The Walking Wounded

Author’s Notes—

The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling. No copyright infringement intended. All mistakes are my own. If you seem something horribly wrong, just let me know and I will fix it.


Chapter Thirteen—


As the mid-morning sun coaxes me awake, I stretch the delectable aches and pains of the previous night out, only to find my wrists bound above my head and my ankles restricted by soft cuffs of leather. “What the—”

“Good morning, sleepy head!” Remus greets me from across the room as he sets a tray on the nightstand.

The aromas remind my stomach that I haven’t eaten, and my stomach grumbles. I’m not sure what baffles me most. The reason I’m tied to the bed or the fact that Remus is up and about. I always nurse him back to health the morning after a full moon. To see him so… invigorated… makes me wonder if I pulled a Rip Van Winkle, but I suspect that he took an Invigoration Draught. “Are you all right?” I ask hesitantly, knowing how he detests the draught.

“I’m better than all right!” he announces cheerily, removing the lid off the plate and setting it aside. He pulls the napkin and tucks it under my chin. Grabbing the glass of juice, he holds a straw to my lips. “Drink,” he commands with a smile.

I take a sip and swallow. “You know me, Remus,” I murmur huskily, tugging on my restraints. “I’m all for a round of kink, but wouldn’t it be easier to let me eat breakfast, and then tie me up?”

A mischievous grin spreads across his face, and he sets the cup on the tray. “It probably would be easier, but where would be the fun in that?”

I chuckle nervously. My husband doesn’t scheme, but there is no mistaking the look on his face. He forces me to bite down on a piece of toast.

“Severus will be back soon,” he states, anticipating my next question.

“Why?” The muffled question slips from my lips. Severus doesn’t stay the night. Nor does he stick around after my heat. I stiffen. “Hand me my wand. I want to see if I’m pregnant,” I whisper excitedly.

Remus sets the toast aside and grins. “You don’t need your wand, luv,” he replies, leaning over and inhaling deeply as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. “We’re pregnant. I can smell the subtle changes of your hormones, the scent of Severus all over you. You’ve no idea what last night meant to us, Moony and I. You were fearless… and soft. Moony is at peace for the first time since… a long time.”

Tossing the napkin aside, he rains kisses along my collarbone and down to my breasts. “I can’t resist the scents, Hermione. I should wait until Severus gets back, but I need you.” He draws my breast into his mouth, torturing the tip with his skillful tongue. He does not linger there. Instead, he opts to crawl down my body and insinuate his broad shoulders between my sprawled legs.

The first swipe of his tongue against my bare quim sends shivers coursing through me. Fingers separate my vaginal lips, pulling me open for his greedy hunger.

--

I’m a greedy arse. She’s probably sore, but I couldn’t resist the aroma. The tangy taste of arousal hits my tongue with the first lick, Severus’ seed with Hermione’s musk. Most people might be turned off by the scent, but I live by the delectable aromas of life. I feast between the plump, nurturing folds, delving deep and letting the euphoria of my lovers’ unique tastes wash over me. For the first time since I was bitten, I am whole.

Moony is exhausted, sated both emotionally and physically. He is no longer on the periphery of my consciousness. I needn’t hold the beastly part of myself back. I woke this morning, refreshed, no need for Invigoration Draught or nursing. If anyone had told me that making passionate love to one’s wife while transformed would negate the debilitating effects of lycanthropy, I would have tried it long ago.

I suck the beaded pearl of her clit into my mouth and wiggle two fingers into her, seeking the other side of her pleasure center. A few deep thrusts of my fingers and swipes of my tongue, and her unique flavor splashes against my taste buds. The sound of her mewling is like a symphony to my ears. I give her no time to recover. Hastily removing my trousers, I climb onto my knees, undo the bindings around her ankles, and pull her to me. Rubbing the crest of my cock up and down her drenched slit, I relish her pathetic whimpers of ecstasy and feed my dick into her bit by bit.

She’s tight, her muscles quivering around my intrusion. She is my salvation. Her coffee-colored hair pillows her head, her arms spread like a pagan sacrifice.

“Harder!” she pleads. “Faster!” she pants, twisting and turning against the binds. She wants the savage beast, but I give her the man. I rock into her gently, feeling each ridge of clenching muscles around my cock. The pace is inhuman, slow and gentle. In the distance, I hear the telltale “pop” of Apparition. Severus’ unique scent crawls up the stairs and into the bedroom, followed by his soft steps. Hermione’s eyes are closed, and she doesn’t notice him enter the room.

My eyes lock onto his, my strokes within Hermione purposeful and deep. Smirking, he nods his head for me to continue. He looks relaxed and poised, leaning against the wall. Hermione mewls beneath me, her eyes open and fix on our dark lover, her gaze is glazed with silent remorse.

I was there last night, deep in the shadows on Moony’s lust, listening to Severus use sex to get what he wanted. He thinks he has her. Thinks she’ll keep the promise she made in the heat of passion. But he’s wrong. Hermione has no intentions of keeping her promise. That’s why I tied her up. An argument is sure to follow, and she has the nasty habit of leaving when she doesn’t get her way. She thinks he doesn’t love her, thinks he wants to marry her for practical purposes, to protect her and the baby. I don’t know which lover to chastise first, Hermione for being blind, or Severus for being so stubborn. Why can’t they just admit their feelings for one another and be done with it?

--

I’ve always admired Remus’ control. The sight of him slowly thrusting in and out of Hermione is stunning. It was his idea to tie Hermione to the bed. It’s been years since I’ve had her tied to mine, and I must admit that the sight of it is something I wouldn’t mind experiencing for myself on a more permanent basis. Of course, I’ve always known that I would marry the young Gryffindor. It was only a matter of time before I could manipulate such circumstances to bring forth such a union.

The arrangements have been made. By the end of this day, she shall be my wife. I watch as splendor rides her beauty. She bows her back, captured by bliss as her orgasm washes reason away. Remus holds onto her hips, pulling back so that I see the spurt of her juices that escape their union. Seeing to his wife’s release, he clutches her hips and brutalizes her clutching folds, hammering his way to oblivion. His release is swift and long as shudders wrack the corded muscles of his back and buttocks. He collapses next to Hermione, resting his head on her chest.

“How did it go?” he asks breathlessly as Hermione twists her wrists in the restraints.

“Everything is arranged,” I reply, watching Hermione struggle. It would be a comical sight if it weren’t for the glistening cream between her thighs.

“What’s arranged?” she asks, kicking one of her legs in an effort to push herself into a sitting position.

I cannot help the grin as it spreads across my lips. Remus, as usual, is correct. It would seem that my intended has forgotten her promise. Moving toward the foot of the bed, I sit down, capture her ankle, and place a gentle kiss upon the ball of her foot. Passion has never been our difficulty, as evidenced by the unabashed lust that sparkles in her gaze. “Our wedding,” I announce, opening my lips to suckle her painted toes.

Jerking her foot from my grasp, she frowns. “I already have a husband.”

“You can have more than one,” Remus intercedes on my behalf. “Besides, the Ministry doesn’t recognize our union, luv.”

“I recognize it!” she grinds between clenched teeth, renewing her struggles to free herself. I should be hurt that she resists the idea so vehemently, but I know the reasons for her reluctance. The years are long between us, and I’ve never explained my feelings to her.

I can’t. I have difficulty recognizing them for what they are. I spent decades hiding in the folds of secrecy, shielding my every thought from the Dark Lord and his minions. I never realized that I hid them so well. She thinks I do not love her. There are times I question my own motivations, but I find it fruitless to lie to myself any longer.

I do love her.

But just because I love her, doesn’t necessarily mean I know how to tell her. I love Remus, as well. He reminds me of that fact daily. I am not a demonstrative person. I do not wear my heart on my sleeve. I was taught long ago that love is messy and oftentimes fruitless.

“You promised,” I remind her, grasping her ankle in a tight grip in the event that her temper gets the better of her, and she attempts to kick me. I suck the big toe into my mouth again, instantaneously rewarded with her lusty gasp.

“This is ridiculous!” she pants helplessly, trying to kick me with her other foot. “Untie me this instant. I refuse to have this argument while I’m shackled to the bed!”

Remus’ eyes are filled with mirth. He’s reclining on his elbow on Hermione’s right side, licking and nipping the underside of her forearm. “She does have a point, Severus.”

She could easily Apparate her way out of her current predicament. We know Hermione’s desire for dominance. There is no way she will deny herself the opportunity for sexual play. Even though she has conceived my child, the lingering effects of the Conception Potion hold sway over her reason. Grabbing hold of my wand, I silently invoke a Binding Charm to tie the offending appendage down. Hermione yelps, the rise and fall of her breasts betraying her renewed excitement.

Holding her liberated ankle in one hand, I spread her legs to take in the beauty of her glistening lips. Pearly drops of cream linger there, tempting me. “The Ministry official will arrive at six.” I reach out to touch her, using my fingers to open the bare petals of quivering feminine flesh. Remus continues his assault on her forearm, licking and nipping the erogenous zone. “That ceremony should take about fifteen minutes.”

Hermione’s hips thrust upwards, sucking my fingers deeper, but I keep my touch light and teasing. “Please,” she whimpers breathlessly.

Tracing the creamy mixture along her outer labia, I brush my fingers against her distended clit. “Afterwards, we shall go to the Circle of Stones and have the marriage blessed.

She tosses her head from side to side. “No, no, no,” she groans. “I won’t do that to Remus.”

Hearing his name, Remus shifts restlessly. “He said ‘we’, luv.”

I push a finger into her quivering channel, earning a frustrated groan. “Molly Weasley has agreed to officiate the Triune Ceremony.”

“You’re barmy!” she squeaks breathlessly. “We can’t bind our souls together! You don’t even love us!”

Stooping down, I place a kiss upon her stomach. “How can you be… so sure?”

“You… You’re an… arrogant arse!” she stammers, starting my long list of faults, yet thrusting against my fingers and lips.

Grinning, I rub the tips of my two fingers deep inside her. “Yes. I am,” I murmur against the flesh of her bare mound.

Remus emits a snort of laughter, unable to contain it.

“You’re a b-bully,” she moans as I kiss her clit.

“Guilty,” I agree, licking the swollen bud and tasting her unabashed response. Her words would hold more conviction if her hips didn’t sway in ecstasy.

“A-and I-I d-don’t think I l-like you very m-MUCH!” she wails, her quim clenching around my digits. I am hungry for her, lapping madly at the gift she has given me. The sight of her orgasm is beauty personified. Every muscle strives toward ecstasy, twitching as though she were having some kind of fit. She is irresistible. Her body calls me, weeping its need. I withdraw, hastily removing my clothing.

Grasping her one free leg, I place it over my shoulder and line my tormented flesh with her saturated folds, pushing forward gently.

--

I don’t know how much more I can take. The feel of his thickness pushing into me threatens the last vestiges of my sanity. He moves slowly, the expression on his face twisted in patient bliss.

“You love me,” he growls, forcing his way past my clenching tissue. “Why can’t that be enough?”

I bite my bottom lip and refuse to answer the question. Severus is balls deep and still, savoring the aftershocks of my release. He tweaks my sensitive nipples, pinching and twisting them to agonizing points of pleasure. “Or am I to be forever excluded, used as breeding stock only? What of other children?” His black eyes are lit with something I’ve never seen before, his words tinted with regret.

“I refuse to fit into a part of your carefully ordered life. You came to me first. You trusted me first. I gave you the edge of pain you needed to stay alive during your darkest hours.” He rubs his jaw along my instep, the erotic twinge rolling through me. “You loved me then,” he rasps, holding himself still within me.

“Please,” I beg, bucking beneath him as much as my restraints will allow me.

“Tell her, Severus,” Remus hisses next to us, working my binds loose. “Stop rehashing the past. Tell her how you feel.”

Severus flexes inside me, the intimate connection difficult to comprehend. His eyes close, only to open quickly. I see the torment of his past in his gaze. The fear. The open wounds that will likely never heal. The lost look in his eyes.

“I…can’t,” he whispers brokenly.

Remus releases the last of the bindings, freeing me to shift beneath Severus. Wrapping my arms around him, I rock him gently in the cradle of my body, feeling the connection between us.

We’ve all lost someone. Mourned the passing of our youths. I lost Harry and other friends. Remus lost Tonks, Sirius, James, Lily and Harry. And Severus…

He lost himself.

His eyes aren’t just black in color. They are almost soulless. His eyes gaze into mine, touching my soul, trying to leech the warmth from mine in hopeful acceptance.

“Hermione…” The way he groans my name is a whispered plea.

Remus sidles up to me and kisses my cheek. “He loves you, Hermione. Why do you think he agreed to this?” Remus presses his palm against my flat stomach.

Severus flexes, holding his weight above me. Lowering his head, he places a chaste kiss upon my lips. The caress so soft, I barely feel it. His eyes are open, the dark gaze so close to mine, I see the sable flecks of moisture pooling in their depths.

Remus has spent the last few years defending Severus, his words never softening my heart. So much has passed between us. Severus was there in my darkest hour, offering me the outlet I craved.

I realize a bitter truth, one that humbles me.

I’ve held Severus at bay all these years for all the wrong reasons. I have let my stubbornness over his actions…actions designed to keep me from harming myself…push him away. I have always held him at arm’s length, never accepting him for who he is.

Our relationship has always bordered on contentious. I have used him horribly, fooling myself into thinking that I allow his touch to appease Remus’ needs. Now, here he is, asking me to forgive him when it should be me begging for him for forgive him.

Wrapping my arms and legs around him, I kiss his shaven cheek. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. The words are inadequate. “Make love to me, Severus. I love you.”

Emitting a strangled groan, Severus thrusts into me once and shudders above me. The union is deep, the splash of his seed in my clenching channel sending me over the edge. He falls on top of me, his weight of little consequences.

Remus pulls his hand from between us and smiles. “It’s about time you two work things out,” he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss upon both our cheeks.

--

Author’s Note: The Epilogue is up next. I was going to tack it to the end of this chapter, but it ran long. Thanks to all who have reviewed. Reviews are greatly appreciated.