At least they finally conceded to the fact she had to be right about another presence at Black Lake. But why would the Dark Lord do this? And why her? Harry was a threat to him, but his mousy friend? Not that she felt so mousy now.

Even weakened a fire burned in her, and she knew if this strange sickness passed she'd be on top of the world. Hermione smiled to herself, tilting her head in thought. Snape had kept his distance almost as much as Draco Malfoy since that night she 'attacked' him and they found she had traces of vampire and something else that may be werewolf in her DNA now. And she wondered if he was as wary of her now as she used to be of him. Her friends were still trying to figure out the ramifications of her change, and she wasn't making it easy on them, so she could only imagine how an outsider felt. Though she made then think her urges had disappeared, trust wasn't something that can easily to Slytherins.

She'd felt very Slytherin-esque herself the last week though, with all the sneaking and lying she'd done. It had been alien to her nature before, but now… it was just another adaptation. A survival mechanism. Instinct. She couldn't let them know her urges had only gotten stronger instead, gotten more dangerous. She'd die before she went back into containment. Better to die free than in a cage. Hermione's nails bit into her palms in remembrance. At least she found a way around their machinations. Her expanding range of abilities for example. But she wasn't sure how much longer she could play normal, especially with them pretty much watching her every move. It made her restless. Even the cleverest of creatures can't hide their tracks forever, and there was a limit to her new power of memorization.

If only because control evaporated so quickly under the force of the hunger. Thus she'd been trying to… expand her hunting grounds, so to speak. But something told her she couldn't avoid her friends much longer. What if it was right? They drew her. Inexplicably; Harry almost irresistibly. Her rational mind saved her thus far, but she could feel it slipping away. The scent of lightning, wind and rain teased her nose and warmth flooded her limbs. Willpower dangled by a thread under the tide of need that swamped her. It had its' claws deep in her gut and she didn't know how to shake it. Or if she wanted to. All logical thought shut down and she was getting up to follow it before the transmission even registered in her brain. Choice made. Her feet led her right to the dark-haired boy. She watched him fight in the Room of Requirement- swirling and ducking and lunging in quicksilver motions as he faced fake Death Eaters and werewolves. And she waited.

Next Chapter:

"Can you feel it?" she whispered, eyes all aglow. She could. Like a fever. A ravaging disease infiltrating, destroying what was left of the old Hermione. His fingers left imprints on the bare flesh of her arms. She felt the cadence of rushing blood through the callused pads and she responded. "For the life of me Hermione, I'm trying to battle through this to the other side, where there's logic. But your eyes…"