The Walking Wounded

Chapter Eleven –

Staring at myself in the mirror, I twist my hair and pile it on top of my head. As I ready myself for dinner, I reflect upon the last ten years of my life.

My life…

A small smile curls the ends of my lips. I can actually think about my life without flinching, without letting the guilt of surviving darken my perspective. The guilt and anger over Harry’s death does not threaten to overwhelm me like it once did. Nightmares still play in my memories, but they do not control me.

I have learned things about my lovers over the years that would destroy any normal relationship. Yes, I admit it. Our relationship is non-traditional by Muggle standards. Due to Remus’ lycanthropy and Severus’ deeds during the war, it is even non-traditional by Wizarding standards. The narrow-mindedness of Wizarding London never ceases to amaze me. Even though Voldemort is dead, his message of hatred and bigotry lives on. Never one to adhere to the dregs of conformity, I married Remus.

The Ministry of Magic doesn’t recognize the marriage, but it makes no difference to me. We have very little to do with the world of magic nowadays. It took a while for Remus to adjust, but he has done so splendidly.

Severus…

I hate to categorize things by school-age concepts, but Severus is a true Slytherin. I have forgiven him for the things he has done, but I have difficulties trusting him. If it weren’t for the bond between him and Remus, I’d probably have nothing to do with him. Although I love the bastard, there are things between us that we seem unable to reconcile.

Like it or not, he is a permanent fixture in my life. Sighing, I stare into the mirror one last time.

Severus is coming for dinner. He comes to dinner twice a month—the night before the full moon to give Remus his Wolfsbane Potion, and whenever I’m “in season.” It just so happens that those events somewhat coincide this month. I am in season right now, and the full moon is tomorrow night. I can feel the heat simmer in my womb and the desire to shag anything that gets in my way.

I despise that little side effect of being mated to a lycan. If anyone had bothered to explain that I would go into “heat” every month, I never would have coaxed Remus into biting me. Of course, I was a different person back then, and the depths of my depression caused heartache everywhere.

It isn’t that I regret taking Remus as my lover and husband. I do love him. I am a better person because of him. There are times I want to throttle him, but those are rare events and normally coincide with the full moon or my heat.

It’s just that I have started to want something else. It isn’t a passing fancy. It’s something that has haunted me for the past few years. Whether it’s just a biological urge or a psychological one, I do not know.

I want a child.

Remus, being sterile, can’t help me. I have discussed my desire with him. At first, he was against it, reasoning that his condition would endanger a child. I argued with him, telling him that he would make a wonderful father.

For the past three years, I have mourned the child I shall never have. Severus would never consent to fathering one, and it isn’t as though artificial insemination is a viable alternative. Besides, my husband is right. Any child not of pack blood would be in danger.

“‘Mione?” Remus calls from downstairs. “Severus is here.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I reply, running my hands down my lavender dress.

--

“She’ll be right down,” Remus states from the bottom of the stairs.

“I believe she said ‘in a minute,” I reply sardonically, handing him the flask of Wolfsbane. “Are you all right?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “No better or worse than usual.” He uncorks the flask and downs the potion with quiet efficiency.

“Perhaps the potion will take the edge off.” I flick my wand at the flask and Vanish it.

“There’s no need to patronize me, Severus.” Remus crosses the room and folds his body into a rather uncomfortable looking chair. “I could fuck you, Hermione, and all the simulacrums, and the lust would not be sated.”

Ah, yes! The simulacrums, a crude yet effective way to meet everyone’s sexual needs. They are, essentially crude representations of ourselves that I found necessary to create. There are three in residence here—one of Remus, one of Hermione, and one of myself. I have two more at Spinner’s End—one of Remus and one of Hermione. The magic that goes into creating them is exhausting. One must be skilled at Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms.

Though I do not suffer the effects of lycanthropy, I feel the ebbs and flows of the lunar cycle. I am mated to him, as assuredly as I am to Hermione. I would move the heavens and the earth for the man in front of me. That is why I forced Hermione to come clean with the truth seven years ago. I forced her to admit how she felt about Remus. I grew tired of the walking wounded dancing around each other’s feelings and spiked their wine with Veritaserum. Add that incident with the fact that I had sabotaged Hermione’s efforts to move from Grimmauld Place…

Well, she has yet to forgive me for my transgressions.

I should be thankful she doesn’t hate me. I know the truth because she admitted her feelings for me that night. That is, undoubtedly, the reason my pack-mate hates me to this day, for I have never returned the sentiments. At the time, I was unsure of myself. I have a tendency of losing myself to the carnal nature of my libido.

The dark hopelessness of my time in Azkaban distorts my soul. Remus does what he can, but the nightmares remind me of my crime. Albus Dumbledore died by my hand.

Hermione’s soul is pure. Remus’ is fractured like mine. Even though I played to Hermione’s darker desires in the beginning of our relationship, I find myself unable to entertain those depravities again.

“Well?” Remus has asked me the same question for the last two years. What he asks for is not impossible. Society, both Wizarding and Muggle alike, accept the practice, but I find myself reluctant to oblige his wishes.

He wants me to impregnate his wife.

I know of Hermione’s desire to have a child. She has never asked me. Years have passed, and I return to them, dutifully servicing their needs and my own. Remus’ lusts never abate. He is in a constant state of arousal. That is why I crafted the simulacrums. He is able to slack his seldom-quenched thirst with them.

When Hermione burns with lust, she is insatiable. The simulacrums help take the edge off, but my services are always required. The clones cannot trick the lycan lust that consumes her. I have, and always will be a part of their lives during her delicate times. Wizarding bigotries have discouraged research on werewolf mating practices, so I have been unable to find an alternative.

Remus sighs, seemingly accepting my silence as another refusal. “You’re such a selfish bastard.”

--

Severus closes the distance between us, grasping my arms and pulling me against him. Moony rails against the dominant handling, but I accept Severus’ aggressiveness. “There is so much that remains unknown,” he hisses against my ear, his embrace solid yet affectionate. “What if I were to give in and give her what she wants and your alter ego didn’t accept it? How would Moony react to my seed growing within our mate’s womb?”

“I control that bloody bastard,” I retort. “Not the other way around!”

My lover shakes his head. “And what of that one night of the month? If Moony didn’t accept—”

“Theories!” I pull away, grasping his upper arms and forcing him to look into my eyes. “You’re basing all the research on theories. The babe would be a part of our pack. Moony knows this. He—”

“And how often do you converse with your alter ego, Remus?” Severus retorts, his voice dripping with disbelieving sarcasm. Closing my eyes, I summon the animal within.

--

His fingers bruising my upper arms, I eye Remus warily. His head his bowed. He looks as though he is having some kind of fit. Have I miscalculated something in the Wolfsbane Potion? Have I unknowingly poisoned him? I hear Hermione’s footsteps on the stairs and call out to her.

“What is it?” Her voice is concerned and suspicious.

“Remus is having some sort of fit,” I state, holding on to him. Before Hermione can reach us, his head snaps up, and he busses my lips with his. His tongue thrusts past my surprised lips, claiming my gasp and tasting me in a forceful manner.

“It looks like a randy fit to me,” Hermione chuckles from the doorway.

I struggle for breath. The kiss isn’t unpleasant. I’m used to his moods. As soon as it begins, it ends. Remus tears away from me, his laughter sending a chill racing down my spine. I do not scare easily, but I must admit that I yearn to shield Hermione from him.

He levels his gray gaze at me and smiles. “You wished to know how often the simpleton and I spoke.” The voice is raspy and disjointed. “You needn’t worry, Severus. I won’t bite. We thought it best to address your concerns in person.”

“Remus?” Hermione is standing next to me. I can sense her reluctance.

“Guess again,” Remus’ alter-ego teases.

I step in front of Hermione and shield her from Moony.

He laughs. “That is so sweet.” He sniffs the air and licks his lips. “I can smell her cream. I wonder if she tastes as good as she smells.”

Remus/Moony twitches and emits a low growl. “Get on with it, Moony,” Remus spits.

Moony rolls his eyes and leers at Hermione. “Your husband and my beta were just discussing your desire to bear a child. Seeing as we aren’t capable of fathering offspring, we… appoint that task to the beta… on one condition.”

I listen to the gravely voice, still disbelieving what I am hearing. I always knew Moony was near the surface, especially this close to the full moon, but I had no idea he was this close.

“What is the condition, Moony?” Hermione asks, seemingly at ease with speaking to Remus’ alter ego.

Moony stares at me as he makes his demand. “Her heat will coincide with my emergence next month. Bring her to me. I shall be restrained and muzzled.”

“Absolutely not!” I protest sharply.

“Severus.” She touches my sleeve. “Is that all?” she asks the cur.

He shakes his head, the lascivious grin spreading across his face. “No.”

--

TBC

Author’s Notes: Wow! 2007 sucked eggs. My New Year’s resolution for 2008 is no more surgeries. (I only had three surgeries last year.) To say the least, recovery has been slow and has hindered my ability to update any of my stories. Thanks to all for your patience. It is greatly appreciated.