Chapter 2

By: MauradingIntoTuesday

Hermione's body felt like it was on fire.

It had started the night before, a restless, gnawing sensation she couldn't explain. She'd tossed and turned in her four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower, pulling her sheets up and then throwing them off again, her skin prickling with an agitation that seemed to grow by the hour. The dormitory, normally a place of comfort, now felt oppressive—too hot, too close. Everything about the air around her was suffocating, and her thoughts were a jumbled mess of need that she couldn't understand.

By the morning of the third day, as she dragged herself through her classes, it was all she could do to keep from clawing at her skin. The itch beneath her flesh was maddening, making it impossible to sit still. She'd sat through Transfiguration, her hands gripping the edge of the desk, her heart pounding as she tried to focus on Professor McGonagall's lecture. Every tick of the clock felt like a hundred, and each word from the professor's mouth blurred together in her head.

But then, something strange happened.

McGonagall, who usually paced the classroom with the grace and sharpness of a hawk, paused in mid-step as she passed by Hermione's desk. Her nostrils flared ever so slightly, and her sharp eyes flicked toward Hermione, lingering for just a moment longer than usual. It was subtle, but Hermione felt it—an almost instinctive awareness that made her want to shrink in her seat.

The professor's expression softened for a fraction of a second, a look of quiet understanding passing over her face. It wasn't pity. It was something deeper, more primal—an unspoken acknowledgment. McGonagall's Animagus form was a cat, after all, and cats were deeply attuned to scent, especially when it came to the cycles of life. Hermione's stomach flipped with a strange mix of shame and confusion as the professor gave her a small, sympathetic nod before continuing the lesson.

Hermione swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her skin prickled even more under McGonagall's gaze. She had no idea what to do with this information, with the knowledge that her professor could somehow sense the turmoil that was ripping through her. The heat was unbearable now, and as the minutes ticked by, she found herself tapping her foot nervously, her entire body wound tight with some unfamiliar, aching need.

The realization came slowly, creeping in like a shadow over her thoughts: she was in heat.

But that didn't make sense. She wasn't like Remus—she wasn't a werewolf. She wasn't bound to the cycles of the moon or the animalistic urges of a wild creature. She was simply an Animagus, someone who could control her transformations, right? But as her body betrayed her, as the uncomfortable warmth spread through her chest and settled low in her belly, she realized this was something beyond control.

Her mind raced, the implications dawning on her all at once. The wolf inside her—it wasn't just a form she could take at will. It was tied to her, to her instincts. And those instincts were now screaming for something she couldn't quite name.

By the time the class ended, Hermione could barely remember what had been taught. She hastily packed her books, avoiding eye contact with anyone, her skin flushed and heart pounding. She needed air. She needed space. She needed—

Remus.

The thought slammed into her, sudden and undeniable. She hadn't even realized it was what she needed until it was there, in the forefront of her mind, a pull she couldn't resist. Dumbledore's instructions came back to her in a rush—meet with Remus before the full moon, in the Shrieking Shack. It would be dangerous otherwise. And right now, with the full moon rising tonight, it felt like every nerve in her body was screaming for that meeting.

Without a second thought, she made her way out of the classroom, the cool stone walls of Hogwarts doing little to calm the fire burning inside her. The castle felt suffocating, its corridors too narrow, too filled with people. She hurried through the halls, trying to shake the sensation that was growing stronger with each passing minute.

As she stepped outside into the crisp evening air, the sun already low in the sky, Hermione felt a brief moment of relief. The cool breeze hit her skin, but it did nothing to douse the heat building inside her. She glanced up at the sky, the full moon not yet visible, but she could feel its pull.

Hermione reached the Shrieking Shack, the familiar creak of the old wood echoing through the empty space as she stepped inside. The air was cool and musty, the scent of dust and old wood filling her lungs, and for a brief moment, the fire burning beneath her skin seemed to ebb.

Her body was exhausted—every step had felt heavier, her limbs like lead, her thoughts clouded with that overwhelming heat and need. She didn't even remember lowering herself onto the old, battered sofa near the fireplace, her head spinning with dizziness and fatigue. Her eyes fluttered shut, the weight of the day crashing down on her as sleep overtook her almost immediately.

She didn't know how long she slept, but when she woke, it was dark outside. The moon was not yet out in the sky, its glow hidden behind clouds. The heat had returned in full force, radiating from deep within her, coiling in her belly, and making every inch of her skin sensitive to even the slightest movement.

That's when she heard it—the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Remus.

Her body reacted before her mind could even catch up. She stood quickly, her heart pounding, that strange pull inside her driving her forward. The door creaked open, and there he was, his silhouette framed by the faint moonlight outside. He looked tired, worn from whatever mission Dumbledore had sent him on, but the moment his eyes met hers, something inside her snapped.

She moved toward him with a desperate urgency, her mind clouded, her skin burning with a need she couldn't explain. Before he could say a word, Hermione was on him, her hands clutching at his robes, pulling him toward her as if her very life depended on it. The scent of him—earthy, familiar, and something distinctly masculine—overwhelmed her senses, and her body screamed for more.

"Wait—Hermione," Remus's voice was low, strained, but strong as he gripped her shoulders and held her at arm's length, his eyes wide with concern. "This isn't you. This is your omega talking."

But Hermione couldn't hear him. Not really. All she knew was that she needed him, needed his touch, his presence. She pushed against him again, her fingers curling into his robes, trying to get closer, trying to erase the unbearable distance between them. The heat was unbearable now, searing through her like a wildfire, and the only thing she could focus on was him.

"Alpha," she whispered, the word falling from her lips without her realizing it. It wasn't a conscious thought, but it felt right. It felt like everything. "Alpha."

Remus's grip tightened on her shoulders, his jaw clenched as he held her back. "No, Hermione. You have to fight this. It's not real—it's your instincts. You have to push through it."

But she couldn't. Her body wasn't listening. The word spilled from her again, desperate and pleading. "Alpha… please."

The sound of her voice made Remus flinch, and for a brief second, his control faltered. She could see it in his eyes, the way his breath hitched, the way his hands shook ever so slightly as he held her back. His own wolf instincts were clawing at him, fighting to respond to her plea, but he was stronger than she was. He had years of experience in suppressing the beast inside him, and even now, as her omega practically begged for him, he was fighting it.

"Listen to me, Hermione," Remus said, his voice firm, but there was a tremor beneath it. "This isn't you. This is the wolf inside you. You're in heat, and it's clouding your mind. You need to stop."

But Hermione didn't stop. She couldn't. The fire was too much, the need too overwhelming. She pressed against him again, her hands trembling as she reached for him, and that single word kept escaping her lips in a soft, breathless whisper.

"Alpha… alpha…"

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, his expression pained as if fighting every instinct in his body. His grip on her shoulders remained steady, but she could feel the tension in his muscles, the strain of keeping her at bay.

"Hermione… you have to fight it," he said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I won't… I can't do this. Not like this."

But all Hermione could do was keep whispering that word, over and over, like a prayer to something primal and ancient inside her.

A sudden shaft of moonlight broke through one of the shattered windows, casting a pale glow over Remus. Hermione watched, wide-eyed, as the light seemed to ripple over his skin, and his body tensed immediately. He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands tightening painfully on her shoulders as his form began to shift.

The change wasn't immediate—Remus had been taking Wolfsbane, so the transformation was held at bay, but she could see it, the subtle stretching of his muscles, the way his eyes flickered, momentarily glowing a feral gold in the dim light. His teeth elongated slightly, his nails sharpening as his grip dug into her.

Hermione could feel the energy from the moonlight too, coursing through her like a living thing. The wolf inside her, the one she had tried to keep at bay, surged forward in response to Remus's partial transformation. Her skin tingled, her bones ached, and before she could stop it, her own body began to shift.

It wasn't a full change—not like Remus's, whose transformation was incomplete due to the Wolfsbane—but she could feel the wolf rising to the surface. Her senses sharpened, her vision growing clearer even in the dim light of the Shack. She could hear the sound of Remus's breathing, the pounding of his heart in his chest, and it called to her in a way that was primal, instinctive.

The wolf inside her wanted him—needed him.

Her body moved of its own accord, her fingers reaching up to trace the edge of his jaw, where his skin was starting to ripple, fur threatening to break through. Her own hands trembled as her nails grew longer, sharper. Her breath hitched as the heat in her belly roared to life once more, but now it was different. It wasn't just need—it was an overwhelming desire for connection, for him. Her alpha.

Remus's eyes snapped open, glowing fiercely in the dark. He could sense it too—the change in her, the way her body was reacting to the moonlight, to his presence. His resistance wavered, his instincts battling against his rational mind. The room was filled with the scent of her heat, and the wolf in him, though tempered by the potion, responded with a low growl that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine.

She leaned into him, her body pressing against his as the change continued. She could feel her skin shifting, the animal inside her coming to the surface, and with it, her clothing seemed to melt away, disappearing in the haze of the transformation. Remus's robes tore slightly as his body grew, his muscles straining against the fabric until they too vanished, leaving nothing between them but the heat of their bodies.

"Alpha…" Hermione whispered again, her voice breathless, filled with a need she no longer had the strength to fight. The word felt like it was the only thing that made sense, the only thing she could cling to in the chaos of her shifting body and mind. The wolf inside her called out for him, for the connection, for the bond that only he could fulfill.

Remus growled again, but this time it wasn't in protest. His eyes, still glowing, met hers, and there was something feral, something wild in his gaze that sent a thrill of anticipation through her. He was fighting it—fighting the pull of his instincts—but his control was slipping.

Hermione's body was practically humming with the need for him. Her hands moved over his chest, feeling the way his skin had changed beneath her fingers, the heat of his body radiating through her. She could feel the shift in him, the way his body responded to hers, and the connection between them deepened, primal and undeniable.

"Alpha," she whispered again, her voice trembling with desire.

Remus's growl deepened, his hands moving from her shoulders to her waist, gripping her with a possessive strength that sent a wave of heat crashing over her. His body was halfway between man and wolf, his control fraying as the moonlight continued to bathe them both in its silvery glow. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he struggled to maintain his grip on reality, but the wolf in him was stronger now, drawn to her like a magnet.

"Fight it, Hermione," he rasped, though his voice was thick with the strain of holding back. "You have to… fight it…"

But she couldn't. Not anymore. The wolf inside her howled for him, for her alpha, and her body responded without hesitation.

Get the chapter a day early (or get the next two chapters) on our writing group's blog https://fictioneers.thinkific.com/pages/blog. Otherwise updated weekly.