Harry Potter: Seducing Destiny

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"And then I woke up, with Snape looming over me. I thought I had died and gone to hell."

"Must have been something," Hermione teased me, "at least you didn't attack him this time around."

"Oh, come on," I complained, "Not you too! Ron and the twins were enough!"

She chuckled bitterly. "At least Ron has been spending time with you. I haven't seen him since… that night."

That shut me up.

I was sitting with Hermione in her room. McGonagall had shifted her belongings to this special dormitory citing a grant of 'privacy' until she could revert to taking classes normally. It was just a cover. Being slashed by a morphing werewolf under the full moon, even though he hadn't quite bitten her, and thus, her status as a 'witch' was in jeopardy. Until Pomfrey was confident that Hermione wouldn't be sprouting fur and tail and fangs during the next full moon, she was to be quarantined in this private room, provided with a personal bathroom and other necessities.

"How's your arm?"

Her eyes hardened, as she rolled up her sleeve. "Perfectly healed. See."

And that was it. Lycanthropy was a diabolical dark curse, but had its benefits, an accelerated healing factor being one of them. Her arm should have been amputated, but she had healed. It only spoke of the corruption the curse was causing within her. Maybe not today, maybe not within a month, but eventually, she'd become fully infected with the curse.

Become a werewolf.

Hermione snorted, fell silent and squeezed my hand with hers. Her grip was small and strong and warm. "Madam Pomfrey said that I'd severed half the nerves of my right arm. Just the treatment should have taken days and the healing months. And that's the best-case scenario. Instead, I was fine within a couple of hours. I guess, there's no point in denying it anymore. I'm a werewolf."

"But he didn't bite you."

She exhaled and laid her head against my arm. We were sitting on the couch in her living room. McGonagall had partitioned the place into a proper living room with a single bed, a couple of couches for visitors, a bath and a study. Her brown hair, clean but bedraggled, fell over my shoulders. It's hard to keep yourself styled and upbeat when you know you're cursed. No makeup either.

And she looked tired. Hermione Granger found the lack of work during her 'recovery' exhausting.

"He didn't bite me," She agreed with a small voice, "and that's the worst bit. At least then I'd know what I've become. I wouldn't have to wake up in the middle of the night, and look into the mirror if my eyes had gone silver, or if my fingers had become claws."

"A werewolf is still… "

"A werewolf, Harry," Hermione refuted. "You don't have to make me feel better. I did my research on Lupin. I know you'd say that I'm the same witch you knew."

"You are," I shot back, "You'll just have… a condition, maybe. Once every full moon."

Hermione chuckled mirthlessly.

"And there's where you're wrong, Harry," She said, her voice becoming not so quiet as… dead. "It's not just the healing factor, or the strength and speed. It's not about morphing into a beast either."

She locked eyes with mine. "The change is in here, Harry," She pointed at her temples. "In the mind. Perception. You look at Malfoy, Ron and Professor McGonagall, and you have a hundred thoughts about each of them. Me? I'll look at them and think — Food, food, and food."

My brain locked up for a good ten seconds at that.

"I know what you'll say," Hermione went on, "Lupin wasn't like that. Lupin was like any other wizard. The thing is Harry, Professor Lupin was a really, really sorry excuse of a werewolf. He fought the curse, rejected his werewolf nature, and the werewolf rejected him in return. It weakened him, as a man, as a wizard, as a werewolf. All he could do was run away, and that's what he did. He never once tried to contact you. Even during this entire year, he shared nothing about his Past. He can call it his shame all he likes, but the truth is, running away has become his reality. And it shows, even as a werewolf."

That… made sense. Even after marrying Tonks, Lupin's instinct was to leave and flee. Canon-Harry had interpreted it as the man's lack of courage to face his fears, and he was true. Only the truth had been far more diabolical than that. Facing his fears was something Remus Lupin avoided at all costs. Come to think of it, he probably considered it a better deal to have perished in the battle of Hogwarts than try to raise a child.

"How… did you know all of this?"

Hermione's dark eyes regarded me, a dark amusement hiding in them. "You didn't go through the reading Snape assigned us, didn't you? I think he was giving us a hint. You, I, Ron, we all stood there and watched as Lupin transformed. Had it been any other werewolf, we'd have been quaking with supernaturally induced fear."

I frowned. "What happens now?"

She sat up and regarded me. "I've… had a lot of time to think about it, Harry. I — I thought they'd throw me out at first, you know, for my affliction. But Madam Pomfrey said the curse might take time before I become a full werewolf. She said I'm a… hybrid. As long as I don't turn during the full moon, they'll allow me here." She paused. "Living in separate quarters like this."

"And after that?"

She snorted again. "Then I leave. Figure something out with my life. Ron knows this," she paused again, and I felt something break in her voice, "maybe that's why he's avoiding me. His parents must have told him the reality of being a werewolf. I don't blame him."

I blinked at her. "I do. Ron's our friend. He cannot just ditch you because you became one."

"He hasn't… ditched me," she said, "The first couple of days he was there in the Hospital Wing. I heard him demanding Madam Pomfrey to see me. But then as I healed, things changed. He didn't come. Neither did Ginny nor anyone else."

"Well, bollocks! You don't see me leaving you."

Her expression flickered with comprehension and pain. She folded her arms over her stomach. "And that's why you're Harry Potter. Though… even you can change, it seems. Why else would you suddenly spend time with Ginny?"

I mopped my face with my hand. I was extremely aware of her hawk-like stare, her eyes, her body. She was watching me wolfishly, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of weakness.

"How—?"

"Enhanced olfactory senses," She said with a mock cheer, "another benefit of signing up for lycanthropy."

"... It's complicated."

My answer amused her. "Must be."

I turned away, not wanting to show how much it rattled me. Damn! I wasn't Harry Potter and Hermione wasn't my best friend. But I had thousands of memories — moments spent with this girl. And I was wearing the body that belonged to her best friend. Someone she trusted. Someone she'd die to protect.

The memories in me wouldn't let me rest if I just damaged things with her right now. There she was, in her most vulnerable state, expecting the support from her best, and dare I call it — her only friend at Hogwarts. Trying to avoid her wouldn't just break her heart, it'd shatter her from within.

"That night… It changed things for me too."

She folded her arms and pushed herself onto the couch. "Explain."

It was my turn to play. Hermione Granger was an incredibly perceptive witch, but that perception often came with its own share of bullheadedness. She would not accept just any reason I threw at her, not unless I backed that up with cold, hard facts if not empirical evidence. The cold, psychopathic part of me pointed out that Harry's emotional bond with Hermione was probably higher than anyone else. It was why Romilda, despite toe-curling sex, had just 17% attachment to me, while Ginny showed a 22% rise, from a mere blowjob. If I could land Hermione in that list then…

"I'm still waiting."

I met her eyes. "What do you know about heightened dementor exposure?"

Hermione frowned. "They generate feelings of extreme depression and despair in a person if they're in proximity. And if they're close enough, they can suck out a person's soul. If that happens, you'll exist. As an empty shell, with your soul gone forever."

"Now you know what happened to me."

She stood up, scowling. "Don't be crazy, Harry. If you'd have your soul sucked, you'd—"

"I didn't die. But only just. I felt them drag my soul out of my body, felt all that… wrongness invade me. I'm not sure how I'm still alive, but Snape saved me."

I tried not to think of Harry's memories of that eventful night. Just talking about it made my heart slow down. My hairs rose sharply, and an icy fear formed above my chest.

"Harry—" She whispered, touching my face.

"I — I still have flashbacks to that… night. And it haunts me. Fills me up with a horrible vacuum. I just… I need something to feel better."

"Like sex?"

I looked at her in surprise, not expecting Hermione Granger to be this blatant.

She laughed. "I'm a girl, Harry. I know all about feeling better too. When you told me Lupin was teaching you the Patronus charm, I read all about it. It's supposed to be really, really difficult to cast. Also, Madam Pomfrey's made it compulsory for all girls to be on the potion."

"Huh? What for?"

Hermione giggled. "Eating chocolate is one way to counter the dementors' effects. Being… intimate is another."

"Having sex," I concluded. "Think I should put up a banner and a signboard expecting volunteers?"

"You probably should," Hermione snorted. "Your fan club would love it."

I chortled. Hermione's theory had its merits, but it was wrong in my case. Not that I was going to correct her.

"I might even have to," I played on, "it isn't like I have someone dependable to go have sex whenever I'm feeling low."

"What about Ginny?"

"I didn't sleep with her. Not yet. She err… used her mouth on me."

To my surprise, Hermione didn't react out of jealousy or embarrassment. Instead, she cupped her chin and considered my predicament with the air of a scientist. "Well, you probably should ask her if she's willing. Though… she'd need to have lots and lots of practice first, and learn how to coordinate her… climaxes with you, for maximum pleasure."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."

"Grow up," Hermione said bluntly, "this too is a path that many witches and wizards get to, eventually. Not everyone is interested in dark arts, Harry. I overheard Angelina talking about it to someone earlier this year. I was curious, so I looked around. Turns out most books on healing magic have this stuff elaborated."

"You know an awful lot about it."

"I read, Harry. You should try it sometime."

I shook my head in exasperation. "Well, now you know what happened. Aside from asking Ginny to be my full-time sex buddy, any other advice, oh master scientist?"

Hermione threw a pillow at me.

We laughed.

"There is something else," She replied, a flush growing on her neck, "This condition you have, it requires study. Possibly under controlled conditions rather than trial and error. You know, someone you can trust and is also willing to commit to these experiments. Someone that understands why they're doing this, and should keep testing until we have enough data to go ahead with…"

"If you're thinking Ginny'd agree to have sex in your presence, you've another thing coming."

Hermione snorted. "I'm not an idiot, Harry. I'm a werewolf, and I think Ginny hates me a little for hogging so much of your time. And I don't think my nose could take all that sexual aroma and keep it cool. But no, I wasn't thinking of Ginny. I was thinking of…."

Her face went red, as she pointed at herself with a finger.

My jaw fell.

"Well…" She blushed, "it's in the name of science."

"You're… serious?"

I didn't think it was possible for her to blush deeper but she did. The red had gotten down her cheeks to her neck. "I mean, we need to really sort this out. Who knows what other side-effects the dementor exposure could have on you?"

She was really going to make me say it, wasn't she?

"And this is… not because you want to have to sex with me."

"I — it's not just that, Harry. This werewolf curse, there's just too much energy within me. Bestial instincts that want out. It makes me… perpetually crave for… intimacy."

"… Intimacy."

"Close, rough intimacy."

Becoming a werewolf had made her horny. I certainly hadn't seen that one coming.

Her eyes locked with mine. "I want hard, aggressive, physical intimacy, Harry. You've… you're my best friend, and I smelt Ginny on you the moment you stepped in. You've no idea how territorial that got me. How difficult it was for me to… to–"

"Tear my clothes off and use me shamelessly?"

"... Yes." She looked flustered as she sauntered up to me, squeezed my hand with hers, and inched closer. She rested her head on my shoulder, and I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her even closer.

"I'm glad you're here," She whispered, "Please never leave me."

"I won't."

"Can I… kiss you?"

The hesitation in her voice was clear. And with reason. Hermione was carrying the curse, even though it wasn't communicable unless it was under the full moon. But even then, she had the traits of a werewolf and that could prove dangerous, especially if she were to lose control of her inhibitions with me.

It would be dangerous, but it was worth a try.

For Hermione.

"Harry—"

I cut her off and pressed my lips against hers. It was soft to begin with. I was testing the waters, but she automatically returned the kiss. Within a few seconds, our tongues were battling for dominance as we forgot ourselves and simply enjoyed the moment. I wasn't sure when it happened, but Hermione pushed me down against the couch, and swung a leg over, straddling me. My hands found purchase on her hips as her fingers ran through my hair as she pulled me into her. Her hips rocked against me, and my hands guided her movements before I let my fingers trail under her top, and up the smooth, bare skin of her back. I felt her moan into my mouth as her body shuddered from my touch, making me want to touch her more and more. I was drunk on the feeling of her body and addicted to the sounds I was drawing out of her.

We came up for air after what felt like an eternity. Her hair hung about us like a brown curtain, blocking out the outside world. Our chests heaved with heavy breathing as we struggled to calm out beating hearts, and I felt the length of my hard-as-iron rod nestled between her legs.

"Holy—" I began, but before I could finish, Hermione forced herself away, physically separating us with her hands.

"I can't," She breathed, "I can't!"

"Can't what? And why? Hermione it's—"

But she'd not have me finish. Instead, she grabbed my collar and brought her face inches close to mine. "I can't have you, because you're smelling of someone else."

She pulled me up and dragged me towards the bath.

"Come," She said, lifting the hem of her t-shirt over her head and throwing it across the room in one smooth motion. "Come with me."