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Remus grimaced as he walked slowly across the sparsely green lawn, his joints protesting every movement. He limped slightly.
The wolf had been particularly restless last night and had not taken kindly to his refusal to let him out to run and stretch his legs, but Remus knew they had Teddy’s Hogwarts graduation today and he couldn’t afford to be any more exhausted then he had to be.
The door to the shed banged shut behind him and he flinched, the sound too loud for his hyper sensitive hearing just then.
Every nerve ending still felt exposed and sore after having just transformed back into his human form a mere handful of minutes ago, and he longed for the regimen of potions that waited for him in the kitchen.
His witch was nothing but consistent and brewed him a carefully selected assortment of brews, most of her own creation, every full moon.
Wolfsbane of course. And then there was an enhanced muscle strengthener to speed up muscle recovery and a concentrated pain potion that had a dash of a special version of pepper-up to help with the physical exhaustion that came with his monthly transformations.
Nothing could take away the pain of his transformations completely, but they had become significantly more…tolerable over the past few years since she’d first started forcing him to take them.
He’d resisted at first, not wanting to burden her unduly.
Potions had never been his best subject but he’d listened to Severus complain about the tedious and exhausting hours Wolfsbane alone would take him, back when he’d been compelled by Albus to brew it for him the year Remus had taught at Hogwarts, to know that what she did for him was no easy task.
But when he’d first brought it up in the beginning when they’d begun seeing each other ten years after the war and had tried to insist he had lived his entire life just fine without the aid of potions, she had merely raised an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at him steadily.
He remembered feeling properly chastised by her silent admonishment of his stubbornness and had hastily mumbled his agreement a few moments later.
She had responded by crossing the room to him and looping her arms around his waist.
Everything had melted away the moment she tilted her head back to look at him, a playful smile on her face.
Remus had been helpless to do anything but stare at her in wonder as he wound his fingers in her curls before kissing her softly.
What he had ever done to deserve a witch like Hermione Granger to look at him with such utter love and adoration, was beyond his comprehension.
Even now, after nearly eight years together, he still didn’t understand it.
She could have anyone.
Men, wizards and muggles alike, seemed to fall at her feet wherever they went.
He saw the way they looked at her when they walked through Diagon Alley or went to the muggle operas she was so fond of.
It had been worse for him to endure in the beginning.
When he hadn’t believed that what was between them would ever last, despite his own feelings on the matter.
Things like that just didn’t happen to Remus.
So he’d told himself to swallow his jealousy and not make a scene every time it happened, to cherish the time they had for as long as she was willing to put up with him.
It had worked for awhile, but…it began to happen more and more every time they went out and Remus was only a man after all. Well…partly.
A man who had never felt this way about a witch before.
With the women he’d seen over the years when the urge to not be alone struck, none of them had ever felt like this.
The closest he’d come was with Tonks and after he lost her in the war, Remus had accepted he’d never find it again.
But then Hermione came to see him.
She’d joined the Ministry after the war ended along with Harry and Ron. Only, instead of joining the Auror’s with her friends, Hermione had gone to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
A department Remus was unfortunately intimately familiar with.
She rose up the ranks quickly first as a researcher and then a litigator, fighting for equal rights for sentient beings.
That was why she’d first written to him.
It had been eight or so years after the war when her first owl had arrived and once she’d moved past basic pleasantries, she begged for his agreement to meet with her. Telling him she wanted his input on a piece of legislation she was trying to fight to pass.
It was to abolish the werewolf registry altogether and to demand wolfsbane and its ingredients be protected from the price gouging that happened all too often at apothecaries across the country.
Remus had been hesitant to involve himself in politics and told her as much when he penned her his response.
He’d become a rather successful author of fictional books after the war, writing under a pseudonym so that his creature status wouldn’t affect his sales or marketability.
Not to mention he had Teddy, who at that time was still a couple years away from leaving for Hogwarts, and while Remus had a few days to himself a month when Teddy went to stay with his grandmother Andromeda, he had very limited free time.
Besides, Remus had read of the witch’s legislative triumphs over the years as well as heard about them in person whenever he saw her at the dinners he and Teddy attended somewhat regularly at the Burrow, and knew she was sharp enough and articulate enough to manage without him.
While Hermione was often not in attendance to their dinners, frequently working late nights at the Ministry, whenever she was there, she never failed to beeline to him after greeting everyone and they often spent hours discussing her work and whatever books they’d each been reading.
It was often the most stimulating conversation he had and Remus found himself looking forward to their discussions.
But pleasant conversation or not, that did not mean he had any extra time to spare.
He was confident she would be alright without his assistance.
Remus should have known the persistent witch would not be deterred so easily.
But that did not stop his surprise when she showed up on his doorstep two days later with a basket of baked goods she’d made herself and a bottle of wine.
Teddy had been spending the night at his godfather’s house and had not been home, leaving Remus with no reason not to invite the witch inside.
Remus told himself later that he was simply indulging a passionate old friend as he spent the better part of the afternoon listening to the speech that she clearly had prepared to rebuttal his refusal.
But as one glass of wine turned into three and afternoon turned into evening, Remus found himself noticing things about her that he never had before.
Like the way her cheeks turned a most pleasing shade of pink when she was particularly impassioned.
Or the way she would drag her bottom lip between her teeth whenever she paused to gather herself after losing her train of thought.
The way her blouse tightened over the swell of her breasts when she reached across his lap to snatch up the bottle of wine to refill her glass.
Remus had felt his cock twitch and begin to stiffen in his trousers at that.
He had lost himself in a coughing fit when he realized and had hastily excused himself to the bathroom.
A short while later he stood bent over the sink in the cramped hall bath, his fingers digging into the porcelain as he forced himself to take deep inhales through his nose, willing his cock to listen.
When he’d finally raised his eyes to his reflection in the mirror, he’d been shocked to find his pupils dilated, his face flushed with arousal.
Fuck, this is Hermione, he’d scolded himself. You’re old enough to be her bloody father.
Take her, his wolf urged.
Images he could not stop had flashed behind his eyes then.
Images of him going back into the living room and taking her bottom lip between his own teeth. Of laying her on her back on the carpet. Of undressing her until she was bare to him. Of sliding his aching cock into her wet cunt.
Fuck he knew she would be tight.
He could practically hear the breathy moans she would whimper in his ear as he fucked her. Could almost taste how he imagined she would on his tongue.
Like honey.
So fucking sweet.
Gods it had been so long.
Take her, make her yours, his wolf urged.
Suddenly there had been a knock on the door and Hermione’s muffled voice calling through the wood, asking if he was alright.
Remus remembered he had startled so badly he banged his knee on the sink and cursed under his breath before calling out that he was fine, that he would be out in a moment.
It was only after he heard her feet slowly, almost reluctantly it seemed, pad away from the door, that Remus had thrown up a silencing spell and buried his head in his hands with a groan, utterly ashamed of the thoughts he’d had.
Once he’d finally managed to gather himself enough to go back out and face her, he heard himself agreeing to help her with her proposal before he’d known what he was doing.
But the way her entire face had lit up in a smile before she barreled into his chest and wrapped him in a hug, made Remus realize he would do anything to make her look at him like that again.
And so, for the next two years, they worked together. Closely.
They shared many late nights together and many more bottles of wine.
And Remus had been helpless not to grow feelings for the witch.
Feelings his subconscious told him were wrong. That this was his former student and he was nothing but a dirty old man for thinking of her in any other way.
Feelings his wolf told him to act on every single time he was in her company. To take her to his bed and put them both out of their misery.
But Remus was a better man than his wolf.
He would not ruin this young, beautiful, brilliant witch with someone like him.
He would accept the friendship she offered him and ask for nothing more.
It was when her legislation was passed by the Wizengamont in a six-three majority, that Hermione suggested they go out to dinner to celebrate.
And at the end of the night when he’d walked her home and she’d stood up on tiptoe, her hand going around the back of his neck and pulling his lips to hers once they reached her door, Remus was so surprised, he was sure a slight breeze would have knocked him over.
Hermione had rocked back on her heels after a moment, her expression guilty as she began to stutter out an apology, that they could pretend it had never happened if he wanted, when Remus had stopped her with a breathless, “Hermione, stop talking,” before fisting her curls and covering her mouth again with his.
They’d begun seeing each other regularly after that and Remus’s protectiveness grew the more time they spent together.
He felt…territorial over her in a way he’d only ever seen werewolf mates behave in when he’d infiltrated the packs during the wars.
His wolf picked up on the change in him immediately and it wasn’t long before the wolf took over, growling and snarling viciously in his mind whenever he caught sight of the expressions on other men’s faces that he knew all too well.
Remus had been around long enough to recognize the look in their eyes when they looked at Hermione.
Lecherous.
Lustful.
He would stare at them murderously until they finally noticed.
Most would cower under his glare before hurrying away.
Some, the braver ones, wouldn’t. Those would puff their chests out in a pathetic attempt at bravado and look him up and down as though to say, “Really, mate?”
Remus couldn’t help himself in those moments.
In those moments, the wolf came to the surface, ready to tear apart anyone who would try to take what was his.
Because that was what Hermione was.
His.
And they wanted to take her from him.
His control hung by a thread in those moments and more than once he had taken a menacing step forward before he could stop himself, his eyes glowing amber.
The way their eyes would widen in fear as the wizards realized what he was and the muggles realized he was not entirely human, never failed to amuse Remus.
None ever stayed after that. Most tripped over their own feet in their haste to get away from him as quickly as possible.
Afterwards, when he’d regained control over himself and forced the wolf back under control, he would berate himself for how utterly barbarian he’d behaved.
How primitive.
He was no better than a dog pissing on his property.
He didn’t deserve her if he was going to treat her like a possession.
Like an object to covet.
Hermione had caught him once after such an incident, when he’d begun to sink into his internal spiral of self loathing.
It hadn’t taken her long to force the truth out of him.
He never could refuse her anything.
When he’d finally blurted it out, when he’d finally put voice to his shame, he’d braced himself for her disgust. For her rejection.
What he hadn’t expected…was the way her eyes darkened and grew hooded. The way she squirmed and pressed her thighs together.
It was then that he smelled it.
Her arousal.
It wasn’t the first time the scent had caught his attention.
With his heightened senses and how often it seemed to happen when they were together, it was impossible for him to ignore it.
The wolf inside preened and urged him to take her. To finally make her his.
They’d been seeing each other for some months by then, and while they had done some things, they had not taken that final step and had sex.
It was utterly intoxicating, her smell.
There was something almost sweet beneath it, like the ripeness of summer fruit split open, mixed with something darker—earthy, deep, the scent of surrender and need woven together.
Remus realized in that moment that she liked that he wanted to claim her.
Their half hearted chastity had ended that night.
And a second time a few hours later.
By the next morning he’d had her four times and it still hadn’t felt like enough.
Even now, all these years later, he could never get enough of her.
At least once a day they found time for each other.
It did not matter how busy or exhausted they were.
Over the bathroom sink at the Burrow at Christmas.
Against the garden wall at Harry and Ginny’s wedding.
On the floor of the tent when they’d taken Teddy camping a few years ago and he’d gone down to the river to try his hand at muggle fishing.
Their need for each other was insatiable.
Their desire had grown in time with their love for each other and it was hardly a surprise to anyone when they’d married three years ago.
Their life together was more than he could have ever hoped for.
More than he thought he deserved.
The back door creaked as he let himself into their house.
“Hello?” Hermione called from what sounded like the sitting room.
Remus ran a tired hand through his hair.
Merlin, he wanted nothing more than to trudge up the stairs to their bedroom and collapse.
“Just me, love,” he called. His throat was scratchy and dry and he carefully made his way into the kitchen.
He found the row of potions lined up neatly on the counter just as they always were next to a plate of eggs and sausage under stasis.
Something warm swelled in his chest and he felt a wave of gratitude for his witch in the other room.
Merlin, he didn’t deserve her.
But she was his and he was hers.
Remus tossed back all three brews, grimacing at the taste of the last one but sighing at the almost instant relief he felt.
His muscles no longer ached, his headache was gone. And while he still felt tired, he no longer felt as though he was about to collapse.
He heard her quiet footsteps and then she was there in the doorway.
Hermione looked at him with a soft smile, sleep still in her eyes. Her curls were messy and stuck out of the plait she’d braided them into before bed last night. She wore her pajamas still and he knew she must have woken up not long ago.
It had become a sort of a routine over the years. Her waking up early on the day after the full moon to make sure she was there when he came inside the house from the shed.
It was such a small, mundane thing, but it meant everything to Remus.
She took a step towards him and all at once it hit him over the head like a bludger.
The smell of her orgasm was smothering him, assaulting all of his senses.
“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asked hoarsely.
Fuck, he could tell she’d had more than one.
How many times had she gotten herself off while he’d been a handful of yards away across the backyard?
Gods, she knew what touching herself did to him.
His reaction whenever she did it was primal. Damn near neanderthal.
Remus closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, dragging his hand over his jaw.
The steady pull of desire coiled tightly in his chest.
Even with his eyes shut, he could still feel her–still sense the warmth of her presence, still smell her heady scent that was more potent to him than any drug.
He could hear the faint rustle of fabric as she shifted, the quiet hitch in her breath.
When he finally opened his eyes, they snapped immediately to hers and he knew they must have turned amber by the way she swallowed thickly.
She’d always loved the way his eyes changed, when she could see the wolf within.
Hermione stared at him with wide eyes, what she’d done was written all over her face, as plain as ink on parchment.
Her lips were parted, her fingers curled at her sides as she pressed her thighs together.
He could feel his control begin to splinter as the wolf hovered just beneath the surface.
It was too close to the moon. He couldn’t stop himself–fuck.
Take her, his wolf growled.
“Yes,” she admitted, her voice no louder than a whisper, her fingers curling around the edges of her shirt. His shirt. One he’d gotten at a muggle concert with Sirius back when they were kids. “I missed you.”
Her words did something to him.
They unmoored him.
Breed her, his wolf snarled. She’s yours. Take her.
Remus’s breathing had slowed, but each inhale felt heavier, tighter, like his own restraint was suffocating him. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms as if pain might anchor him, might keep him from going to her before he gained control over himself.
He would hurt her if he wasn’t careful.
The air between them tightened, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. He scanned her face, reading everything she wasn’t saying.
That she wanted–no, needed him, just as much as he needed her.
“Hermione–” he croaked.
“I’m ovulating,” she blurted out
Something inside him snapped and Remus crossed the room in three strides.
Hermione barely had time to blink before he was in front of her, before his hands were in her hair, tilting her face up, before his lips crashed against hers.
The kiss was fire and urgency. Want. Need. Love. It was all of them and more.
He swallowed her gasp against his mouth and an inhuman growl rumbled in his chest as her fingers flew to his shirt and she pulled him even closer.
They had been talking about children for a while now.
She’d gone off the potion last month and they’d been going at it like rabbits ever since.
From the moment she first broached the topic with him, all Remus had been able to see was a vision of her, of his wife, of her stomach swollen with his child and he wondered why they had ever thought waiting for Teddy to graduate before growing their family was a good idea.
His hands fell to the backs of her thighs and he lifted her onto the counter.
Bowls and silverware clattered to the floor but Remus was too far gone to pay them any attention.
He pushed her legs open and moved between them, his fingers fisting her curls as he ravished her mouth.
She met him with equal fervor and Remus was lost to say where he ended and she began.
Fingers found zippers, hands found waistbands and fabric was pulled aside.
Remus gripped the shaft of his cock and shoved into her with one stroke.
Hermione cried out, her teeth finding his shoulder as he curled his tall frame over hers and began to fuck into her hard.
His strokes were punishing, driving into her without any regard for the awkwardness of how she scrambled to rest her toes on the counter, opening herself wider to him.
How many times had she told him she liked it when he took what he needed from her? That seeing him lose control made her dripping wet for him?
And Remus felt it. Her wetness coating his cock as he rutted in and out of her. He heard it. The wet squelching sound as their bodies moved together.
It was obscene.
Positively indecent.
But that was how Remus loved his wife.
Hermione clung to him, moaning loudly into the room, whispering filthy things over and over into his ear and driving him mad.
How good he felt inside of her.
To never stop.
To fuck her harder.
Remus mouthed at the skin of her neck, his breathing ragged as he tasted the salt of her sweat.
He could feel her getting close, could feel the fluttering of her cunt around him. Her response triggered his own and he felt the base of his cock begin to swell.
“Remus, please!” she cried, her fingernails digging into his back so hard he felt skin break.
“You’re such a good fucking girl, Hermione…” he rasped, his hips stuttering against hers as he began to lose control. “You take me so fucking well.”
Hermione whimpered and pulled the lobe of his ear between her teeth as his knot locked into place inside of her and he began to come against her cervix.
A shudder rolled through his body when he felt her seize against him, her cunt clenching like a vise around him.
Hermione began to thrash against him as her orgasm overwhelmed her and she wailed, her voice breaking as uncontrollable ecstasy burned through her body.
She’d tried to describe it to him once. What it felt like when he knotted inside of her.
He’d buried his face between her thighs and licked her cunt until she screamed his name before she’d been able to finish.
Remus continued to move against her, his pace gradually slowing as he fucked her through it, his cock still jerking inside of her, filling her with his seed until finally, he finished.
He murmured praises into her hair and held her tightly to him as she slowly began to come down from her high.
He pulled back to look at her some minutes later when his knot began to soften.
Hermione looked…blissful. Her expression was relaxed, her mouth turned up at the corners in a soft smile.
Remus ducked his head down to kiss her and she sighed contentedly into his mouth as she kissed him back sweetly.
He couldn’t explain it, he could only feel it on a cellular level that they had just made a baby.
That in a few months, there would be a small screaming bundle that was a bit of him and a bit of her.
“Hermione, I–” he muttered against her lips, his mouth brushing against hers in a not quite kiss.
Remus couldn’t find the words.
His eyes closed as she carded her fingers in his hair and he dropped his forehead to hers.
“I know, love,” she murmured.
Ours, his wolf growled.
Remus ignored him.
“I love you, Hermione,” he said softly, opening his eyes to find her already looking at him. The way she looked at him—Gods, the way she looked at him—was enough to bring him to his knees.
“Good,” she said lightly before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Because I’m yours. Always and forever, my love.”
Something swelled in his chest.
His.
Happiness, he realized. It was happiness.