The Walking Wounded

Title: The Walking Wounded
Author: Looneyluna
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The war is over. Everyone has suffered losses. Severus and Remus help Hermione deal with hers.

Chapter One –

I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help myself. I should feel guilty, but why deny myself the pleasure. Remus is only one of my many lovers, one who knows nothing about the others. I always go to him near the full moon. The beast that resides within him makes him uninhibited.

Making love to a werewolf, though technically not transformed, is exhilarating. It breaks through the doldrums of my life and probably gives Remus some solace over the loss of Tonks. He uses me like I use him. We are vessels for one another, vessels to forget.

He takes me to heights I only read about before. He uses my body in ways I would never consider possible. I have given him liberties I never thought imaginable. He forces me to taste him. He buggers me in the arse. He fucks me until I am raw and makes me give more than I ever think possible.

We say very little as we fuck. What’s the point? There is nothing to say. When he tries to be gentle, I drop him flat. If I want gentle, I’ll go to Ron. If I want something else, I’ll go to Snape.

Remus opens the door and takes in my appearance. I am dressed in my standard wizarding robe and little else. I made it a point to masturbate before I arrived. Once he picks up my scent, he will be insatiable.

His nostrils flare, and his gray eyes narrow appreciatively. The feral gleam in his eyes harkens to my wanton nature, and I drop my robe to the floor as he closes the door behind me.

Turning around, he circles me and licks his lips in anticipation as I stand there in my knickers and fuck-me heels.

“Nice,” he murmurs softly, scooping me into his arms and depositing me onto his rickety bed.

With little attempt at civility, Remus pulls me to the edge of the bed by my ankles and kneels before me. He rips the garter and knickers off, burying his face between my legs, his tongue lapping greedily at my moist core. His fingers pry me open as his wet muscle dances across my clitoris.

He growls as though he is hungry and sucks the juices from my quim. His tongue is everywhere – clitoris, slit, vagina, perineum, and arse. No one else has his stamina, especially around this time of the month. Already coated with my self-induced release, his saliva adds to the sopping wet sensation and soaks the bedding beneath me. Sex is not meant to be tidy and orderly. It’s meant to be like this.

He scissors his fingers within me as he laps at my bare folds. I feel the spiral of completion tighten.

“Come for me, Hermione,” he hums between licks as the tips of his fingers move deep inside me.

He rarely speaks. He’s even moodier than Snape. His words are my undoing and the spiral breaks loose. My muscles clamp around his fingers, and he flicks his tongue over my clit in a maddening rhythm.

Pulling away from me and flipping me over, he pushes me onto my hands and knees and I feel him move behind me. The blunt tip of his cock against my bare slit makes me still. It is at this time I know he struggles to control himself.

My moist flesh yields to his silken rod as he thrusts into me. Wrapping his arms around me, he plasters his hairy chest to my back and gently sinks his teeth into my shoulder. Even though I offer no resistance to him, the werewolf has to have complete submission. It’s painful as he clamps down, and I wiggle beneath him to increase the pressure. I’ll give anything to feel again.

The tempo is furious as he pounds into me. One hand roughly fondles my right breast and the other rubs my clit. He chuffs with each push and whimpers with each pull. He is relentless.

“Harder,” I groan, egging Moony on. “Bite me harder!”

The pressure on my shoulder enhances my pleasure, the bite of his incisors into my skin thrilling me beyond wildest imaginings. Remus is out of control. My shoulder stings and I focus on the pain. This is the first time he’s actually broken the skin. Isn’t this how I wanted him?

He growls a warning and releases me. Remus flips me onto my back and enters me swiftly. I see the guilty concern in his eyes. He tries to place a gentle kiss of apology on my lips, but I turn my head. I don’t want him to be gentle.

He huffs, taking hold of my ankles and deepening the union. I bite my lip as he bottoms out. With every stroke he promises me nirvana – a nirvana that offers little hope. I fall to pieces as he pistons into me.

“Hermione,” he cries out, shuddering above me. I feel the warmth of his seed spurt inside me. He manages to gather enough strength to roll to the side of me.

Remus pants next to me. Like his body, his breathing is ragged and worn. He touches my bloody shoulder. “Let me get something for the bruising.”

I shrug his concern and his hand away, rolling off the bed and standing up. I grab my clothes and start to get dressed. “I don’t want to take anything. I don’t care if it bruises.”

He is unperturbed by my attitude and follows me, intent on healing the wound he inflicted. “Well I do. You shouldn’t have tempted me like that, Hermione. You know how dangerous I am.”

“I don’t care,” I reply sullenly, slipping into the grayness that has consumed me ever since the end of the war… and Harry’s death.

“Well, I do,” Remus retorts hotly and grabs my wrist. He tries to hand me a potion, but I slap it away and it falls to the floor. “And so does Severus!”

I gasp, realizing that my secret is out. I should feel ashamed, but I don’t. That’s the problem with me. I don’t feel anything at all.

--

“She’s headed your way, Severus,” I warn her other lover, shortly after Hermione leaves me. “She knows that I know. Try to be gentle.”

The only answer I receive is a derisive snort as the other man snaps his book shut and stands in his musky old library. Knowing I shall receive nothing else, I withdraw my head from the Floo and ready myself for bed.

I damn myself for my own weakness. Why do I allow this affair to carry on? Because Miss Granger is a willing body, my conscience, whom sounds suspiciously like Severus, answers.

Surly bastard that Severus Snape is, I trust his advice and judgment. He warned about this. He warned me about allowing this thing between us to continue. It’s true that he and I didn’t always get along, but as relics to a long forgotten era, we wound up together anyway. Sirius would roll over in his grave if he knew. Not only am I shagging an ex-student, I’m shagging a man who had been my bitter enemy at one point. Actually, the more I think about it, Sirius would probably roll over in his grave and demand to be included if he knew.

Severus and Hermione are my lovers – not at the same time, of course. But my fantasies are rife with scenarios between the three of us – scenarios that will likely never be. No one knows about Severus and me. We became lovers after Sirius’ death. At best, it is a set of contentious rows, followed by serious snogging and incredible sex.

I may be mild-mannered, but I am a werewolf. The continual cycle of my condition keeps me in a perpetual state of arousal – one neither of my lovers seems to care about. I’ll never forget the look on Severus’ face when I told him about Hermione.

He masked his shock quickly and demanded to know for how long the “little trollop” had been cuckolding us. That was when he admitted to his weakness for the brashness of the young Gryffindor.

At first, I was surprised that I hadn’t scented my lovers on one another. But, then of course, both of them are fastidious creatures.

Severus recognizes Hermione’s attentions for what they are – an attempt to feel. He says her apathy is a direct result of posttraumatic stress disorder. Technically, we all suffer from it in one way or the other. Severus has flashbacks of his time in Azkaban and I have nightmares of things I still don’t speak about.

The war left its imprint on us all, but it left a special kind of mark on Hermione.

Harry had killed Voldemort, unknowing that one Horcrux still remained – his scar. Before Voldemort had consumed him, Harry had cast the Imperius on the nearest person available to him -- Hermione.

The Imperius only works on the weak-willed, and I can only imagine what kind of power Hermione had been subjected in order for her to be able to cast the Killing Curse.

I wasn’t there. I didn’t actually see it, but I have read the Ministry report. I have read the eyewitness’ accounts.

Hermione had been inconsolable when she had woken up, sinking into the depths of a depression that no one thought she would ever come out of. I was too busy morning the death of Nymphadora, Harry, and other Order members to be of any use of her. It was only later that we took solace in one another.

After the final battle and a recommendation from Albus’ portrait, Severus had been released from Azkaban. All charges against him were dropped.

We are the walking wounded… the survivors of Voldemort’s reign of terror.

I shake my head and run my tongue over my teeth. The taste of blood is unmistakable. “Oh Merlin! What have I done?”
--

As I pull a memory from my Pensieve, I ready myself to receive Miss Granger. If anyone would have told me ten years ago that I would be shagging an ex-student, I would have laughed, and then hexed them.

The mind still boggles me. I do not understand why she seeks comfort from me. I don’t give her any. Instead, I only give her the pleasure of pain. Perhaps I was wrong to introduce her to such a pervasive concept.

It didn’t bother me as much when I thought it was just she and I shagging like errant teenagers with hormonal urges that were out of control. It didn’t bother me that she liked the fine line between pleasure and pain. In a way, I enjoyed being the man to dole out her “punishments” and helping her “feel” again. Then I realized Lupin was involved with her and everything changed.

Whereas I am a sick bastard with sexual tastes bordering on depraved, my werewolf lover is a gentleman. He knows what I do with Miss Granger. He knows what a demanding prat I can be. I give her what she wants.

There is a knock at my door.

“Enter!” I call out after letting her wait for a moment.

Hermione Granger walks into my home, looking as though she had just been thoroughly shagged. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is beyond wild. She stares at me with wide eyes. She isn’t stupid and she certainly knows that I know about her and Lupin.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she questions breathlessly. “How long have you known?”

I sneer. “Because, my dear,” I reply, moving about the room and preparing it for our mutual pleasure. “You derived pleasure from thinking that you held the hearts of two men in your palm. No matter what, humankind was intended to be monogamous. In the end, we are merely animals, striving to survive and seeking power among others. Lupin and I have been aware of your ‘double-dipping’ for some time now. Imagine my surprise when I realized how ‘special’ I truly was.” My voice drips with sarcasm, but I am not bitter.

She makes no apology, standing there with her fists clenched in silent rage.

I am pleased with myself. She is angry. At least she is feeling something. Her lips are swollen, undoubtedly as a result from her earlier tryst with Lupin. Her hair is mussed and I can smell him all over her.

Walking behind her, I take her cloak from her shoulders and move her hair to the side, exposing the telltale bite mark of a lycan lover on the skin between her shoulder and neck. The mark is already scabbed over, though it looks angry and red. Shaking my head, I place a kiss along the nape of her neck and follow it with a sharp nip of my own. “Get undressed. I’ll bring you to the heights Lupin failed to.”

She shivers and starts to remove her clothing. There is no hesitation on her part. She is driven by the need to feel. I see her lack of attire, high heels shoes, and scandalous garter and knickers. No wonder Lupin was unable to resist her. She is a vision.

I scowl, noticing the loss of weight. I wish I could Obliviate her, make her forget the part she played in Potter’s death, but the wizarding community is all too aware of the price that was paid to rid ourselves of Voldemort once and for all. Even Obliviated, she would realize what had happened. In the long run, it would be more detrimental to her health.

By far, this is the healthiest “relationship” I have ever been in. For her, I am merely a means to an end. I give her what she wants… what she needs until she finds her own way out of the darkness.

She stands before me, clad in white lace. I can see the bruised outline of Lupin’s mouth marring the perfection of skin along her shoulder.

“Well?” She taps her foot impatiently.

“You know the drill,” I reply softly. “Go into the bedroom and get ready.”

--

TBC