Pierced (Completed)

Chapter 9: Wolf

"I'M RUNNING OUT OF GOOD QOUTES AND AM GETTING TIRED OF SCROLLING THROUGH SO MANY THAT, DON'T FIT MY INTENTIONS."-AN APOLOGETIC DARTHMITTENS

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Harry pushed his body to the limits, keeping his eyes closed as he focused on pinpointing Hermione through a combination of her heartbeat and presence.

Her heartbeat was slow and consistent, which suggested that she was unconscious at the moment. Harry didn't expect anything less from the werewolves, and quite frankly he was glad they hadn't killed her yet. He had a feeling, though, that he didn't want to discover why they were keeping her alive.

As for her presence, Harry could feel it in the back of his mind like some sort of internal compass. If you had asked him at that moment, he could've told you that she was about nineteen miles away from him. Unfortunately, the distance between them was growing.

Other than Hermione's presence in his head, Harry could feel the feeble attempts of takeover made by his inner vampire. It seemed that he hadn't rested long enough to resurface yet, though.

Harry still couldn't decide whether that was good or bad.

He sped through lush fields illuminated by moonlight, dark forests that allowed him to quickly Shadowalk through, and rolling hills. But somehow, Hermione was getting farther and farther away.

He needed more, he realized. Needed more speed. Needed more power.

Because there was no way anything was going to happen to Hermione while he was alive. Without her, he realized, there was no meaning in life. Without her, he would be nothing. He couldn't imagine never seeing her again; her smile, her beautiful hair, her keen eyes. He would miss everything about her. He couldn't live without her. And oddly enough, he smiled about that. He finally realized what he had been missing all along.

He loved her.

Harry felt a rippling sensation in his body that was oddly pleasurable, then he was running at a much faster pace, his powerful muscles pushing harder and harder. He looked down at his feet and tried to cry out in horror, but all that came out was a high-pitched keen.

His legs were covered in sleek black fur, and where his feet should have been were mighty paws that pounded into the ground.

Then his conversation with Hermione came back to him. That was right; she had told him that he had transformed into a panther on the night they had stormed the castle. Perhaps his feeling of love for her and the fact that she was in danger prompted this response.

He practically flew over the grass, covering dozens of feet with each mighty stride. He could feel himself getting closer to Hermione, though not very quickly. The pounding of his giant paws fell into a steady rhythm and he focused only on finding her again, his pace picking up the tiniest bit when he felt that her heart was racing like mad, which meant she had to be awake again.

Harry let out a loud, feral roar and pushed harder, fighting off the pain as his muscles screamed in protest. He felt an odd sensation in his head and tried to shake it off, but it only kept growing as the seconds ticked by. Eventually it came to the point where he couldn't focus on anything but the sensation and he slowed down, trying to fight it off. His feeling of Hermione had weakened, his intense focus diminished as he was assaulted by the sensation. It made his stomach twist, almost as if…almost as if it was a sense of foreboding.