A/N: Hello and welcome to another of my many Dramione stories. I know I promised I wouldn't post anything new unless it was complete, but this was specially requested, so here it is. I hope you enjoy it.
WARNINGS: This story contains Werewolf!Draco, Possessive!Draco, Animgaus!Hermione and Sirius is still alive after the 5th book. If that's not your thing, this story probably won't appeal to you very much. There will most likely be some triggers regarding the type of power-play in the relationship between Hermione and Draco in this one too, so if you've got psychological triggers pertaining to possessive/dominant/cruel partners, this one might upset you.
Addicted To You
In retrospect, she supposed she'd been rather foolish. At least, that's what Hermione Granger told herself when she looked up at the sound of rustling in the undergrowth from where she was gathering Wolfsbane deep inside the Forbidden Forest. She had known the risks of coming here on a full moon night. She had known full-well that the wizarding world was one where there was such a thing as werewolves.
In fact, werewolves were the very reason she was there gathering the flowers blowing beneath the full moon in the first place. Hermione knew she ought not to be. That she should have left such things to people more experienced than herself. But she hadn't. Hermione had come seeking the herb beneath the glow of the full moon knowing she might encounter a werewolf. Not that she'd planned on it. She'd done her research, after all. There weren't supposed to be any werewolves in the Forbidden Forest.
Oh, she'd known there was a pack of full-blooded wolves with near human intelligence residing in the forest – the offspring of a werewolf pair conceived on a full moon night in wolf-form. She'd just not expected to encounter a real werewolf. Not since the last time she'd been chased through this very forest by another werewolf. But she knew it wasn't Remus Lupin in the undergrowth. She knew because he was transformed and harmless at Grimmauld Place with Sirius.
Hermione stiffened slowly as the rustling grew louder. She really hoped it wasn't a werewolf in the undergrowth, but Hermione suspected that her luck might have run out. Before she could encounter the beast, Hermione slipped her own human skin, taking on her recently mastered Animagus form. Hermione hadn't known what to make of things when she'd asked Sirius to teach her everything about Animagi as a means of distracting him and herself whilst they'd been cooped up in Grimmauld Place.
She'd been working at the task for more than a year, having approached Sirius with the request in the summer before fifth year had begun. She'd only mastered slipping her skin and transforming herself into an animal a month ago, in fact. Having spent the entire year at school mastering her patronus and many other techniques, Hermione had expected she would transform into the otter shape her patronus took.
She'd never expected to be able to take the form of a Timber Wolf.
Hermione had yet to actually share her achievement with anyone. Legally, she wasn't of age within the wizarding world and wouldn't be until September 19th so Hermione had been putting off mentioning it to anyone. She'd asked that Remus and Sirius – the only two people who'd known of her wish to master Animagi – keep the information quiet and when she had finally achieved the transformation, Hermione hadn't told them.
She didn't right know why, if she was being honest. She had been too shocked by her animal form to really consider telling anyone at all. It wasn't that she was disappointed with being a wolf when she changed shape – it was simply rather confusing. She'd never really much liked wolves, and when she'd performed the test to discover what she might be – back in fifth year – she'd been led to believe she would be an otter.
Now, however, as she shook out her shaggy grey coat of thick wolf fur and rose to her full height on four paws, Hermione was rather grateful for the ability to transform at all. Especially when, in the beams of moonlight scattered about the Wolfsbane-blooming clearing, a werewolf stepped from the rustling undergrowth. Hermione had spent enough time studying her own form – and wolves in general after her initial shift – to spot the differences between regular wolves and the werewolf.
She could tell based on his size that the werewolf was male. She also noted the shorter snout that gave away his lycanthropic status, and she spotted his tufted tail twitching and swishing as he approached her across the clearing on sure paws. There was a slightly more human shape to his eyes too, though they glowed an unnaturally bright shade of wolf-yellow from within his furry skull. His fur – unlike hers – was a bright and unblemished shade of white.
Hermione's own fur was mottled grey like any regular wolf, flecked with black, white and grey shades. Her fur was also much thicker than that of a regular wolf – the tell-tale sign of her being an Animagus.
She watched the werewolf warily as he approached. Hermione couldn't even begin to guess who he might be. His eyes were fixed on her as he came closer, watching her every movement and Hermione huffed out a breath of surprise when he lowered his muzzle to sniff at the basket of herbs she had discarded as she hurriedly transformed. She wondered if the werewolf had been stalking her while she'd been in human form and if he might remember her tomorrow when his mind cleared. He sniffed at the basket carefully, his eyes still fixed upon her, before his lips pulled back from his teeth and a low growl slipped between them.
He could clearly smell her human scent upon the items and in the air, but being unable to locate a human in the vicinity kept him relatively calm. Hermione remained still, watching and waiting to see what he would do as he came even closer. She perked her ears forwards a little, having studied the language of canines and how they portrayed particular emotions in order to better pass for a real wolf should the need ever arise.
The werewolf perked his own ears at her slightly, his growl ceasing as he padded closer on heavy paws. He was much bigger than her, she noticed idly when he came abreast with her. Easily half a foot taller than her in this form, he looked down his short lycanthrope snout at her for a long moment. Hermione would swear that if he were human – whoever he might be – he would be quirking his eyebrows at her, as though daring her to challenge the authority she could feel pouring off of him in waves.
It was clear to her, as she critically analysed the erect and forward pointing tilt of his ears, the way he stood at attention and the way his tail was held high and straight, that he was asserting his dominance as a canine. Hermione knew it was common practice for dogs and wolves to ascertain dominance this way, settling who was Alpha and who wasn't in a hierarchy designed to keep order among a pack. From his behaviour and his attitude it was clear that whoever this werewolf was, he believed himself to be in charge.
Hermione didn't dare to challenge him. For one he was bigger than her. For another, she was just an animagus and not a werewolf – thereby making her less powerful in this form. If it came to it that she had to fight him, she could and would do so, but Hermione didn't want to imagine the scars he would leave on her. She knew they wouldn't be pretty. She also realised he meant business when he moved even closer as she lowered her ears and dipped her head ever so slightly.
He moved in until his chin rested over her nose and across her snout before he growled in warning, the rumbling vibrations of the sound tingling her nerve endings through her entire face and down her neck. Hermione lowered her tail slightly, tucking it under just enough to submit to his dominance without challenging him. It wasn't much but it seemed to appease the werewolf because he stopped growling and instead licked the side of her muzzle before bounding away a few steps and stopping to look at her.
Hermione – who had owned a golden retriever as a girl – recognised the request to play without needing to have studied canine behaviour. Wagging her tail at him a little, Hermione realised she wasn't about to get rid of the werewolf in a hurry. They were pack animals and when they weren't indulging their yearning to mindlessly hunt humans, they sought others of their own kind. Hermione could tell this werewolf must believe her to be a werewolf too – or simply thought her a decent substitute.
She might not get away from him before dawn. Dropping into a play bow and wagging her tail harder, Hermione barked at him when he jumped playfully before he dashed away into the undergrowth again, initiating a game of chase. Unable to resist the urge to play when it looked like it would be fun, Hermione gave chase.
They crashed through the forest, taking turns chasing one another and Hermione gave herself over to the sensation of running as a wild animal in the forest in the dead of night. There was nothing else like it that she'd ever experienced. It was as though everything she knew – all her very human troubles – all just fell away in favour of the feel of the wind in her fur. She dashed off, following the hundreds of different new scents she could feel prickling her nose. She gave into the idea of being canine for the night and it was liberating.
She and the pale werewolf nipped and licked at one another, yapping and barking, playfully tussling with one another. He made no further attempts to show dominance over her once he'd established it. Instead he simply played as a wolf, causing Hermione to unleash a whuffing sort of sound – the lupine equivalent of laughter – when he dashed after a squirrel, barking at it madly when it reached the safety of a high branch and tittered at them both in annoyance.
When dawn began to approach, Hermione subtly began directing their games back towards the clearing where the wolfsbane bloomed, needing to collect her basket and the few herbs she'd managed to properly harvest before she'd been interrupted. It wasn't easy going. She had a vague idea of how to get back there, but the forest was thick and dark – filled with twisting paths and confusing scents. It took her almost until dawn had broken to find familiar land-marks, her werewolf friend still trotting along next to her. Just shy of the clearing – just as down broke over the trees and slowly beginning to lighten the gloom, Hermione turned to the werewolf.
Some part of her didn't want to know who he was. Didn't want to hang around the watch his painful transformation back to human form – where he would undoubtedly be naked and uncomfortable. She stopped at the edge of the wolfsbane clearing and licked the side of his muzzle affectionately before stepping further away from him, meaning to leave him there and be on her way.
A low whining growl was the only warning she had before she suddenly heard the rush of paws behind her. Hermione had the wind knocked out of her when she was viciously pounced on from behind, his superior weight sending her sprawling to the forest floor beneath his paws. Hermione let out a whimper of pain when sharp lycanthrope fangs tore into the fleshy muscle where her shoulder met her neck on the right hand side.
Whining beneath him, Hermione could do nothing to prevent the attack as he bit her harshly, tearing through the thick fur adorning her body and breaking the skin underneath, marking it forever with the signature of his fangs. He ripped into the flesh and Hermione just knew she would be left with a scar.
And then, as suddenly as he'd attacked, he jumped off her, spinning quickly to face her. He stood before her until she retook her feet, glaring at him reproachfully, still whining in her throat over the vicious attack and the unexpected show of violence. Before she could think to scold or challenge him for his behaviour he stepped even closer, swiping an almost affectionate lick of his tongue over the top of her muzzle before he was gone. He dashed away into the undergrowth and Hermione listened as she heard the crash of him bursting through shrubs.
Distantly, she heard him begin to howl and Hermione knew the transformation had taken him once more. She didn't know him – nor did she mean to. Limping slightly as a result of being bitten, Hermione padded into the clearing where her basket lay abandoned. She transformed herself back to human, pressing her hand to the wounded sight of her neck that dripped blood slowly.
It stung terribly but Hermione knew that she wouldn't be infected because she'd been animal at the time of the bite. Taking up her basket quickly and sighing over having harvested so few herbs, Hermione pressed her ripped shirt against the wound upon her neck. She took a deep, calming breath and then she took out her wand before disapparating with a sharp crack – leaving the forest and her moonlit romp with the unknown werewolf far behind in the morning sunshine.