Title: Lava Girl and the Ink Drop
Author: snegurochka_lee
Characters: Bill/Lavender. Past Remus/Bill. Quite a bit of Fleur. Several werewolf OCs.
Rating: NC-17
Content/Theme: Violent sex, flagellation
Summary: The Ink Drop was the best-kept secret in the nightclubs of Wizarding London. Werewolves, or those close enough, could work out their sexual appetites on willing submissives looking for a rough ride, and nobody had to get hurt. The system generally worked best when the werewolves stayed clear of each other, but someone forgot to tell the new girl about that.
Previous parts: Full header and Part 1



Part 2

* * *

Monday, 3:23 p.m.
Lava Girl approaches Shell Cottage in the best robe she could find – after rummaging through the bins outside Madam Malkin's. She is unaccountably nervous and angry with herself for it. What does she expect to happen, after all? Bill Weasley is married, she reminds herself, not to mention the brother of one of the worst relationships of her life, if it can even be called that. Her body has calmed since the night before, and she no longer feels the blinding urge to rip her clothes off and climb into his lap, so that's a bloody relief, but she also just wants him to like her enough to actually talk to her. No one has really talked to her in four months.

She raises her fist to knock at the door and decides that maybe, just for today, she should put Lava Girl aside. She can bring her out again later, when the sun goes down, but for this afternoon, for tea with Bill Weasley, maybe she should just be Lavender.

If only it were that easy.

* * *

"So, you can start by telling me if you're all right," said Bill, his voice gruff as he sat her down at his kitchen table and poured her tea. He eyed the girl as he set the pot down. Her hair was matted and she clearly hadn't showered after their night at the Ink Drop, and her robe was much too nice to match the rest of her, although it was too short in the sleeves and a style that went back several years.

She shrugged, but more in resignation than in arrogance. "Yeah, I guess so. Nothing much for it, is there?" The corners of her mouth turned down, and for a second, Bill thought she was going to start to cry. Jesus fucking Christ, that was all he needed. But a moment later, she had steeled herself and looked up. "I mean, were you all right afterwards?"

Bill didn't hesitate. "Nope. Not for a long time. But I had Fleur and my family, and a job to be getting on with. Not much time for self-pity."

"Well, me neither. No time for that." She swallowed, squaring her shoulders.

He regarded her, resisting the urge to push the lanky hair out of her face. "Okay, well, the next question would be: why aren't you back at school?"

She blinked, considering. "Well, I suppose the Carrows taught me everything I need to know last year." Her face twisted into a grin, and for a brief moment, the shy girl with the trembling lower lip faded away, and the sly confidence of the wolf pushed forward. "It's obviously much too traumatic for me to go back there, isn't it?" She leaned back in her chair.

Bill watched her over the rim of his cup. "I can't imagine you learned a bloody thing in that clusterfuck last year. Everyone else in Ron's year went back." He set his cup down.

"Good for them," she muttered, lowering her eyes to the table, and Bill sighed.

"Well, look. What do your parents say? Maybe I could talk to them, or go see McGonagall for you? It's only October; I'm sure we could still get you enrolled, if you–"

"No."

He stopped at her vehemence, his lips still formed over his next words. Rubbing his forehead and searching for a way to get through to her, he gazed over at her. "Lavender," he began quietly, "I know it's hard. Look at me." He sought her eyes until she finally raised them, sweeping them over his scars and then down his chest. He shivered a bit at the intensity behind her gaze but pushed the feeling away. "I know what it's like to walk around like this." He waved a hand in front of his face. "I know what it's like when people stare. But you can't hide forever. There's enough of us now; people know who we are. Greyback and his wolves were on such a rampage during the war that just about every family knows a bloke who got bit." He caught himself. "Or a girl, I guess. Point is, no one can give you shit unless you let them."

Her eyes softened and she tilted her head to the side, as if longing to believe his words. "Wolves out in the open," she murmured. "Proud. Tattooed for everyone to see. I heard about your kind, back in the– Well. Before." She reached across the table with trembling fingers and pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt up, touching the dark icon over his upper bicep. She paused for a long moment, breathing softly through parted lips as her eyes remained fixed on Bill's ink, her chest rising and falling more and more rapidly. "I want one," she said at last.

"You– well, okay, we can talk about that." He pulled his arm back from her touch, sealing his lips together to fight the jolt that had spread down his arm and through his chest at the sweep of her fingers. "We should probably talk to your parents, though, and it'll take some doing to smooth it out with Bowden at the club. It's his decision, whether you get one or not, and you didn't make a very good impression on him last night."

As he spoke, he could see her face harden like a block of granite, her entire demeanour shifting from quiet and vulnerable back to the arch-backed ball of nastiness she'd been the night before. "First of all, don't fucking mention my parents again, got it?" Her hands clenched into fists over the table. "Second of all, that was the alpha I fucked last night? Well, well, well." An icy grin spread over her face as she sat back in her chair. "Guess I know how to pick 'em, don't I?"

"He wasn't too happy with you. Not sure I'll be able to get him to–"

"Oh, he'll be easy." She threw her hair over her shoulder. "He just wants to fuck me, doesn't he? On his terms, that is." She shrugged. "I can do that." The air crackled as she talked, and Bill began to feel something he hadn't felt in a long time: the heat of two wolves rising through the room, haunches up as they began to circle each other, even while sitting in a kitchen having tea. His spine curled and his fingers began to itch.

"Maybe it's not up to you," he found himself saying, his usual logic and reason flying out the window. "Maybe you're new to this pack, and you should watch your fucking step."

She slowly licked her lips, her gaze locked on him in challenge.

"I'll decide if you get to talk to Bowden again. I'll decide if you can get inked, get to come back to the club as a member."

"Will you, now," she drawled, and he pushed down the impulse to punch the grin off her face. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a second, he fought to get his own mind back.

"Where are you living?" he asked, attempting to redirect the conversation to something less volatile.

She shrugged, glancing around the kitchen. "Thought I could stay here for a bit," she answered, her chin still raised in challenge. "I hear you and your wife wouldn't mind the company."

His mouth opened. "You what?"

"I'm awfully good at fucking," she added, the wolf still clearly dominating the girl underneath. "You saw that last night. I'd earn my room and board. Bet your wife wouldn't even notice – well, unless I fucked her, too."

He leaned forward, stunned. "I advise you never to mention my wife again."

Her eyes narrowed. "Or what?" she dared him.

After a long, pained intake of breath, Bill struggled to let all the anger evaporate from his pores with the exhale, just as Remus had taught him. He inhaled again, breathing slowly and methodically, visualising the air cleansing his body of the knots of rage this girl was causing. When he felt stable again, he glanced up to find her watching him with an amused expression, her arms folded over her chest. "Do you need money?" he asked slowly, trying to regain his role as mentor to her. She was Ron's age, for Christ's sake, still a kid. He could deal with her the same way he dealt with Ron or Ginny when they were in a strop.

She tensed, taking an angry sip of tea. "I said I'm all right," she muttered. "Is this why I'm here? Look, I can take care of myself. You fucking saw that last night." She held his eyes, her own flashing in challenge. "You saw me pin an adult male werewolf to the floor and fuck his brains out, and now you want to send me back to the fucking Charms classroom? Dates to Hogsmeade with pretty little boys who want to hold my hand?" Her voice rose as she talked, and she ended with a sneer, her lips tight. "Thanks a lot. And here I thought you might actually be able to help me." She shook her head and set her cup down, rising from her chair. "See you around, Weasley."

"Sit down," muttered Bill, irritated and fascinated by this creature. "I do want to help." He drummed his fingers on the table and stared over at the kitchen counter, avoiding her eyes. "Tell me what you need."

"What I need?" She stormed around the table and grabbed his chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing his gaze. "I need wolves," she said slowly, and the electricity of her simple touch sparked through his body again. "They've kept me away from them for months now, trying to fix me, but I got out, and I'm not going back. I don't need fixing." Her hand moved up the side of his face and into his hair, curling into a fist and yanking. "Wolves," she murmured in his ear. "I need to know where they are, and what they do, and most of all..." She scratched the nails of her free hand lightly down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. "...I need to fuck them blind."

Bill held himself perfectly still, his heart pounding and his dick swelling with each word out of her mouth. This was not what he'd had in mind when he'd volunteered to talk to the girl. All his attempts to control his temper were quickly sliding away. "Rule number one," he said to her, his voice low. "Wolves shouldn't fuck each other, little girl. You saw that last night. Go down to the shop on the corner and find some blushing virgin to take you home. Ride him till his dick falls off; he won't know what hit him."

Growing bolder, she pulled on the hand fisted in his hair and tilted his head back, just as she climbed onto his lap and straddled his thighs. Her teeth scraped his throat, and the closer she came, the more her unkempt appearance seemed less offensive to him and more feral. He breathed in the scent of her and still struggled not to move, the unwashed wave of aroused werewolf flooding his senses. "I don't want a blushing virgin," she murmured into his neck. "You were watching me last night," she added, her teeth light on his jaw. "Tell me you didn't want to be flat on your back like that, fucking me as hard as you could while I tried to claw your eyes out." She ground down against him, and that fucking did it.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing," he growled, grabbing her hips and thrusting up against her. "I don't fuck other wolves. Don't push me on this."

She was silent for a moment before her voice slid down his spine again. "That's not what I heard," she whispered, her knickers wet and soaking through the bulge in his trousers. "I heard you used to have your very own wolf to show you the ropes – a real wolf, too, not the fake kind like you and me. I heard he used to fuck you so hard, you'd–"

A flash of rage surged through his body, and in one swift movement, Bill rose from the chair and threw her off of him. She stumbled to regain her footing, her back slamming against the fridge. "Shut the fuck up," he spat, pointing a finger at her. "You don't have any fucking clue what you're talking about."

"No?" she challenged. "How about your wife, then, huh? Would she think I'm lying, if I told her what I know about wolves fucking? Or– oh, wait." Her eyes narrowed. "She'd be too busy getting her twat plugged by your banker friends to care, wouldn't she?"

He had to punch her in the face. He had to, there was no way around it. His fingers clenched into a fist by his side and pulled it back, adrenaline racing from his chest down his arm, boiling under his skin and firing the rage in every cell of his body. She braced herself as if expecting the blow, her head down and her jaw set, and breathing deeply, mustering all the reserves of control he could, he released his hand and let it fall by his side. He panted, a sweat breaking out on his brow as he stumbled back from her, turning and planting his hands on the kitchen counter. "Get out," he muttered.

She didn't move, and he could hear her breathing softly behind him, raspy and quick, as though she had just run a ten-kilometre race. After a long pause, a quiet, trembling voice shattered the silence. "Don't make me leave," she whispered.

He lifted his head at last and looked over his shoulder at her, suddenly shrunken to half her size, cowering against the fridge with her arms wrapped around her body.

"Please, don't," she begged with an audible, gulping swallow. "Everything's different since the Battle. I've nowhere to go. My mum doesn't want me, no one will talk to me..." Her eyes welled, and she clenched a fist into the front of her robes, just over her heart. "And my body... I can't control it sometimes. Things like this, it just..." She waved her free hand in front of her. "It says things. It wants things. I didn't mean to–" A sob slipped out, but she bit back a second one. "I'm sorry I said those things," she whispered. "I didn't mean to. They just came out."

Bill stared down at the counter top.

"Please. You're the only person alive who can help me."

Bill let out a deep breath, slow and steady, and closed his eyes. "I can't talk to you like this," he said quietly. "I don't know whether to fuck you or kill you right now, and neither of those things is going to be much good to you." He took another long breath, letting his chest expand with soothing air and then exhaling it out slowly, his nostrils flaring as he fought for control. "I'll tell you this much, kid: the temper is something you have to live with now, and so is the fucking. Being around you like this isn't doing much for my grip on those things, you know."

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. "Don't kick me out."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, mashing his lips together, and then pulled open a kitchen drawer. He grabbed a handful of Galleons littered under the spoons and stretched his hand out to her, dropping them into her shaking palm. "Go to the Leaky Cauldron for the night," he said quietly. "Get some food and have a bath. Don't go anywhere near the Ink Drop, do you hear me?" He watched her carefully as she nodded, clutching the money. "Rub yourself raw on the bedpost for all I care, but do not fuck anything, okay?"

She nodded again, her lip quivering.

"I'll come see you tomorrow and we can talk."

She left without another word, stumbling over her own feet in the hallway, and only when he heard the door click shut behind her did Bill finally collapse into a chair at the kitchen table, his head in his hands.

* * *

Monday, 5:06 p.m.
Lava Girl sits on the sidewalk outside the Leaky Cauldron, staring up at the swaying sign with itchy, swollen eyes. What's the point of having superpowers if they bring you nothing but misery, she thinks. It's almost worse than being back in that cage, hungry and tired and with nothing but her own insanity for company. He was supposed to understand. Why didn't he understand?

* * *

Bill debated staying home that night. He'd got cock blocked the night before by Bowden and that mad bloody girl on fucking full moon of all nights, and his hormones were all out of sorts. He didn't trust himself not to hurt those kids at the best of times, but when his blood was already hot and the full moon had barely receded behind a single wispy revolution of the earth, he wasn't sure he could control himself.

But then again, that might be all the more reason to go out.

Fleur glided down the stairs and into the kitchen as he was pondering what to do. Dressed elegantly in slim-fitting silk robes and with her long hair loose over her shoulders, the very sight and scent of her filled his body with desperate longing. He sucked in air through his mouth as she moved towards him to kiss his cheek.

"So, tomorrow morning, you said?" she asked him, her palm on his chest. "What do you think, about ten o'clock? I will be home by then. We can go to the Leaky Cauldron together." She sighed, leaning into him as he wrapped a single arm around her waist and pulled her to his chest, resting his chin glumly atop her head. "That poor girl."

Bill's lips were tight. He'd told her about Lavender, but only the basics. He hadn't told her the worst of what Lavender had said, or the worst ways his body had responded to her. "Yeah," he said, but when she moved to lift herself away from him, his fingers shot out to circle her wrist, and in a split second, he had pinned her back against the kitchen counter.

She smiled, lifting her head as he lowered his mouth to her neck.

"You smell good," he lied. She smelled like soap and perfume, the wrong sort of smell. He needed her to smell like blood and fear, and he closed his eyes against the pulse in the back of his head, the one that demanded he make her smell like that.

She laughed softly, pushing him away. "No, I don't," she said, tilting her head up to kiss him. "I will see you tomorrow." She made to move past him, but still he held her to the spot. Her eyes flickered down to his hands around her wrists, then back up to his face. "Bill," she said evenly, swallowing. "Let me go."

"What if you stay here tonight?" he murmured, seeking her neck again. "What if you stay right here, right on this counter, and you spread those pretty legs for me?" He slid a hand down her robes and groped between her thighs, his dick beginning to harden at the thought.

"Do not speak to me like that," she whispered, shards of ice and fear in her voice. "That is what you say to your whores, not to your wife."

He didn't even hear her. "You can be my whore tonight," he pressed, tilting his hips up against her. "You're the one I want. Get wet for me, sweetheart. Let the wolf show you how a real man fucks. Fucking Guillermo can't make you scream, not like I can. I know he can't. Let me fuck you till you fucking bleed." He grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and smothered his face in it, inhaling the scent of her and letting it fire up his blood. He could come all over it, he imagined, smearing fresh wolf semen through her hair and down her breasts, making her lick it off his hands and –

"Do not speak to me like that," she repeated, louder this time, and Bill was so caught up in his fantasy that he found himself flattened back against the fridge with her wand at his throat before he could react. Her eyes flashed and her chest heaved with angry breath. He closed his eyes and cursed himself. "I will have sex with you at any time you wish, in any manner. You are my husband, and I desire you above all others."

His chest deflated as she spoke, the words almost a recitation after all the times she'd had to say them after he first got bitten. She knew exactly what he needed to hear when he got like this.

"I am going to see Genevieve tonight, darling. You must go to the wolves and do your fucking, let your body do what it must, and I will make do with something softer tonight while I wait for you." She reached up to kiss him again, her wand still digging into his throat. "Your body requires hard things, blood," she continued, her lips still brushing against his. "Mine requires soft things, romance." Her pretty face melted into a smile. "Tonight, we shall each get what we require, and next week, when the full moon is gone entirely, I will take you back to bed and fuck your brains out."

She said this against his mouth, and he couldn't suppress the groan that rose up. She didn't speak to him in his own language very often, the language of the wolves, but when she did, when she uttered the word fuck in her clipped English like that, it was enough to make him come on the spot.

"But not tonight," she concluded. "Not when you are like this." With a final push of the wand tip into his flesh hard enough to bruise, she whirled around and strode out of the kitchen.

He heard her gather her things and exit out the front door before he closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally again.

* * *

Bill stormed up to the entrance to the Ink Drop, already covered in sweat and desperate to fuck something. He passed it three times, muttering the activation phrase, and then hurtled down the stairs when they appeared.

"Hey, wait a minute," Jake said to him at the door, pressing a thick palm against his chest. "Simon," he called over his shoulder. "This the one with the girl?"

Simon shoved a man in wolf uniform through the door with a punch to the shoulder before turning to them and eyeing Bill. "Yeah. That's him. Weasley, what the fuck?"

"Come on, mate, I just got caught in the middle," said Bill, spreading his hands out to plead for leniency. "Have I ever caused you trouble before?"

Jake rubbed his jaw, considering.

"Boss's orders, Weasley," said Simon. "You're out."

Oh, no fucking way. "Simon, come on," Bill tried again, turning to the older man. Jake was still too fucking new to know even half the history and politics of the place. "You fucking know me. You knew me back when Lupin first brought me here," he added, hating himself for even having to drop that name. "We go way back, mate."

Simon sighed, raising his eyes to the sky. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Good man, Lupin. You ever miss that motherfucker?"

Bill forced a grin, clapping Simon on the shoulder. "Every fucking day, and every fucking full moon."

Simon laughed. "Fuck, I remember you two, shagging like fucking animals every night." He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, appraising Bill. "Best show in town, that was."

Bill leaned in closer, a lurid thought flashing across his mind. He wet his lips, considering his words. They could either get him laid or thrown out of the place for good, if he wasn't careful. "All you'd have to do is submit, sweetheart," he drawled in Simon's ear, his hand light against his arm and his voice only half-joking. "I'd fuck you so good, you'd forget your own name."

"Submit!" Simon threw his head back and laughed again. "Fucking hell. You never fucking submitted to Lupin, you cunt. Can't believe there weren't more eyeballs on the floor in the morning, the way you two'd claw at each other."

"Yeah, but that was the old days."

"Yeah, yeah." Simon waved his hand. "Fucking pity, that. Best show in town," he repeated, shaking his head sadly.

Bill curled his fingers around Simon's bicep, moving in even closer until he could feel the man's body heat up, their chests nearly pressed together as he nudged Simon's stubble with his jaw and murmured in his ear. He might not get another chance like this, and Simon could be useful to him now. "Bowden treating you all right?" he whispered, tilting his hips up against Simon to make his meaning clear.

Simon's breath was hot against his neck, and Bill could tell the man was considering his words carefully. "I get twat when I want it," he replied, pushing back a bit against Bill's body.

Bill nodded, his nose brushing Simon's ear. "Yeah, twat's nice. Soft. Wet. Not much fight to it, though, is there?"

"You said it yourself," said Simon. "Fighting's for the old days. Bowden wants the pain sluts to pay his cover and come back every night for more, and they ain't doing that if they see wolves eatin' each other's fucking hearts out in the middle of the place, yeah? Got to have one that'll submit these days."

"Submit, yeah," breathed Bill, his free hand falling down to cup Simon's crotch. He glanced over his shoulder to see Jake busy admitting other clients, and in the low light of the entranceway, no one really cared what Bill and Simon were getting up to. "I still fight, you know," he added, curling his fingers around Simon's balls and tugging up hard. "Haven't fucked a wolf since Lupin. Maybe I'm overdue."

Simon grunted out a suppressed groan, thrusting up into Bill's hand. "Boss'd fucking kill me, you know," he said with a low laugh, dropping his head to Bill's shoulder.

"Ah, but it'd be worth it, wouldn't it?" said Bill, working his hand harder up Simon's cock. He decided to take even more of a chance. "I used to see you watching us, me and Remus," he said in a low voice, slipping with the first name. "Watch you get off on him fucking me raw in front of everyone. You were always so fucking brilliant, trying not to touch yourself, not to come. Must have been a nightmare."

Simon moaned, sounding miserable. "Don't you fucking know it. That mad fucking bastard. You know what it was, the night I really almost had to punch both your faces in and come all over you? That night he first brought the fucking whips. You remember that?"

All the blood in Bill's body dropped to his dick in about two seconds at Simon's words, and he had to close his eyes to get control of himself. Of course he fucking remembered that. He'd been trying to forget it for months, but getting flogged and then fucked by an alpha like Remus was something that tended to leave a pretty good sense-memory imprint. "Yeah, you liked that?" he choked out, trying to keep his voice even.

"Fucking hell," moaned Simon. "Blood everywhere, and the smell of it, just fucking rolling off you two. Brilliant, mate. Fucking brilliant."

Bill tore Simon's trousers open and shoved his hand inside, his mouth still hot on the man's ear. "You want to make me bleed?" he whispered, his fingers already slippery on Simon's leaking prick. "Anytime, mate. You find a whip you like, and I'll get down on all fours for it."

Simon grunted, his head falling back against the brick wall as he thrust into Bill's hand.

"But I need something in return."

Simon slid his tongue over his teeth, shaking his head as a grin spread over his grizzled face. "Yeah. 'Course you do." He paused, his eyes narrowing on Bill even as his prick jerked in Bill's hand. With a groan, he ran a hand over his face and nodded. "Go on, then."

"Need to get that girl some ink, Simon," said Bill, not wasting any time on preamble. "Greyback ripped her up just like the rest of us. If she doesn't get a wolf cock up in her a few hundred times at full moon, you might as well kill her. Just the same as the rest of us, but with a cunt instead of a dick. Have some fucking pity."

Simon pulled back a bit, his mouth open. "That girl last night? She's a fucking wolf? Come on! No fucking way. I didn't see no scars."

"Glamoured 'em."

Simon stared at him. "A bird? You're mad. Fucking Greyback was a dick eater, mate. Everyone knows that."

"Then she must have got in between him and some dick, didn't she? All I know is she got torn up; she's the same as us." Simon's brow creased, and Bill took advantage of his silence to slide his thumb over the man's prick. He shuddered, closing his eyes.

"Fine. Fuck, yes. She's a wolf. Fine, okay. God and fucking hell, Weasley. Your arse ready yet, or what?"

"Not yet." Bill lifted his hand back, and Simon sighed, punching the brick wall behind him.

"Fuck. Christ." He glanced back at Bill. "You serious about this? You want her inked?"

"Talk to Bowden for me?" Bill kept his hands off Simon but leaned in once more to bite at his earlobe.

With a shuddering sigh, Simon nodded. "Christ. All right. Wait here." He turned and strode in the door to the club, hauling his trousers up as he did, and Bill exhaled a slow breath, turning to tap the shoulder of the bloke just passing Jake at the entrance and begging a fag. He didn't smoke often – even the wolf wasn't interested in that shit – but he felt he deserved one now.

Leaning back against the brick wall and lighting up, he watched the regulars filter into the Ink Drop, miniaturising their robes and stuffing them in back pockets while they pulled their black vests on and grinned at each other, the telltale wolf tattoos gleaming off their shoulders. Even Remus, for all the power he'd had with the packs up north, didn't think to mark them that way. He'd been too close to the Order, and ink like that looked too much like a Dark Mark to him. Bill lifted the fag to his lips and inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke wash through his body.

"That's all we need," Remus had muttered to him once, when his work for the Order had finally led him to Bowden's pack, living in the underworlds of central London. "Creatures and Dark servants, all marked the same way. Might as well strap furry ears to our heads, too, and hey, why not a pair of fangs? The Ministry will round us all up in no time with marks like that on us."

But for all his protesting, Bill soon learned that there were many things Remus hadn't told him. Remus may not have been tattooed, for instance, but he was no stranger to Bowden's world in general and the Ink Drop in particular. If it had started as information-gathering for the Order, by the time Bill began to join him there, some years later, even he could see that Remus's interest in the Ink Drop had developed well beyond professional obligation. He'd grown to need the place, the same way all wolves did, whether they were full-blooded, transforming werewolves, or one of the hundreds of young men that Greyback had abortively mauled, leaving them without full werewolf status but with all the same appetites and tempers.

"I think you're ready," Remus had said to him one night, a flash of intensity in his eyes, about two months after Bill had been attacked. They had spent time together nearly every day, most of it with Remus teaching Bill how to control his splashes of rage and how to obtain the best cuts of red meat for a wolf appetite. They had only recently begun to discuss his other needs, as Bill finally broke down at Remus's constant questioning and admitted, with averted eyes, that he'd had an erection since the night before that wouldn't ease, no matter how many times he wanked. That night, just before the full moon, Remus had led him along a deserted strip of Knockturn Alley and down the emerging staircase.

As soon as they had pushed their way inside, bodies thronging at the entrance, Remus had yanked his shirt over his head and turned to Bill, one hand cupping the side of his face, fingers curled tightly in his hair, and kissed him in a way Bill had never been kissed before. Remus pulled back only long enough to move them further inside and rip Bill's own button-down shirt open, before shoving him up against a wall and devouring his mouth again.

"Wanking won't cut it anymore," he'd breathed to Bill, biting at his lips. "Wolves need to fuck – hard and often. That's lesson number one."

Bill's cock had spurted to completion before he'd even processed where he was or what was happening, grinding up against Remus in a dark corner of the club with strobe lights flashing through his skull and the thick fingers of a werewolf scratching over his balls. Stunned, his mouth gaping open and his body fully sated for the first time in months, he had simply crushed his mouth to Remus's once more, biting and tearing at every inch of him until they were both hard again. Bill had thought about men before, but only in passing fantasies that had never amounted to very much. It soon became clear to him that the wolf's needs weren't going to differentiate by cock or cunt.

"Get used to it," Remus had murmured in his ear as if reading his mind, a wicked grin in his voice, "and don't over think it. The wolf only cares about smells and actions, not body parts. You'll want to fuck anything now, anything and everything, and it's better for everyone if you don't think about it, don't try to deny it – just do it."

It wasn't that easy, though. He already loved Fleur by that time, more than he'd ever thought it was possible to love another person, and when he'd stumbled home in the early hours of the morning after that first introduction to the Ink Drop, he'd vomited on the bathroom floor at the thought of what he'd done to her.

It turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to their relationship.

"Bill," Remus had said to him solemnly when he'd voiced his concerns later that week, still too afraid to admit the truth to Fleur. "Let's think about this. She's a part-Veela, right?"

Bill had nodded, throwing two fingers of whisky down his throat and feeling miserable.

"How many men does she sleep with in a given week?"

Bill's mouth had fallen open. No one was supposed to know about that. He hadn't figured anyone would understand, since polyamory wasn't exactly widespread in the wizarding world. "Uh." He'd chewed on his bottom lip before deciding that if he couldn't trust Remus, he probably couldn't trust anyone. "Maybe two or three? But it's not really a weekly thing. More like monthly, something to do with her cycle..."

Remus had nodded, apparently unsurprised by this information. "And how many women?"

Again, Bill had opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, considering. "Fewer," he'd admitted, "but still, uh, more than zero."

"And how do you feel about that?" Remus had pressed, his face kind even as the blood hardened in Bill's veins and his hands clenched into fists.

"I hate it," he'd whispered. "I want to rip their dicks off, every single one of them."

"Mm," Remus had agreed, sipping his drink. "And how do you think she'll feel about you sleeping with other people? For the benefit of the wolf, of course." He'd given Bill a pointed look, and after an initial moment of shock as he put the pieces together, he'd laughed.

"I think she might be fucking over the moon about it," he'd said, running a hand over his face. "Shit, mate. Yeah. Okay. So, you think this might actually help us, then?"

Remus had shrugged. "That's up to you two. Depends whether you really want to be together. If you do, then you'll both find a way around this. Monogamy is just a cultural invention, after all."

Bill hadn't been entirely sure about that, nor had he been sure that Remus's new girlfriend would be pleased with his logic if she ever found out about it, but it suited Bill. Fleur had indeed been interested in this new development, and since working out his wolf aggression on Remus's body had helped Bill control his baser urges around her, she'd quickly agreed that while their hearts remained with each other, their bodies could pursue their necessary paths. It didn't hurt that she generally enjoyed hearing about his exploits, especially with other men, when they were alone in their own bedroom between the moons and he would whisper stories about the Ink Drop in her ear while thrusting inside her.

As he'd grown accustomed to his new life, Bill had immersed himself in wolf culture, learning everything he could about its history and politics. The tattoo was a mark of freedom, he'd eventually argued to Remus, who had only mashed his lips together, shaking his head.

"It only identifies us as animals," he'd insisted, but Bill wouldn't be swayed.

"The opposite," he'd said, tugging at Remus's arm. "It's not the Ministry marking us, or You-Know-Who or anyone else. It's us. Nobody will ever be able to mark us again if we've already marked ourselves." He'd been to all the underground political rallies and organisational meetings and had absorbed their rhetoric like an organism starved for oxygen. "The Ministry, they don't want us marked. Makes it seem like we're too organised. Scares them. We do exactly what they don't want, and we beat them at their own game!"

Remus had smiled at his enthusiasm, running tender fingers through his hair and pulling him in close, but no matter how vehemently Bill argued the point, Remus never did take the ink. To that day – until Lavender had sneaked in, rather – Remus was the only wolf Bowden had ever allowed into the Ink Drop without a mark, and Bowden had only done so out of grudging respect for a fellow alpha who kept his authority to his own packs up north, never challenging Bowden's in central London.

Bill finished the fag now, still leaning back against the cool brick of the club's outside walls, and he dropped it to the street and mashed his boot over it.

He turned to see Simon emerging from inside, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "All right. He'll talk to you. He don't like it, but he'll talk. That's somethin', right?"

Bill smiled at him, clapping a hand around the back of his neck. "Good man, mate," he said in a low voice, moving towards the door. "I owe you one."

"Damn fucking right you owe me one," Simon called after him. "You know exactly what you fucking owe me!"

Pushing through the throng of bodies over to Bowden's private booth in a corner, Bill breathed a sigh of relief. As much as he hated to admit it, Lavender had been right: she couldn't go back to Hogwarts, at least not yet. She needed to learn to manage her condition first, learn about her needs now and the best ways to fulfill them, and more importantly, she needed to take control of her own identity as a wolf.

To do that, she needed the ink.

* * *

Monday, 11:28 p.m.
Lava Girl is curled up on her side in her bed at the Leaky Cauldron, eyes closed but twitching as a dream she doesn't want to have sweeps across her brain. The bars loom in front of her, seeming to tower up twenty storeys on all sides, blocking all her exits and reducing her to a quivering heap on the floor of the cell. A voice wafts over her, cold and clinical.

"Well, she's asleep now, thank Merlin. Thought she was going do some serious damage before I could get her the potion! My word, the new werewolves we see these days..." There was a clicking of a tongue against the roof of a mouth. "Dangerous animals, the lot of them."

A new voice now, low and trembling. "But they said she's not a full werewolf. She won't transform. Why is she..." A sob, quickly swallowed. "Why is she like this?"

"Well, I've got no medical tests to prove it, but I have my suspicions." The first voice dropped to a whisper. "It's the way the schools are these days, Mrs Brown. Kids are sexually active so young, those loose dormitory rules just provoking them. You know, when I was at Hogwarts, there was no way a girl could get up those staircases to the boys' rooms! My word, my word." More clucking. "Be honest, now: was Lavender sexually active before the bite?"

"I... I don't know," came the whispered reply. "She wrote about boyfriends sometimes, but I never met any of them. I assumed she was behaving well, acting like a lady. I raised her best I could, you know. All by myself, never had help. She used to be a good girl..." A muffled sob again.

"There, there, dear. It's not your fault. It's the schools these days, I'll say it again. You saw Fiona, in the cell down the hall? We passed her coming in. Exact same thing as Lavender, best I can tell: just so obscene since her bite, unable to control herself. It's shameful! And the boys are even worse, rutting around like animals! If you ask my professional opinion, the werewolf bites only bring out what's already there. They just have no morals now, no sense of responsibility."

More sobbing.

"Come, dear, let's get those forms signed. She's better off here. She'll be pregnant in no time otherwise. Look at her – not even able to keep her clothes on! You don't want her running down the street like this, saying those kinds of things to strange men! My word, no. She'll be better off here. I guarantee it."

The voices faded from Lava Girl's head, replaced by the shrill cries from down the hall. She curled up even tighter on her bed at the Leaky Cauldron, her brain miles away and months in the past, as the nightly sounds of the Healer's shock therapy sessions on beautiful, wild Fiona crashed through her nightmares.

* * *

The next morning dawned calm and crisp, and Bill stretched out on his back in bed, yawning and running a hand over his face. He took a few deep breaths and paused, considering his body. It felt good, he decided. Better. Nearly back to normal. Two days on now since the full moon, and his sexual appetites were beginning to fade.

The two young men he'd fucked senseless the night before, after talking with Bowden and heading back out into the club, might have something to do with that, too. Groaning at the memory, he pushed himself out of bed and headed for the shower, the taste of yielding flesh and eager cock still thick in his mouth.

When Fleur arrived home at nine thirty, he was finishing his third cup of tea and cleaning the remains of his breakfast off the counter. She paused in the kitchen doorway, watching him, and when he saw her, his heart melted and his face dropped to a frown. He immediately started towards her, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I am so sorry." She stood impassively but let him wrap his arms around her and burrow his face in her neck, breathing her in and letting her make the next move. After several long seconds, she finally raised her hands to his hair and around to the back of his neck, pulling him in for a light kiss.

"Okay," she said when she pulled back again, her eyes seeking his. "You are forgiven. But do not frighten me like that again." She paused, searching his face. "What happened? You have not behaved that way for a year at least, not since the very beginning. You have had so much control."

"I know." He shook his head again, cupping her face with both hands. "I'm sorry. Things have been... strange... this month. That's the best I can explain it." He stopped, unable to admit anything further to her, yet also unable to purge from his mind the image of Lavender pinning Bowden to the ground and riding his cock until she shattered. "Will you still come with me to talk to her?" he added, realising too late that those sentences probably shouldn't have been connected.

Fleur pressed her lips together and gave him a long look, but then she nodded, throwing her hair back over her shoulders and moving towards the Floo. "Yes," she agreed, "but only because I love you."

That would have to do for now, he decided as he followed her, not sure if he was ready to face whatever version of Lavender would greet them today.

* * *

Bill sat quietly on a chair in the corner of the room while Fleur did the talking. It would be better that way, he figured. Less temptation.

"So, my girl," Fleur began brightly, curling a leg underneath herself on the edge of the bed as she spoke to Lavender, who was huddled up against the headboard. "You have discovered the pleasures of the flesh that come with being a part-werewolf. Congratulations." She smiled, but Bill recognised the edge to her voice. She might be seeking to put Lavender at ease with friendliness and understanding, but there was no mistaking that Fleur was the one in charge here.

Lavender blinked at her, then flicked her eyes over to Bill.

"I only told her that you've had the same effects of the bite as the rest of us," he said, raising his hands in surrender.

"I am not looking to be in your private business," said Fleur soothingly, the placating smile still stiff on her face, "but perhaps we can help. It can be difficult to adjust."

"I'm doing all right," muttered Lavender, hugging her knees into her chest and peering out at them with wide brown eyes, her hair finally looking clean and tidy, tied back off her face.

"You will get yourself killed," said Fleur, dropping the smile. "It is as simple as that. You cannot walk into that club without an invitation. You cannot speak to alpha wolves in any way you wish, or to other strong men at that place. They are not used to strong women." She gave Lavender a pointed look, and Lavender opened her mouth as if to respond but closed it again quickly. "They wish for women there to bend over for them, yes?" Fleur glanced at Bill, who nodded, frowning in embarrassment.

They had talked about all of this before, he and Fleur, and they had a strong, open relationship as far as he could tell, but it still made him feel like an animal to hear her speak of wolf culture to another person like this. He took a deep breath and tried to relax, lest Lavender pick up on his anxiety. He didn't want her to feel like any more of a freak than she already did.

"The women who go there do not wish to fight," continued Fleur. "They wish to have wolves dominate them. And this is okay!" she added, as if sensing the aura of guilt in the room. "This is nice for some women! But you–" she pointed a finger at Lavender – "will be different. Everything is different now. Did you like to have sex before this?"

Lavender's eyes flew up to her. "I– what?"

"It is an easy question!" insisted Fleur. "Did you?"

"I– yes." Lavender's voice dropped to a whisper. Her cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head down again.

"You are very young," said Fleur, tilting her head to the side, as if needing to hear Lavender defend herself before Fleur would believe the answer.

"So?" snapped Lavender, her calm beginning to fade. "The first time, maybe I didn't like it too much. I was fifteen, and there was a broomstick digging into my back." She paused, mashing her lips together. "And he made sure everyone knew about it, about how easily I spread my legs for him, so everyone at school – even in my own House – called me the slag of Hogwarts. Well, fuck it."

Fleur listened patiently, not interrupting.

"So I shagged a few more of them," she continued with a shrug. "Not like it mattered – they would have told everyone I did it whether I did or not, so I figured I'd might as well. One of them even figured out how to bring me off." She snorted. "I got pretty good at doing that bit myself, too, and then, I don't know." She paused, frowning. "I started to like it."

Fleur moistened her lips, and Bill could almost see the thoughts racing through her head. No part-Veela girl got through her teenage years without figuring out an awful lot about what boys wanted, what they were willing to do to get it from her and the hurtful powers of a word like slag.

"I never shagged your brother, though, if that's what you're wondering," she added, glancing over at Bill.

"Uh, okay. Good to know."

"Listen," said Fleur. "You like it because you like it, or you like it because you think you are supposed to like it?"

"I barely remember," said Lavender, her face painted in honesty for the first time since Bill had met her. She sagged back against the headboard, closing her eyes. "I just can't remember anymore. All I remember is waking up in St Mungo's after the Battle, and the bed sheets were scratching over my nipples, and I came without even trying to."

Bill's body throbbed at the image, the words tumbling out of her mouth so casually, and images flashed through his mind of walking into that hospital room and shoving his hand under her sheets, feeling her wet and pulsing over his fingers. He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Fleur was watching him.

"You are curious about sex," Fleur said, turning back to Lavender, "and you are discovering the pleasures of your body for the first time. This is normal, with the bite or without it."

"You don't understand," insisted Lavender, sitting up again. "With the bite is so fucking different. You have no idea. I mean, it's better today, but that's because the moon's gone, right?"

She glanced over at Bill, who ran a hand over his face and nodded. "It will be worse for the few days leading up to the full moon, and maybe a day or two after, yeah. It should be going down again by now, but it'll be back next month."

Lavender nodded, turning back to Fleur. "You're a Veela, right?"

Fleur shrugged, a light raise of one shoulder that indicated she did not want to let this conversation move over to her own sex life.

"You must be like this too, yeah? Doesn't your cunt just–" she grunted, an obscene noise filled with lust, fisting the bed cover in both hands – "need it? You know what I mean?"

Fleur cleared her throat. "Veela desires are different," she said. "We can control them. It is just that to us, it does not seem reasonable to do so. It is reasonable, sensible to our minds to indulge our bodies. For you–" she glanced between Bill and Lavender – "there is no sense to it. You cannot explain it or rationalise it. You simply have such strong desires to do it. No reason. Yes?"

She blinked innocently at Bill, and he couldn't help but grin at her because she already knew the answer. She knew exactly how it worked, and she'd got off on his supposedly unreasonable desires more times than he could count. "Yes," he replied, amused, as the smile crawled back over her face.

"So, like I was saying," continued Fleur, throwing her hair off her shoulders and turning back to Lavender, "you are strong now, in your body, and you must be strong in your mind. You must learn. If you are permitted into the club again, you must be clever about it, or those men will hurt you."

Lavender licked her lips, apparently considering the words, before she turned to Bill. "She still doesn't get it, does she?"

Bill blinked. "Yes, she does," he insisted. "She really does. You should listen to her."

"No, she doesn't," said Lavender, her voice rising and taking on the wolf's bitter edge, "because if she did, she'd understand that those blokes can't hurt me, not anymore. I'm just as strong as them when the moon's up, and I want all the same things they do." She narrowed her eyes at Fleur. "You're no different from that alpha the other night. You don't think I can take it as hard as any of them can give it. Well, fuck you."

"Lavender..." Bill began.

Lavender scrambled off the bed and walked over to Bill, lifting one leg over him and straddling his lap before either he or Fleur could react. "Right now, Weasley," she purred, running her fingers down his chest. "Your wife ever watch you fuck another wolf? Come on. Show her you can't fucking hurt me."

She was insane. That was the only explanation. He had never seen any wolf behave as recklessly as this girl, so willing to break the rules and refuse all offers of help, and he'd never seen a bitten wizard switch so effortlessly between the calm rationality of their own minds and the aggressive pursuits of the wolf the way she did. But she also made his blood heat in ways he hadn't felt since Remus had done the same. He clenched his hands into fists and tried to keep Fleur's face in his mind, sitting on the bed and watching to see what he was going to do about the girl in his lap, but it was hard, it was so fucking hard, when Lavender's crotch was inches above his like this. He could tear his jeans open right now and thrust up inside her. He could throw her down on the floor and wank over her face. He could –

"Get the fuck up," he growled, pushing her off and standing, walking back to the far corner of the room and punching at the wall before turning around and pointing a finger at her. "Bowden's going to let you in," he said. "You can get the tattoo, be a full wolf and come to the club."

A smile spread over Lavender's face. "Brilliant," she breathed.

"But there are rules," added Fleur, still sitting on the bed and doing her best to look serene, despite Lavender's change in tone.

Lavender glanced between Fleur and Bill but said nothing.

"First, you can only go for the birds," Bill began, leaning into the wall and folding his arms over his chest. He fixed on a spot over Lavender's shoulder to avoid looking at her. "Bowden figures he can make a bit of money out of you, if word gets around that the female clients who aren't into dick can still get what they want out of the place." He paused. "Have you got a problem with that?"

Lavender wet her lips, tilting her head to the side. "No." She smiled.

"Good." Bill pushed down the image that rolled into his mind of Lavender curled over some limp young thing, pushing her fingers under a skirt and making the most obscene moans fall from the girl's lips. He took a deep breath. "All right. Second, if you do want a bloke, or he wants you, you've got to clear it with Bowden first."

Lavender paused. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, I imagine, that whoever he is, Bowden'll want to fight him for you. Or, at least, he'll want to have you first, warm you up a bit before giving you up to another bloke." Bill frowned, rubbing at his jaw. "He can't– I mean, he can't force himself on you, not technically, and you'd better scream bloody murder for Jake or Simon if he does, or for me, if I'm there, but before you agree to any of this, you've got to know what you're getting into. He can be rather persuasive, and he thinks you owe him a favour. Might make him a real dick around you. More than usual, I mean. You'll have to be careful."

"I'll fuck Bowden," said Lavender, barely even waiting for Bill to finish. "I liked him, remember? Strong. Lots of fight to him."

"Lavender, Christ, you can't keep assuming–"

"And neither can you!" She glared between Bill and Fleur. "Assuming I can't handle any of this! You sound like my fucking mother, like those psychotic fucking nurses at–"

She stopped abruptly, and Bill stared at her, his lips falling open. His mind raced forward, then back, then forward again. He'd gone to find her at St Mungo's. They'd said she was in another facility, a special ward for werewolves. His stomach clenched. "Where were you?" he whispered, his eyes wide as he cursed himself for not asking earlier and not following up on it after the battle. "You've been missing for four months. Where did they take you?"

"Doesn't fucking matter," she muttered, wrapping her arms around her body. "You want to rescue me, Weasley? Too fucking late for that. I got out by myself."

"Where?" he murmured again, his heart racing.

"Where all the pretty girls go when they get their faces torn off," she said bitterly, snarling at him. "Where else are they going to put us? They know about werewolves, Weasley. They might not know about the Ink Drop, but they know about the sex. They know you prowl around, that you're dangerous blokes. You think they'll let girls prowl like that, walking the streets with our tits hanging out and our faces ripped up? It's shameful!" she added, her voice the mocking lilt of a grandmother's. "Wizarding world finally found its 'family values', and it don't involve wolf girls with their legs open."

Bill opened and closed his mouth several times, stunned. "I– there's more? How many of you?" he asked at last.

Lavender's face closed again, and she pressed her lips together. "I told you, I got out. It doesn't matter. Now what's the third rule?"

"If you got out, then you are free," said Fleur at last, giving Lavender a long look, her brow creased with concern. "Do you understand? You are not a prostitute. You do not need to do this. Come, sit down again."

"Why are you so fucking patronising?" shouted Lavender, whirling on Fleur. "What are you, my mother now? I told you what I wanted. I told him, too." She nodded back at Bill. "I want the ink. I want to go to the club."

"Why are you shouting?" said Fleur quietly.

Lavender laughed. "Why don't you ask your husband about the wolf temper, yeah?" She sauntered over to Bill again and pressed in close, her lips skimming along his jaw line. He held himself perfectly still, swallowing. "Doesn't she know about the temper, Weasley?" she purred. "How we can shout and rage and fuck all night?"

He gripped her shoulders and pushed her back with steady pressure. "Stop it," he muttered. "I can teach you how to control that temper, but not if you're going to behave like this."

Fleur let her eyes linger on Lavender before glancing back at Bill. "It seems we should tell you the third rule." Her patience was clearly thinning.

Lavender sighed dramatically. "All right," she drawled. "What's the third rule?"

Fleur moved off the bed at last, gaining two inches at least over Lavender as she stood before the girl, calm and collected and making Lavender look like a petulant child. "Bowden does not like my husband," she began, "and so, any favour he is doing for Bill will have conditions. He is doing this favour for you, so that you can spend the full moon nights at the club and do what you wish, but in return, he says that you must stay away from my husband." She paused, her eyes fixed on Lavender. "I am inclined to agree with this rule."

Lavender slowly pressed her lips together. "Stay away, like, don't buy him a drink?"

"You know what it means," said Fleur, maintaining her outward calm. She glanced up at Bill, who was still slumped against the wall.

He hated to admit that this part of the deal was causing him more anxiety than any other, but it was. He had almost let himself believe that, despite his genuine interest in helping the girl, one day he might actually be able to indulge his body and pin her up against the wall of the Ink Drop, making her groan and ride him as hard as she could. Not anymore.

"My husband is an independent man," Fleur continued. "He may seek out whomever he wishes, mostly, although I am permitted to disagree with his choices. In this case, it is not up to him. If you wish to visit the club, then Bill is not available to you, nor you to him." She held Bill's eyes over Lavender's head, and he tried to smile reassuringly at her, but he feared he was only coming across as looking nauseous. "Lavender," she added at last, lowering her eyes to the girl. "You will be a strong woman. You may use the Ink Drop to become one. But do not trust any of the men there. They will not look out for you." Her voice dropped, and she leaned in close to Lavender. "He is no better than the rest of them when the moon rises," she whispered, nodding at Bill. "He will not look out for you, either."

Bill watched as the girl's face momentarily softened, and she leaned into Fleur's hand where soft fingers brushed Lavender's cheek. A flash of pain stabbed through him at her words, but he knew she was right. If they both wanted to protect Lavender and try to help her, she had to stay away from him. He knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he got too close to her.

"I wish to help you, if I can," Fleur continued, her voice silky. "But you must remember something." The gentle fingers hardened, and Fleur grasped Lavender's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "If you insist on seeing me as a rival," she murmured, "then I will have no choice but to treat you as one." Her finger curled under Lavender's chin, and she tugged up until the girl met her eyes. "Yes?"

Lavender nodded, speechless, and stood wide-eyed as Fleur released her and moved towards the door. She pulled a substantial pouch out of her larger shoulder bag and dropped it on the table, where it clinked.

"Stay here until we can find somewhere more permanent for you. I shall make sure that Tom keeps you a secret." Fleur smoothed back her hair, her eyes glittering. "Be careful with that money," she added. "It is all you will get for now." She motioned for Bill to exit ahead of her, and he fought the urge to glance back over his shoulder and give Lavender a reassuring look. Instead, he marched forward until he heard Fleur click the door shut behind her, and then he turned, taking his wife's hand and squeezing it, hoping like fuck that she was going to be right about this one, that this outcome would be best for all of them.

* * *

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