A Song for Severus ~ (Not Update, but Edit)

Chapter 26 ~ The Morning After

Eloise woke up the next morning sore, achy and not knowing where she was. Disoriented, she tried to move but found she couldn’t. It was because Fenrir had one huge arm draped across her body. They were lying together in his filthy next. Eloise was fully dressed but felt violated. She tried to lift his arm and slip out from under Fenrir’s huge limb. How had she gotten back here? The last thing she remembered was being in horrible pain and Fenrir…Fenrir…

Suddenly she pushed at the wizard’s arm hard, and Fenrir woke, pulling her tight against his body and sniffing her hair, growling low in his throat as she turned toward him. The werewolf had several deep scratches on his face.

“What am I doing here? Let me go!” she screamed at him, trying to get her arms free. Gods, she stuck of animal…her clothing was reeking.

”Ah, more foreplay?” Fenrir grinned at her with his pointed teeth, his yellow eyes narrowing slightly, “You were quite wild last night, Eloise. And quite satisfying. I have never enjoyed subduing a bitch so much.”

Last night? Did he rape her last night? No wonder she felt as she did…but she had no recollection of it.

“You monster!” Eloise screeched at him, getting one hand free and trying to slap his face, “You raped me without my knowledge!”

Fenrir winced as she scratched her nails over the scratches already embedded in his face. He caught her hand and rolled over so Eloise was pinned by his body. His hot, meaty breath poured over her as he spoke and she wished she could stop breathing.

“I did not rape you, muggle. I mated with you…there is a difference,” he said to her.

“Not to me. I didn’t give you permission,” she snarled at him, “I’m going to kill you for what you did!”

”You submitted to me. Accepted my strength. Just as all bitches do when they accept a male,” he rasped at her.

“Stop calling me bitch!” Eloise yelled at him, starting to struggle again but to no avail.

“All female werewolves are bitches,” he replied, “and you are the bitchiest bitch I have ever run across. If we had a pack, you would be the Alpha female, paws down.”

There was a bit of admiration in Fenrir’s voice. Eloise didn’t give a flying fuck. But she remembered running, becoming wracked with horrible spasms and his transformation, if she wasn’t hallucinating from the pain she was in. After he turned into a werewolf everything fuzzed out. Eloise had no recollection at all about what else occurred.

“You don’t remember last night. You will not begin to remember your transformations until you have embraced them, accepted your lot. There is a fool named Remus Lupin who has been a werewolf for many years, but he is weak and sickly because he will not hunt either animals or humans, and fights his transformations every month, so has no memory of what he does when transformed. If the idiot would accept his gift, he would be better off. His human side and werewolf side would blend, not reject each other as they do now,” Fenrir said, shaking his matted head. “It is important that you accept what you have become, Eloise.”

“I will never accept it! Never!” she hissed at him.

“Then…you will die. You have no magical elixirs in the muggle world as Lupin does. Your body will war against itself. You will become ill. There is a muggle disease named after the symptoms you will suffer. It is called Lupus, though it is not a werewolf malady. Very painful,” he said, “You will suffer as if your body is constantly on fire.”

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Eloise said despairingly, slumping now.

How could she live as a wereworlf?

Fenrir traced the scars on his face with one large, dirty hand.

“If it is any consolation, you were able to do this to me in your werewolf form your first night. Your first night. The scars won’t heal for some time. You have no idea what it means to be able to do this to me, Eloise. I believe you are so strong because there is deep hatred in you that you hide, but in your bitch form, you are free to let it out,” the werewolf said.

Hatred? She certainly felt hatred…but it wasn’t deep inside her…it was close to the surface and bubbling over.

“Let me up,” she yelled at Fenrir, who suddenly rolled over and did as she asked.

Eloise sprang to her feet and looked down at Fenrir, who stared up at her.

”I suppose you mean to keep me here now,” she said to him hatefully, “Now that you have turned me into this…this thing.”

Fenrir shook his shaggy head.

”No, I do not. I have matters to attend to,” he replied, “I took you only because of your first transformation and to mate with you. You will not transform again until the next full moon. I can’t dogsit you until then, bitch,” he said to her.

Eloise stared at him.

“So what does that mean exactly?” she asked him, still rankled at being called bitch.

Fenrir slowly rose to his feet, towering over the woman. She was getting used to his scent now and Eloise’s nose only partially crinkled. Hell, she smelled as wild as he did.

“That means I will be returning you to muggle London,” the werewolf said, “Where you will remain until your next transformation. I will retrieve you again…if I am able.”

Eloise looked at him. Fenrir had to come back for her? Well, she wouldn’t be so easy to take this time. There had to be ways to kill a werewolf. She would find out what they were and be ready for him. She decided to play nice…for now. Revenge could come later.

“If I do not come…I suggest you remove yourself far away from human population, unless you feel yourself ready to feast on a few neighbors and friends,” Fenrir said, “Because you will, I assure you. Werewolves hunger for human flesh. And if you do not kill them, your bite will pass the gift on.”

“This is no fucking gift,” Eloise said, already forgetting to play nice. “Now, I want to go home.”

”And figure out how to kill you for this,” she thought.

“Fine,” Fenrir said, striding past her and out of the cave. He waited for Eloise to follow then with one bound, leapt to the top of the boulder, Eloise staring at him with her mouth open.

“You can do this too,” he growled down at her, “Just focus and jump.”

Eloise looked at him as if he were insane. That was more than a fifteen-foot leap. There was no way she could do that.

“I can’t do that,” she yelled up at him.

“Climb then,” Fenrir snarled, displeased. He disappeared down the other side of the rocks.

Eloise blinked up at the boulders then tried to climb up. She found she couldn’t get a grip. Last night, she had the added impetus of escaping Fenrir to help her, but today she was on her own. She tried several more times.

“Hurry up!” Fenrir called to her impatiently. He needed to see Rosier today. The bitch was holding him up.

“I can’t climb up!” Eloise said.

Fenrir grinned wickedly. There was more than one way to teach a bitch new tricks.

“Well, then I guess you’ll just stay there until the next full moon,” he called back, trotting away slowly, laughing so she could hear his voice fading.

“You come back here!” Eloise screamed furiously, “Come get me! You brought me here!”

”Goodbye, Eloise!” Fenrir rasped a distance away now. He had every intention of leaving her trapped there for a couple of days. She’d be more appreciative when he showed back up.

“I’m going to skin him after I kill him,” Eloise seethed, her hands on her hips as she looked up toward the top of the rocks. Suddenly she backed up and jumped, swinging her hands forward.

Eloise really didn’t believe she’d reach the top, but she did. She stood on top of the rock in amazement for about five seconds, then her eyes narrowed as she saw Fenrir in the distance. The bastard really had left her. Well, she had to catch him. He was her only way back to London.

Eloise took a deep breath and jumped down, expecting to hurt her legs from the impact, but landed in a neat little crouch. She couldn’t help but be impressed. She looked after Fenrir and let out a little angry snarl that startled her. Dear gods…she was snarling like an animal.

She took off after Fenrir, covering the ground quickly, catching up to the werewolf in less than a minute when he appeared to be more than a quarter of a mile away. She tackled him around the legs, both of them going down, Fenrir falling straight forward as Eloise swung at him with very powerful blows, beating him around the back of the head.

With a roar he rolled over and slung Eloise away roughly, the muggle tumbling head over heels in the grass several times.

“Enough of this!” he snarled at her, “I appreciate your fire more when I wish to mate. Desist muggle, or you will have a few marks of your own. I won’t tell you again!”

Fenrir’s teeth were bared, and his forehead horribly wrinkled, giving him an inhuman appearance again. Eloise rose to her feet and brushed herself off. Fenrir looked like he meant business and Eloise looked properly cowed. Slowly the wizard lowered his lip, the wrinkles disappearing from his brow.

“Come. We must go,” he said, pulling out his wand and casting a silencing spell around himself.

Eloise hesitated and Fenrir snarled something, his yellow eyes glinting dangerously, but she couldn’t hear him. Yet, by the way he looked she knew he wanted her now. Eloise walked up to the werewolf, who wrapped his arms around her and disapparated.

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A jewel loupe to her eye and her hair tied back in a ponytail, Hermione carefully dissected her fifth dead pixie of the day. She had taken to stunning the lot of them, then taking two or three out, placing them in a covered cage, then catching one by the wings and forcing a dropper of carefully measured elixir into its mouth. Male pixies were about six inches tall, and the females about five inches. Physically, they were put together much like humans, except they had wings and their bones were hollow, like birds.

So far, not one pixie had survived the transformation, the creatures’ little bodies contorting horrible, skin bubbling, tiny screeches filling the lab as they died horribly, bent and stiff, their skin hardened and purpled. Closer examination showed their organs had practically cooked, and Hermione kept adjusting the amount of elixir she gave each pixie, hoping to find the proper dosage to turn it into a tiny reproduction of Voldemort.

Hermione had been at it for a week now and hadn’t spent any private time with Severus at all. The Potions Master took it stoically. Hermione had quite a bad temper when she was working and hated to be interrupted or disturbed no matter the reason. When he walked into the lab, Hermione sighed exaggeratedly.

“Good afternoon to you too,” the Potions Master quipped, collecting two bottles of elixir.

Hermione scowled.

“What are you doing? I need those,” Hermione seethed at him.

Severus arched an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid you don’t need them as much as I do, witch. I go to see Bellatrix tomorrow and it would be a dire meeting indeed if I didn’t have the elixir with me,” he said silkily. “I am placing these in my private quarters so I won’t have to disturb you tomorrow before I leave,” he said, putting the two bottles in his right robes pocket and walking toward the lab door.

Hermione stared after him. Severus was going to see Bellatrix tomorrow. She swallowed.

“Um Severus?” she called to him.

The wizard stopped by the door and turned back to face her.

“Yes, Hermione?” he purred at her, an eyebrow arched. He knew what was coming.

“Would you mind terribly if I stopped by your rooms tonight?” she asked him.

Severus leveled his dark eyes on him.

“Are you coming to browbeat and abuse me as you have been doing for the past week?” he asked her, his lips quirking slightly.

“You might be a little abused,” she replied, “but it won’t be because I am angry.”

“Really? Well, in that case witch…you may stop in for a minute or two before I retire,” he replied, “I’m usually in bed by nine-thirty and do not wish to break my newfound pattern.”

Severus was letting her know that he had taken to going to bed early because he was alone. Hermione didn’t miss the implications of this.

”I won’t break your ‘pattern,’” Hermione said to him, her brows furrowing slightly.

“See that you don’t,” Severus responded snarkily, opening the lab door and billowing through.

The Potions Master wasn’t trying to make this easy. Hermione had neglected him for close to two weeks, and now she felt guilty and uneasy because he was leaving on a dangerous mission tomorrow. If not for that, the witch would retire to her rooms as she had been doing. This was going to be a ‘guilt’ fuck.

Severus smirked as he walked up the stairs that led to the niche and dungeon corridor. As far as he was concerned, any opportunity was an opportunity. He intended to work Hermione like a difficult job. Who knew the next time he would get any? And if something went wrong with his meeting with Bella, it might be the last bit of trim he got in his life.

With that possibility in mind, Severus let himself into his office, walked through his classroom and to his potions stores. He unwarded it and entered, finding what he was looking for on the bottom shelf. He held up the small, blue bottle, reading the label.

Stamina potion.

He placed it in his left robes pocket

The Potions Master was quite virile, and had no problem lasting sexually…but he wanted to make sure he was in top form. If this was indeed to be the last time he was with Hermione, he wanted to leave her with good memories of their last night together.

Severus wanted to be sure she would never, ever forget him.

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A/N: A bit tired. Thanks for reading. ***