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BloodLust Part One: Blood Moon by onyx_rose

Format: Short story
Chapters: 4
Word Count: 8,599
Status: WIP

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Strong Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature,

Genres: Horror/Dark, Mystery, Romance
Characters: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Draco, Pansy, Blaise (M), OC
Pairings: Draco/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Remus/Tonks, Ron/Lavender, Hermione/OC

First Published: 05/26/2007
Last Chapter: 07/27/2007
Last Updated: 07/27/2007

"There are more things in heaven and earth...than are dreamt of in your philosophy." ~Hamlet by William Shakespeare
An evil plan (to its creator, a game), two players in that game, and of course a little bit of lust. But lust can be very dangerous...especially if it's a lust for blood.

Chapter 4: CHAPTER FOUR: Reality Bites and So Do Discoveries

CHAPTER FOUR: Reality Bites and So Do Discoveries

A/N: Hermione is only going to ‘fur up’ one day a month full moon wise.

Hermione shook her head roughly and stood up and stretched. She was relieved to find that she had normal human body parts instead of wolf ones, and she hastily put on her robe, as she was naked. ‘God, I feel like hell,’ she thought. She pulled her hair back into a messy bun, and walked over to her closet, whose charm had worn off when she turned back into herself. Today was Friday, and she picked out her uniform and headed to take a bath. As soon as she had gotten dressed, she went down to the Common Room to find Draco missing. She made herself a cup of tea, and as soon as she sat down, the sounds of two people pounding on the door yelling her name, caused her to get up again.

She opened the door, and the two boys stumbled in, apparently not expecting the door to be opened so soon.

“We know you’re a werewolf,” the two said simultaneously.

“And?” she said, wanting to get back to her tea.

“And Fenrir is here to spy on you, as is a man named Jedidiah,” Ron said, his voice filled with worry.

“We told McGonagall, and she’s going to make sure you’re safe. Are you alright, ‘Mione?” Harry asked.

“First full moon, remember,” she said with a weak smile.

They smiled worriedly at her before leaving.

“D’you think we should tell her Malfoy is a vampire?” Ron asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

They turned around and knocked once on her door again.

“What?” she asked, needing to get back to her tea.

“Malfoy is a vampire,” Harry said. “So, just watch your back for us, okay? We couldn’t stand to lose you.”

“I’ll be fine, vampire or not,” she said. “I’m a werewolf, remember?” She smiled and waved her friends out, before turning to the portrait guarding the entrance.

“If those two come back, please let them in,” she told Salazar and Godric. They nodded at her, before falling asleep.

She walked back into the Heads’ Common Room, and sat down on the soft, inviting sofa. She began thinking about werewolves and what she had read about them. Her own problems overrode her fear of Malfoy, and she realized with a jolt that she had read somewhere that some werewolves could change at will and not just during the full moon. It was something in French, but she couldn’t remember. She knew she wasn’t going to have time to go to the library any time soon either, because of the extra work from two days out of classes. She sighed as she finished her tea, and with a wave of her wand, the cup was clean. She stood up to begin what was sure to be a very long weekend.


A curvy young woman with short red tinted black hair was walking to an abandoned manor in the middle of a small town in Ireland. Her attire wasn’t exactly fit for the cool dampness of an Irish morning. She had on a black leather and lace corset top, and a blackish brown leather trench coat. Her black ballet flats weren’t exactly comfortable on her soles because of the old streets. She approached the dreary old house and entered without knocking. She walked right up the stairs to the second floor like she owned the place. She walked into the only room that had light and stopped in front of the occupied armchair, crossing her arms.

“You called, Oh Great One,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You always have amused me, Krys,” Voldemort said.

“I tend to amuse many,” Krys said. “It’s just too sad that when they tell me, I tend to rip their throats out, one way or another.”

“You loup-garou were always temperamental,” he said.

“My people in general, or just this particular one?” she said, menace edged into her voice.

“None of your pack have ever listened to their master,” he said nonchalantly.

“Because we are owned by no man!” she said angrily. Her normally blue eyes flashed yellow.

“As truthful as that may be, I need a favor and your obedience.”

“I pledge no loyalty to you, Tom Riddle,” she spat. He looked like he was going to curse her, but his angry look was soon replaced with a calm one.

“Your pack has tended to be loyal to me, ever since I eliminated the O’Reillys.”

“True as that may be, that was many years ago, and we owe you nothing. Fenrir repaid our debts to you.”

“And I am asking a favor and as I recall, if you do this, I will be in your debt,” he said.

“We are not bad people. Je ne suis pas un mauvais loup-garou. Je ne doit pas de loyauté à vous*. I will not do as you ask and neither will my people.”

“Comme je me rappèle, vous n'êtes pas de la France, mais pays de Galles*. Fenrir, your cousin, has bitten a girl, and that makes her part of your pack. I wish for you to retrieve her and teach her about your ways.”

“No, I will not. I won’t condemn a young girl to a life of wickedness as one of your ‘loyal followers’,” she said, her eyes flashing yellow again, and she lunged for Voldemort, and while in the air, she turned into a black wolf, but Voldemort was quicker. He whipped out his wand, and in a flash of green light, Krys Greyback was dead.

“Voyons que votre mâle d'alpha a à dire de cela.*”


Hermione Granger returned to the Common Room after dinner with a mountain-sized pile of homework.

She rubbed her temples in exhaustion. She had anticipated a lot of work, but not this much. She sighed and set to work.

Three hours and four cups of coffee later, she was almost finished. She conjured another cup for herself and downed the scalding liquid without a grimace. It was late and she was having trouble concentrating. She slammed her Potions book shut and breathed a sigh of relief. She was finally finished. She looked at the old-fashioned Grandfather Clock in the corner of the Common Room. It was a quarter after midnight. She sighed and dove into the many tomes she had checked out from the library at lunch. Finally after many long hours of research, she had found what she was looking for. She grinned as she read a page in a book that talked about werewolves and other ‘mythical creatures’.

‘The werewolf is said to be one of the most fearsome beasts in the world. Derived from the Anglo-Saxon word ‘were’ which literally means ‘man’ and the word ‘wolf’, a werewolf is a man who is cursed to transform into a wolf every full moon. In Argentina he is referred to as El Lobizón, and in France he is known as Le Loup-Garou. The lobizón is the seventh son of a seventh son, and transforms on Tuesdays and Fridays during full moons. The loup-garou is said to transform not only during full moons, but whenever the individual so desires. The full moon makes these man-beasts lunatics…’
She smirked in satisfaction once more because this was where she had read it. An odd thought struck her. She closed her eyes and thought only about her inner-wolf and how it felt to unleash her. She concentrated on being her wolf, and she felt her body shift painfully from that of a young teenage woman to that of a young wolf. She didn’t feel crazy like she did on moon nights and felt most of her human instincts intact. Her wolf instincts were there, but her human understanding overran the beast within.

The black wolf loped once around the common room and explored places her human self had missed. She learned that there was a secret door underneath the study table on the right wall, she found a mouse hole near the staircase leading up to the Heads’ dorms, and accidentally stuck her snout in a pair of Draco’s boxers that happened to be laying under the sofa. She shook the used undergarments off of her face and sneezed several times, before taking her front paw and scratching at her nose.

She perked her black ears up at the muted sound of Draco’s voice uttering the password to the portrait guarding the entrance to the Common Room. She jumped when he opened the door; she was pretty much caught red-handed with a pair of his used boxers.


Draco stood outside the entrance to the Common Room. He may have been a vampire, but he sure as hell knew he needed a scalding hot shower as tense as he was. The Daily Prophet had published an article about the woman he had killed. At least they suspected Jedidiah and not him. He pushed the door open rather loudly and dropped his bag on the floor in shock. A black wolf stood staring at him in what could only be described as a guilty way (‘Can wolves look guilty?’ he asked himself.). The wolf was standing in front of that pair of boxers he’d lost when he’d had that rendezvous with that Ravenclaw. There was something oddly familiar about those yellow eyes. That’s when the wolf shifted back into a very noticeably naked Hermione.

“What the bloody hell?!” he exclaimed.

“Er, I had done some research on werewolves and there was this type called the ‘loup-garou’ it’s French, you know, and I thought since they could transform of their own free will and during full moons I would try it out and it turns out I can too and I was walking around a bit and I stuck my nose in your boxers-wait that didn’t come out right, um,” she said.

“What the bloody hell were you doing with your nose shoved up my boxers??!!”

“I, well, I should ask you some questions too! Ron and Harry said you were a vampire!” she practically shouted hysterically.

“So??! The bloody Head Girl can turn into a bloody wolf whenever she bloody wants to and during the bloody full moon she turns into a bloody savage beast and she could bloody kill me!”

“You’re overreacting a bit,” she said seriously.

“At least I won’t drink your blood because werewolves and vampires are enemies! You could slaughter me anytime you want!”

“Like I would ever want to taste you!” but even as Hermione said this, she knew it wasn’t true. She had loved the way he smelled like food from the first time she had whiffed him. He looked at her strangely.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re still naked,” he said, while all the while giving her the once-over. She snarled in warning at him and he averted his gaze. She stalked up to her room to put on some pajamas and finally go to bed.


After she had left, Draco fell onto the sofa. He placed a hand over his crystal-clear blue eyes and sighed. She was beginning to smell different, more and more bittersweet every day. He licked his lips; it was a good thing he had fed the day before, or else he would have taken her then and there. And her wolf form was so beautiful. She was so graceful and deadly at the same time. He couldn’t believe how she looked after she had changed back. Her naked body had caused him to immediately react, and he still hadn’t felt his body go back to normal; it was like the beast within him wouldn’t go back into submission, his thirst for her was worse than his thirst for blood. Her fair skin seemed to sparkle in the golden glow of the fire. He loved the way she seemed to be only muscle, from her flat stomach to her feet. He knew from encounters that werewolves tended to be leaner than regular humans due to the changes their muscles undergo when they transform. He could’ve looked at her legs all day and he felt his body shiver when he thought about it. He shook his head as if to rid his mind of those thoughts and memories. His body wasn’t doing as great as his head. He set off through the darkened castle and headed to his little hiding spot at the Astronomy Tower to mull things over.


Fenrir Greyback stood alone in the streets of London. He headed towards an old mansion that seemed to pop out of nowhere between two shops. He knocked three times on the door, and then scratched once. A tired-looking old woman stood at the door holding a white lace handkerchief to her eyes. She motioned him into the house and he followed her to the dining room, where thirty or forty more people, men, women and children, sat crying. The expression ‘if looks could kill’ flashed across his mind as soon as he entered the room. All eyes were on him, and their expressions were all alike in that they were all of hatred. He bravely walked in and took a seat near the back of the room where only the weakest of the pack sat. The irony of that struck him and he almost chuckled but didn’t as he didn’t want to be mauled by thirty-six angry and upset werewolves. Even though he was stronger than their pack leaders, he was always in with the weakest ones because of his loyalty to the Dark Lord.

He looked around the room; all of their gazes weren’t on him anymore but on a muscular young man at the front of the room. He was very muscular, but kind of chunky but in a good way. He had sort of short-ish dirty blond hair, and broad shoulders, blue eyes, and very full lips. He had some facial hair but not a lot. ‘Peach fuzz’ Fenrir’s father would call it. All of the werewolves in the room bowed to him and took their right hand and starting from the wrist of their left hand, they scratched their left arm symbolically.

Grief was written all over the young man’s features. Fenrir had no idea who had died and as he looked around the room, the only person he could find missing was their leader’s mate. His mouth opened in shock. He might have had a mind for killing, but he didn’t want to ever see his dear cousin Krys dead. Prior to arriving at the house, he had only received a letter from his sister telling him he needed to come home. She didn’t state why or under what terms, and now he understood. He began to weep along with everybody else in the room.

“Krys, my lover, my mate, your Alpha Female, is dead,” the young man said. Hearing it from him confirmed their fears. They were all one family, one pack. Save for Fenrir, they all lived together in smaller bunches and hunted as one. One person dead, especially Krys, tore them apart.

“How do you know, Leon?” someone in the back asked. Leon’s eyes flashed golden and anger filled his face.

“Because Voldemort,” he spat. “Sent the body back as her wolf-form. There is nobody as pure black as she. She is dead. She won’t be coming back.”

A whimper resounded from behind Leon. A two year old whined like her wolf form and he picked her up, cradling her.

“There is a war coming. We all know it. As of right now, we all need each other to fight the Dark Lord. Fenrir, you are welcomed back with open arms. You are no longer loyal to the Dark Lord since he killed Krys. He was not to harm any of the pack while you were loyal to him.”

Fenrir almost said he would always be loyal to the Dark Lord but he kept his mouth shut. He knew that if a war did happen in the near future (as it was more likely than not), he would rather be on the winning side than the losing (and the odds weren’t in the Dark Lord’s favor).

“I spoke to some of our sister packs,” Leon continued. “The vampires are getting restless. No doubt most of them will side with Voldemort considering their wicked ways. We will fight the vampires and we will fight for The Light. We should rally the other packs and the rogue wolves. I swear I will avenge my love’s death.”

With a howl, Leon and his pack rushed to the forest where they transformed willingly and hunted. Fenrir hung back, afraid of judgment by his ‘family’. With a howl, the burly man transformed into his gray, bloodthirsty wolf form, and ran off into the night.


Jedidiah Malachai sat in the Hog’s Head pub with several of his mates. Seven (including Jedidiah) were men, and six were women. Rain pounded the dirty windows, as a crash of thunder sounded and lightning struck somewhere nearby. He took a drink of his ale and addressed them all.

“As you all know, the Greyback Pack has suffered a terrible loss,” Jedidiah said, his voice oozing with sarcasm. “One of their leaders, Krys was killed by the Dark Lord.” There were several cheers and exclamations of triumph from the vampires surrounding him.

“But before we get too excited, we must remember her mate, Leon, will do anything to avenge her. And you must remember that they are not ordinary werewolves, but they are descended from the very old and very powerful Loup-Garou. They can change shape at will and are almost indistinguishable from regular wolves. We must be careful. Do not throw caution to the wind, for if you do, it may cost you your life.”

There were several boos this time from his comrades.

“But, we have power over them. We are more numerous and we are stronger. We are loyal to the Dark Lord and I am sure if we help him, the world will once again be ours to rule.”

He ended his encouraging speech with a toast.


Peter Pettigrew (alias Wormtail) stood shaking nervously in front of Voldemort.

“You c-called m-m-master,” he stuttered.

“Yes, I want you to run an errand for me. Go tell the vampires who are loyal to me to get ready. We begin our battle at Christmas.”
The short balding man did as he was told. Voldemort took his wand and put the tip on his Dark Mark, whispering ‘Draco Malfoy’ as he did so. Soon the seventeen year old boy was standing in front of him having run from Hogwarts to the dank building that was currently Voldemort’s hiding spot.

He kneeled before The Dark Lord and waited.

“I want her bitten before Christmas. That is when we will have our first battle. Not the Final Battle in this War, but an attack on the Order. Bite her and seduce her by then.”


A/N: Ya like? It took me about two days to write this ch. Review and if anyone could make a banner please? (leave it in a review if anyone does). Oh, and here are the translations for the stuff in French above. I’m pretty sure its accurate. If not, tell me please, b/c I would hate to sound like a fool in another language. It’s gonna get darker from here on out.  And if you have any questions about anything in here, just ask and i'll let you know if i don't plan on revealing it in later chs.

*Je ne suis pas un mauvais loup-garou. Je ne doit pas de loyauté à vous means: I am not a bad werewolf. I owe no loyalty to you.

*Comme je me rappèle, vous n'êtes pas de la France, mais pays de Galles means: As I remember, you are not from France but from Wales

*Voyons que votre mâle d'alpha a à dire de cela means: Let’s see what your alpha male has to say about that. (I think the translation has an extra ‘a’ in it but I’m not sure. I should know, seeing as I’m going into French 3…)