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


Part 3

* * *

One week later, a Wednesday, 11:34 p.m.
Lava Girl arrives at the Ink Drop, activates the entrance spell by pacing past it three times and, just as Bill had instructed her to do, approaches the big one – Simon – at the door. He looks her over, and she likes to think his balls are shrivelling into terrified little raisins at the very sight of her. After a long moment, he leads her inside and down another staircase.

The alpha is there – Bowden, Bill had said his name was – and another man who stands quietly to one side, twirling his wand and eyeing her.

"So. You agree to my terms?" says Bowden, not bothering to turn to look at her, and Lava Girl rolls her eyes at how easily he thinks he can intimidate her. He has no idea who he's dealing with.

"Yeah, I agree," she says with a shrug, unbuttoning her blouse and pushing it off her shoulders. "Birds for free, blokes with your blessing–" this she says with a mocking drawl – "and Weasley's off-limits. Got to say, I'm curious about that one, though. You saving him for yourself?"

Bowden turns at last, his arms folded over his chest and a nasty smile on his face. "You talk too much, little girl." His eyes fall down her bare chest. "I don't like Weasley, that's all you need to know, and I don't do him no favours." He leans in close, grizzled and sweating in the heated room. "You go anywhere near him, and I'll make sure both of your worst nightmares come true."

She pushes down the image that flashes into her mind of a dark cell and vile potions sliding down her throat without her permission, and she tries not to shudder. "Fine," she bites out, glancing over at the other one, who must be the ink man, and gesturing to her upper arm. "Do it, then."

"No turning back, little girl," says Bowden, grinning over his shoulder at Simon. "You take this mark, and you're one of us. Everyone on the outside'll know it, too. This is my mark, sweetheart. All the werewolves know it; all the wizards know it. The Ministry even fucking knows it." He pauses for what she can only imagine is dramatic effect. She tries not to roll her eyes. "They can't do nothing to you for having it, but they'll know. You'd better wear it proud, not do nothing to betray your people, or me – or I'll find you and rip it off your skin myself. You got that?"

She pauses, licking her lips and gazing at him from under hooded lids. "Yeah. I got that."

He nods to the ink man and approaches her. She expects him to run a rough hand over her breasts or at least lean in to bite at her neck or shoulder, but he holds himself back from her, refusing to touch her. The man murmurs a string of words, his wand pointed at Lavender's arm, and then he nods at Bowden, who raises his left thumb and presses it to the spot she imagines the ink will soon occupy. Her skin sears and reddens, and she grits her teeth against a sudden flash of pain.

In another second, he lifts his hand away and stalks out of the room without another word. Simon stays behind and stands in front of the door, as if someone could come barging through at any moment to interrupt the proceedings. She swallows a laugh at the thought. No one cares where she is now. No one will come looking for her, and if they do, she's a wolf now. She'll have the mark, and they won't be able to touch her.

It's what she has dreamed about for months.

"Hold still," the man mutters, touching his wand to her arm and murmuring the spells as he draws tiny shapes over her skin. It alternately heats and cools, prickling through her shoulder and chest before retreating to a dull ache under the tattoo itself, and in minutes, he's done.

She glances down to see the shining black ink pushing through her skin, still raw and wet-looking, but unmistakable as the mark of the wolves of the Ink Drop: an ever-watching eye with a single bulbous drop leaking from one corner, just like a drop of ink. Or a tear.

He throws a bundle at her, and she sees that it is her new uniform: black trousers and a tight black vest, just like the other wolves wear upstairs to differentiate them from the clients. Her face breaks into a grin, and she feels light in ways she hasn't in months. No longer will she have to sit and suffer while others cause her pain. The power to hurt is hers now.

She is finally, fully, a wolf.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Bill threw himself into his work. He stayed late at Gringott's most week nights, and at weekends, he headed over to the Burrow or to George's shop to sit around, drumming his fingers on the kitchen table as his mother told him tales from her bridge parties, or nodding in feigned understanding as George explained his latest inventions. At night, he crawled into bed with his wife and let his hands smooth over her soft skin, mindful of keeping his touch light and his words romantic.

They had always had a healthy sex life, but they made love even more than usual between the moons that month. He could sense Fleur covertly using Veela magic on him, which annoyed him. He generally didn't require it: she was a beautiful woman by any standards, and he loved and desired her more than anyone else. But with an added splash of her magic, he could look into her eyes and see nothing but the two of them, her legs wrapped around him and his mouth gasping against her neck as he thrust, and he was horrified that she thought she needed to do it, that she thought she was actually in danger of losing him. To prove that she wasn't, he did everything he could to make her happy that month.

But the Ink Drop still beckoned, and with it, the newest wolf on the block.

At the end of the third week, with the full moon approaching once more, he began to appear at the club again. He had avoided Lavender since their meeting at the Leaky Cauldron, trusting Fleur to send her money when she needed it and Simon to keep an eye on her at the club. She needed time to adjust, he figured, before he could reasonably help her out with issues like controlling her temper or finding a permanent job. For now, when the pull of their bodies was still too new, too raw and promising, he didn't trust himself not to break, not to put them both in danger by hauling her into a back room and shagging her senseless. He knew he had to stay away from her.

"How's she doing?" he said to Simon as he approached the door, not even bothering with a proper greeting and realising only too late that he'd been thinking of nothing else for three weeks, desperate for word that she was okay.

Simon just laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, she's doing just fine, mate." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder into the club. "Go see for yourself."

He had barely cleared the entrance, his eyes still adjusting to the dark of the place, when he instantly located her up against a nearby wall, trousers kicked aside and her legs spread wide. At her feet, a blonde girl had her face pressed between Lavender's legs, knotting fingers pushing her in harder.

As if sensing his presence, she slowly turned her head and saw him, holding his gaze and letting a satisfied smirk spread over her face. She bit at her lower lip and threw her head back, clearly putting on a show for him. His dick pulsed in his trousers as he watched, the girl increasing her pace and Lavender's fingers curling in the long strands of blonde hair.

"Fuck, yes." He couldn't hear her, but he could see her mouth forming around the words, over and over again, until at last she clenched her hand tight in the girl's hair and stilled her tilting hips, closing her eyes and letting her lips fall open. Bill swallowed, horrified at his inability to move, as she came back to her senses. Barely giving her time to wipe her mouth or ask for anything in return, Lavender hauled the girl up by one arm and shoved her away. She reached between her legs briefly, her eyes fluttering closed again, before pulling her trousers back up and walking away, even as the girl stumbled back onto the dance floor.

She headed straight for Bill.

Saying nothing, she simply walked up to him, her eyes focused on his, and stood before him. Without warning, she raised her hand and moved it slowly in front of his face, sliding her fingers and thumb together as though measuring the worth of silk fabric, and the smell of her hit him like a brick to the face. The fluids on her fingers mixed with sweat and soap and the thrill of a new werewolf on the prowl, and she smelled like fucking candy, the remnants of her orgasm wafting off her hand like that. He inhaled deeply and nearly shattered, sagging back against the wall behind him as his chest constricted and his prick thickened.

"Fuck you," he whispered, closing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side. "Fuck you." But when he opened his eyes again, daring to confront her with this madness, she was already gone, moving through the crowd again and searching for a new target to pounce on.

* * *

"Here." The sheaf of parchment landed with a dull thud in front of Bill at the kitchen table, narrowly missing his tea. "This is all I could find."

He looked up to see Fleur blinking at him, her face a mix of irritation and sadness. He glanced at the top of the pile. "St Garbinger's Ward for the Rehabilitation of Magical Creatures?" he read off the top sheet, glancing up at her. "What's this?"

Fleur nodded towards the rest of the parchment. "You wanted to know where she was. I asked some questions."

His eyes narrowed. "Of who?"

She glared at him. "I have my sources. Do you want to read it or not?"

An unnamed rage welled up inside him, and he fought it back while recalling the names. Guillermo wasn't a Healer, he didn't think, but maybe it was Jean-Claude. Or Marianne. Christ, he couldn't even remember them all anymore. "Sources," he muttered. "Yeah, I want to read it."

She pulled out a chair and sat across from him at the table, sighing. "They could not tell me very much. It is a secret, I think. Nobody wishes to speak about magical creatures, or what happened to many of them during the war. Many people do not wish for them to exist at all, you know. So, nobody cares too much if they are in a special ward." She pulled the parchment towards her and started ruffling through. "There are part-giants there, and a few Veela, I think. There is a sick mermaid on one of the brochures." She located what she was looking for and pulled it out, showing a glossy page to Bill.

A pathetic-looking mermaid indeed sat propped up on a bed, her lower half in a tank of water while she coughed and looked miserable. He opened the brochure to see a second picture of her, evidently rehabilitated and about to jump back into a lake, waving happily at the camera. He looked up at Fleur. "St Garbinger's Happy Magical Creature Holiday Camp?"

She shrugged, ignoring his sarcasm. "They have quite a few werewolves, I think, but maybe it is not so bad. It is a place for them to go, at least, if they have no one. I think perhaps Lavender's parents do not want to have her at home now."

"Did you talk to them?"

Fleur shook her head. "No, but I can imagine. From things she said, also, it is clear to me." She paused, moistening her lips. "Do you remember my cousin, Colette?"

He tilted his head to the side, thinking. "The prime minister's mistress?"

"No," she muttered, pausing. "That was Justine." Her gaze hardened. "But Colette, her father thought the Veela blood was too far away, over on my mother's side of the family, and she would not be affected. But she was, and when he found out, he banished her from the house." Casting her eyes down at the table, she pressed her lips together. "I heard him call her the most terrible names. He told all of the girls, even me, that if we came near his house, we would get what we deserve." She paused, her voice dropping. "He would get all his hunting friends together and send them to us, that we would deserve it for being such sluts."

Bill sighed, rubbing his eyes and then reaching for her hand across the table. "I'm sorry."

She lifted her chin and took a deep breath. "It does not matter about him anymore. He is a terrible man, but he is far away now, and we made sure he cannot hurt Colette. But Lavender–" she jabbed a finger down at the parchment – "her father may be the same. They must know of the effects, that she is a wolf. She could be better at this place than at home." She rose from the chair and squeezed his shoulder before leaving the room.

"Thanks," he called after her, getting up to make himself a cup of tea and then sitting in the kitchen for hours, reading through the materials Fleur had gathered on this mysterious place. His eyes widened with each page, and although the language was couched in euphemisms and painted over with images of happy, functional creatures like the mermaid in the brochure, his stomach clenched as the code words floated through his head.

Rehabilitation. Experimental treatment. One hundred per cent success rate. Reeducation. Bold and innovative research program. Value to society.

His fist closed over the nearest piece of parchment, balling it up into shreds, and he slammed it down over the table. Fucking, bleeding hell. Those brochures couldn't have made it very far out of the print shop. He'd certainly never seen one before, nor ever heard his family, friends or fellow werewolves ever mention this place – not even Remus. It didn't even have an address. From the sounds of it, there were part-werewolves locked up like animals in a basement somewhere in the suburbs of London, and Lavender had been one of them.

More importantly, without any idea where to begin, it looked like there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

It was two days until the full moon, and he couldn't get her out of his fucking head.

The Ink Drop was a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. He had no willpower to stay away from it entirely, not when he feared hurting Fleur if he stayed home, but he also could hardly bear to walk through the door anymore, knowing his resistance to Lavender was crumbling by the minute.

"Weasley," called Simon as Bill entered the club that night, grasping his arm. "What's the rush, mate?" He grinned, licking his lips. "Don't forget you owe me one."

Bill paused, letting his eyes fall down Simon's thick body, muscled and grizzled with spiky, greying hair. It was tempting, that was for sure.

As if to make it worse, Simon reached into his pocket and drew out a miniaturised whip, laying it flat over his palm and holding it down for Bill to peer at. "Got my tools, Weasley, whenever you're ready." He moved a hand around to Bill's back, digging in a fingernail and sliding it down. Bill arched back, his chest puffing out and his neck bared at the contact, but his eyes wouldn't leave the tiny whip. With a barely breathed word, it could be full-size in no time, ready to rain down over his bare back and make him cry out in pain and desire. He shuddered, grabbing Simon around the back of the neck and drawing him in close to bite at his ear.

"Soon," he murmured, his breath hot on Simon's skin, and the other man groaned, closing his fist over the small whip. "But not tonight."

"Fuck," muttered Simon as Bill continued into the club, his breath shaky and his body aching. He would pay his debt to Simon, but only on his own terms. Otherwise, he'd end up in Simon's – and by association, Bowden's – back pocket before he could say, Whip me.

He entered the main room, and immediately, before he even knew he was doing it, his eyes were drawn to Lavender.

She was close, not very far inside the door, but this time, she was whispering furiously to Bowden, who stood with his arms crossed, looking stoically out at the crowd, his ear bent slightly down in the only indication that he was even listening to her. After a long moment, he glanced down at her and nodded, his lip curling as he murmured something to her in reply. She glared at him, but a slow smile spread over her face as she rolled her eyes, as though Bowden were nothing but a slightly tiresome child she had to put up with.

Without another word, she slipped to the floor and unbuttoned his trousers, pulling his large cock out and wasting no time in wrapping her lips around it. Bill blinked, his mouth dropping open a little bit. Anger and jealousy welled up in his chest, but he worked hard to temper it. He'd seen her consent with his own eyes, after all, and Bowden wasn't even touching her, wasn't even pushing her head in further or kicking at her while she sucked. Bill was still rational enough to realise that if he intervened, he'd only have a fight on his hands that he wasn't likely to win – not least because he couldn't even be sure Lavender herself would take his side.

"Oh! Hi. Hey. Are you– yeah. You are. God. Do you remember me? I was here, uh, awhile back?"

Bill glanced down to see a young man in a tight white vest and jeans standing before him, his eyes practically bulging in eagerness. His gaze dropped lower, and he snorted to see that the eyes weren't the only thing bulging.

"Just, because, you were amazing, man. Best fuck of my life, honest to God. Uh. You busy? Like, now? Because maybe we could–"

Yeah, I'm busy. Fuck off, Bill wanted to say, but he took a deep breath, his eyes drifting back to Lavender even as he addressed the kid. "Dark creature fantasies, right?" he muttered, starting to remember. "Kidnapped by a big bad werewolf and raped out in the forest?"

The boy's eyes fluttered closed and his cheeks pinkened. He fell against Bill's chest, grabbing onto the black vest as though for dear life. "God, yes. Please?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "All right." He glanced over at Lavender again just in time to see her throat working, swallowing Bowden's come as his ugly face contorted above her, and in another second, she was on her feet and wiping her mouth, slapping him on the arm as though to congratulate him for a job well done. With that, she turned to a man nearby, a nervous-looking kid who couldn't be more than eighteen himself, and grabbed his hand. He was just as wide-eyed as the kid in front of Bill, and Bill figured much of that was due to the fact that he had got to watch Lavender give the alpha wolf of the place a blow job before he'd give her permission to fuck that kid. Jesus Christ.

She seemed to take it all in stride, though, pulling her bloke to the back corridor. Bill grabbed his own kid's arm and followed, not even sure what he was after. "Come on," he said roughly, shaking his head as the kid stumbled over his feet in his haste to follow. Lavender had wasted no time, he soon realised; by the time Bill had reached the back of the club, she was already pressed against the wall, her trousers off and her vest pushed up, the kid's skinny arse clenching as he thrust inside her.

"Harder," she purred, her eyes flying up to meet Bill's, and he knew he shouldn't, knew this was the worst idea ever, but he couldn't help it; he shoved the boy into the wall only two paces down from her, ripping his jeans down and pulling his own dick out of his trousers. Lavender watched his every move, her boy's face buried in her neck. He was too far gone at any rate to care much about what she was doing or where she was looking, and she kept up a tirade of filth in his ear even while her eyes were stuck to Bill.

"I told you last time," muttered Bill, "that if you go out at night by yourself like that, the wolves are going to find you." He spoke into the boy's ear, but he knew it was loud enough for Lavender to hear. God, what was he doing?

"Sorry," the boy gasped. "God, yes. I mean, I'm sorry. I won't– do it again. Just, don't hurt me."

"Too late for that." Bill thrust inside with minimal preparation, his fingers digging into the kid's hips and hauling him onto Bill's cock while his eyes were glued to the dick moving in and out of Lavender. She spread her legs wider, one on the ground while the other hooked around the boy's waist, giving Bill a perfect view of the proceedings. God and fuck. She was so wet that he could see the moisture glistening on the boy's prick when it pulled out.

"Harder, you fucking fairy," she spat, raking her fingernails down his back. "I'm not your precious girlfriend. Wolf girls need some fucking power behind that dick, yeah?"

Bill grinned at her words, feeling terribly sorry for the kid while also fighting down his own surge of jealousy. He could fuck her hard enough to bruise, hard enough to please her. He could satisfy her like no one else could; he was sure of it.

His own boy moaning underneath him, Bill continued muttering filth to him as well, his eyes locked on Lavender and hers on him, and he imagined he could feel it, feel her, pulsing around his dick and groaning in his ear and scraping her nails down his back, and when she finally threw her head back against the wall and came, pushing the boy off and sliding her fingers through his pooling semen to ride out her orgasm, Bill bit down on the boy's shoulder and growled, his dick thick and hot and spurting inside.

For a long moment afterwards, he and Lavender stood there, panting and staring at each other, until Bill couldn't stand it anymore. He pulled out of the kid, ignoring his proclamations of undying gratitude, and ran a hand over his face. Refastening his trousers as he moved, he strode away from her without a backward glance, his heart still racing as he headed out into the night.

* * *

Tuesday, 9:02 p.m.
Lava Girl drinks a glass of water in her room at the Leaky Cauldron, watching the full moon creep higher in the sky. She can't bear it any longer. She thought that the wolves would sate her, that being near them or working out her desires on their communal prey would solve all her problems, but it hasn't. She needs more. Ever since she first saw him, she has known who she needed. He needs her, too; she can see it in every line on his face, every tension in his body.

They are wolves, and wolves don't need rules. That much is clear to her. She recalls the tiny object she saw in Simon's hand the night before and the shudder that rippled through Weasley's body as he stared at it.

Patting her back pocket and setting the water glass down, she locks her door and heads for the Ink Drop.

* * *

He knew he should just leave her alone, stop checking up on her and let her get into whatever trouble she was likely to get into. He had done what he could to help her out: she was there, after all, wasn't she? She had the uniform and the ink, and Bowden had allowed her to prowl the club with the other wolves, looking for willing submissives to violate. The problem was, he couldn't stop thinking about the ways she might be violating them, and what it did to his own libido to watch her.

Fuck.

The night of the full moon, he saw her pressed up against a smaller girl with dark hair, fashionably cut short with curling wisps around her ears and neck. She had a small mouth and wide eyes, and her lips parted at whatever Lavender was murmuring to her. Wetting them and nodding, she let Lavender lead her off the dance floor to the back corridors, and Bill had to close his eyes briefly and remind himself not to follow them, not to look. He ordered another beer and slumped against the bar, resuming his own search for a willing body.

Seven minutes later, images of Lavender and the girl still crashing through his head, he gave up, slamming his empty bottle on the bar and making his way towards the back of the club. He rounded the corner to the sounds of lashes falling in a steady rhythm, each one followed by a high-pitched gasp or short scream, and he nearly stopped in his tracks. Oh God, she wasn't. No way.

Steeling himself and pushing his hair off his face, he moved through the throng of gyrating bodies fucking against various walls, breathy moans seeping down his body with each step. Finally, down at the end of one corridor, he saw them: down on all fours, the girl was moaning and rocking back and forth as Lavender crashed a medium-length leather palm flogger over her bare back. Its multiple strips struck her shoulder blades before Lavender dragged them down, sweat and a trickle of blood tickling over the girl's skin, from the looks of it, and threatening to send her over the edge before Lavender had even touched her anywhere else, or had even taken any of her own clothes off.

Bill took a shuddering breath. Of all the fucking toys for that girl to favour, it had to be a flogger. No one had touched him with one of those since Remus had died, and Bill could barely admit to himself how much he missed it. He didn't trust himself to use that sort of instrument on the submissives here, not without really hurting them. If he wanted a rough ride like that, he knew, he'd have to charm his own toys in the comfort of his own fucking basement, because he couldn't get it at the Ink Drop anymore. The inexperienced little rag dolls he fucked would never do this to him, and it wasn't too likely that another wolf would let him do it.

He should turn around right that second and head back out to see Simon. He should haul him down the basement and enlarge that whip he was carrying. He should submit right that second, that night, paying his debt and getting exactly what he wanted in the process.

But doing all of that would involve tearing his eyes away from Lavender, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't do it.

The girl cried out again as Lavender struck her, and Bill had to bite back a low groan. God. It wasn't fucking fair. He'd kill his own mother to feel that leather against his back right then, or – better yet – to use it again himself, as hard as he used to use it on Remus. He'd never found anyone else who could take a blow like Remus the night before the full moon, his wrists chained up above his head on the wall and his scarred back stretched out for Bill's abuse. It sated all the wolf's bloodlust, for both of them, and fucking him wide open afterwards and mashing his chest into the blood seeping from Remus's back always brought him the most powerful orgasms he'd ever had.

"Oh. Oh!" the girl cried out, and Bill shook himself out of his memories to find Lavender had dropped to her knees, her hand thrusting under the girl's skirt and between her legs. Her back arched and she sank down to her elbows as Lavender shoved inside her, and Bill's dick throbbed at the sight. He tried to figure out how many fingers Lavender was using beyond the shadow of the skirt, until she twisted her arm a hundred and eighty degrees, the girl letting out a low, slow moan, and he realised that it wasn't just fingers: she had her whole fucking hand up there, rotating and fucking and making this girl spread her legs wider and shove back against her, even as the welts rose on her back.

At that moment, Lavender turned her head and saw Bill, a slow smile curling over her lips. Her tongue darted out to wet them, and she began to talk. "Yeah, you like that, you little slut? I told you I'd make you come over my hand, didn't I? I told you I'd have you dripping for me, soaking wet and ready to eat up my whole fucking hand like this, fucking yourself on a werewolf fist until you come your pretty little face off." Dropping her other hand from the girl's shoulder around her waist to the front of her skirt, she started rubbing her hard, her other hand still twisting inside.

The girl cried out again, her head dangling between her shoulders and her body visibly trembling.

Bill had to look away as the girl came, moaning loudly and shuddering under Lavender's body. It was too much, too fucking intense, and he couldn't watch another second without striding over to fuck the pair of them himself. Goddamn her, that miserable little whore. Who did she think she was, baiting him like that? She knew the fucking rules. She knew his fucking weaknesses, too. Suddenly a blinding anger trampled through his arousal, a rage at her that he could no longer control. She knew the rules. She knew them, and she was doing this anyway, putting on a show for him and trying to drive him mad.

The fucking little whore was going to get exactly what she wanted, then.

He pushed the others out of the way and strode over to her as she pulled her hand out of the girl, wiping it on the short little skirt with a light moan. The girl looked up at her with glazed eyes, and Lavender grinned as she glanced up at Bill.

"You want a go with her, Weasley? She's wet as fuck."

The girl's eyes widened as she seemed to calculate Bill's mood, and in terror, she closed her legs and scrambled away. It was a tremendously arousing gesture, although she surely didn't intend it to be, and another night, he would have delighted in grabbing her and pulling her back again, throwing her legs open and sinking deep inside her.

"Get up," he muttered to Lavender, swiping the flogger from beside her on the floor.

Her eyes flashing, she rose slowly, one foot at a time, and stood to face him.

"Come with me." He closed his fist around her small wrist and dragged her after him, striding quickly back to the edge of the dance floor and hurling her up against the back wall. "Take your fucking shirt off," he said, his voice still low but full of barely-suppressed rage.

She turned to look at him, her gaze dropping down his body and then back up, pausing only at the whip in his hand. When her eyes met his, she was no longer as amused and confident as she'd been two minutes earlier, but nor was she afraid. With a slow, calculated movement, she crossed her arms and grabbed hold of the edge of her tight black vest with each hand, pulling it over her head and letting her full breasts bounce free. Licking her lips again and still moving much slower than he would have wished, she lifted her hair back in both hands and pulled it to one side, over her front, before turning to face the wall and planting her palms flat against it, her head down. "Do it, then," she murmured, and the sight of her pale, smooth back only increased his desire to make her bleed, marked and wounded and his, finally his.

His throat too choked to speak, he grounded his feet on the floor and raised the flogger in his hand, feeling an exploding release of tension in his body when it struck her. She tensed, her fingers curling against the wall, but she neither spoke nor cried out, and he let the leather tendrils slide down her back, soothingly, before he raised it again. It crashed down once more, and he decided to start slow, caressing her with the heated leather on each down stroke before whipping it up again and letting the burn sear into her shoulder blades.

"God," she moaned after the sixth strike, her legs settling further apart and sweat breaking out along the ridges of reddened skin on her back.

"Shut up," he snapped, hurtling another blow at her. "You're not supposed to like this."

"Then you must be fucking doing it wrong," she muttered over her shoulder, her mood suddenly shifting from deep, slow pleasure to the wolf's desire and rage. Bill paused long enough to realise that a crowd was gathering around them, and he barely had enough of his own mind left to see that they would both be out on the street after this. With one look at her bruised, bleeding skin, though, he couldn't even care about that.

"You're the one doing it wrong, you fucking slut." He crashed another blow down, and she pushed her hips back further, stretching out her back. "Everything's wrong, ever since you got here. You wanted to bleed? Then go ahead and fucking bleed. See if I fucking care." She cried out at the next blow, her hair in her face and a sob rising up from her throat.

"You do care," she managed, spitting hair out of her mouth as she turned her head again, her body coiled tight. "You'd never have let me back here if you didn't fucking care, because you know what you want from me." She dropped her eyes down to the crotch of his trousers and narrowed them. "When you're done with your little punishment fantasy, you can get your dick out and fuck me with it, Weasley, and stop pretending you don't fucking want to."

"Shut the fuck up," he growled, bringing the whip down hard over her bloody back one more time, and she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut.

"I'm your only chance to let the wolf out to play," she taunted, her lips bitten red and her eyes hooded when she turned her face to him again. "You don't want any of these other cocks, do you? Not anymore. So you can wank to your sweet little memories of Professor Lupin, or you can get your fucking dick out and tear me up." Her chest heaved as her eyes met his in challenge, and a second later, she'd unzipped her trousers and kicked them off one leg, leaning into the wall again with her body on full display for him – and for the entire club.

"Fuck you," he whispered, dropping the flogger and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as he fell on top of her. "Fuck you." He tore his vest off and pressed his chest to her back, groaning at the contact of fresh blood on his skin, feeling it seep over him and feed every desire in the wolf.

She struggled against him, knowing it was what they both needed, and when an elbow landed in his ribcage, he gave a shout before closing his forearm over the back of her neck and holding her down.

"You want to fight, little girl?" he spat, his lips hot over her ear, and she laughed, still struggling against him.

"You know you want me to," she whispered, and all the blood left in him fell straight to his dick.

"God," he choked out, squeezing her upper arm in his fist, and they paused together for a heartbeat, chests heaving. "I do. Fuck, I do. Stop me. I just– I don't–"

"Do it," she ordered, her face turned towards him over her shoulder, and all of a sudden, he saw every bit of the frothing, animalistic desire he felt mirrored in her eyes. "God. Please."

With a low groan, he dropped his head to her shoulder and bit down, his hands clawing down her sides and over her breasts, and then he quickly tore his trousers open and shoved them down his hips, the fabric pushing up against her bare thighs as he lifted his dick out and immediately pushed it between her spread legs. "You wanted to fuck like a werewolf?" he breathed, his cock poised just outside her entrance, and she moaned, punching at the wall in front of her and pushing back.

"Fuck you," she spat. "God, you fucking tease. I told you to tear me up. I told you to–"

He pushed inside her in one motion, his dick engorged beyond its usual size by the moon and his anger. He felt her initial resistance as she took him in, tight and hot and wet as fuck, and he didn't slow down, making sure he was lodged all the way in before pausing a moment to breathe. She choked out a moan, and he began to thrust hard, pulling out of her and shoving back in as brutally as he could, not giving her any time to set her own pace or adjust to his.

Her hand flew out to grab his, fingernails breaking through his skin as she pulled it over her breast and then down her stomach, pushing his fingers against her skin until they scratched and bruised, and then lodging it between her legs at the front.

"Harder," she panted. "Jesus fuck, Weasley, I thought I told you to–"

He clapped his other hand over her mouth, gripping her jaw in his fist as his hips snapped forward and his cock drowned in her wet, clenching heat. He bent her over, rubbing his other hand in rough, clipped motions over her clit as he mashed her cheek into the wall. She bit at his hand over her mouth, and the fighting urge surged in his blood, tightening his grip on her. She moaned into his hand, her breath hot on his fingers and her cunt beginning to pulse in thick waves over his dick, and she cried out harder, her fingernails lodged in the hand he had pressed to her clit, and then she stilled, gasping. "God, fuck, oh my God," she panted, as he dropped his hands to her hips and fucked her viciously.

She didn't go limp like the others did at that moment, though. She was still tense and hard and coiled like a wolf should be, muttering her filth at him and letting her bloodied back rub all over his chest, and his entire body caught fire as she clenched around his dick, wet and hot and clenching like she was still fighting him, and all the wolf's desires spiralled out of control. He came with a shout, grabbing her and holding her tight as he emptied himself inside her, pulse after pulse of hot come spurting up her cunt and finally sating the wolf. His body shook and his fingertips prickled with released tension, and he wrapped his arms around her, his dick still convulsing inside her in the long, endless orgasm of the wolf, and he could barely breathe, barely think, barely do anything but let his body take complete control of both of them, sucking them under and making them slaves to the wolf's desires.

When Bill finally swam back to consciousness, he was draped over Lavender's sweat-soaked back, panting wildly and with all the eyes in the club trained on the pair of them. He saw Bowden and his men at the centre of the pack, arms folded and faces hard as brick staring straight at them. As Bill's rational mind seeped back in, he saw Bowden stalking off through the crowd and exhaled a long, slow breath of pinching regret.

* * *

Wednesday, 12:44 a.m.
Lava Girl feels him lift himself off her, his dick pulling free of her flooded cunt and his breath easing away from her neck, and she spasms once more at the memory of the encounter. Finally fucked right, just the way she's been dreaming of, just the way she needs, she leans forward into the wall and closes her eyes, bliss overtaking her.

* * *

"Come on."

They were fucked, oh yes, they were so unbelievably fucked anyway at that moment, that Bill allowed the wolf to push its way into his mind and body once more, throwing all rational judgement to the wind and grabbing Lavender's arm. He still sparked red hot at the very feel of her skin, and he couldn't get past the fact that no one – no one – had sated the wolf's desires like this since Remus. He didn't know what it was about this girl, but he needed her.

Again. Now.

She let go of him to pull her trousers and shirt back on and then ran after him as he strode through the club. He grabbed her arm again and shoved people aside in his haste, dragging her along behind him, and he couldn't think beyond the pounding in his head and through his blood. He Apparated them straight to Shell Cottage, her thin frame clinging to him and stumbling when they arrived, and this was madness, the worst idea he'd ever had – he and Fleur never, ever brought other people back to their house, that was the one golden rule – but he could barely even remember his wife's face at that moment. All he could remember was that she was out for the night, and unlike him, she never crept home after midnight, bruised and sated and covered in come. She always stayed the full night with her consort of choice, and the wolf was purring at Bill to take full advantage of that.

He barged through the front door and threw Lavender down on the living room floor, falling over top of her and ripping at her clothes.

"Fuck," she moaned, kicking at him and at the fabric, both of them desperate to free it. "Fuck."

He was hard again and she was already soaking wet, soiled from the club and smeared with drying blood and semen, and she winced as her whipped back scraped along the carpet but didn't move to a different position, and the knowledge that she wanted that pain made him moan with need. He shoved inside her again without preamble, fucking her as hard as he could and grinding her body down into the carpet, and she pressed her feet into his neck and scraped her nails down his forearms and took every fucking thrust, pulling him in deeper and clenching around him. He came quickly, a blinding light behind his eyes, and then pulled his pulsing cock out, mashing it against her and fucking her again from the outside, rubbing it along her folds until she cried out and gripped his wrist hard enough to bruise, stilling him before directing his fingers inside her to absorb the convulsions.

They fucked the rest of the night, sweaty and hungry and exhausted but driven by a need Bill hadn't felt this strongly in months, and one he knew Lavender had likely never felt before. He licked her new tattoo and drank in the light in her eyes, before grinding up against her again and relishing the strong scent that rolled off her every time she came. He could do anything to her, he found – as rough as he wanted and as many times as he could, and the wolf howled in satisfaction.

As the early rays of sunlight sprayed through the dark curtains of the kitchen, he had her sprawled out over the kitchen table with four fingers and several knuckles already inside her. His mouth devoured her at the same time, his tongue flat and rough against her clit and his lips soaked in her, and she groaned loudly as he twisted his hand, making her arch her back and push back over his hand. She was so wet and filthy, covered in his come and still writhing against him, and he pushed his hand in further, wanting to hear her fall over the edge once more.

A loud knock at the door distracted him, but he ignored it, pushing his tongue against her and sating the wolf with her filthy moans.

A second knock, even louder this time, that slowly morphed into banging.

Nearly blinded by rage, Bill pulled his hand out and wiped it on his thigh, before Summoning a pair of jeans from his bedroom and stepping into them. Bloody buggering fuck. He wiped his clean hand over his mouth and stalked to the door, flinging it open. "What?" he bellowed.

The middle-aged witch standing on the door step went wide-eyed at his tone, her gaze flicking down his bare chest and over his loose hair before she cleared her throat and stood her ground. "I am sorry to bother you so early, Mr Weasley," she began, "but I'm looking for my daughter. I was told I could find her here." She met Bill's eyes in challenge, as if she could tell from Bill's attire exactly what her daughter had been doing in that house, and startled, the wolf finally slinked away, leaving Bill gaping at the woman.

"You– what? Mrs Brown? But she said– I mean, I thought you were– what are you doing here?"

She nodded at the mention of her name, and then tilted her head as he continued to ramble. "We've been worried sick about her," she said. "She's not well, Mr Weasley. We had her in the hospital, where she would get the medication and care she needs, but... she gets confused sometimes. She must have wandered out when we weren't looking." She met Bill's eyes again, as if daring him to challenge her story.

He closed his eyes to avoid her. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

"Bill!" a honey-sweetened voice exclaimed behind him, and his mouth dropped open, a slippery shard of ice dripping down his spine from the inside. "That is no way to greet our guest! Madame Brown, you will have to forgive my husband. He is like a wild animal in the mornings! Please, come in. I will wake Lavender."

Oh no. Oh, fuck no. He turned to see his wife approaching the door behind him, dressed in casual morning attire and with her long hair pulled back in a youthful ponytail. She was fresh-faced and smiling, but Bill dared not meet her eyes.

"Thank you," said Mrs Brown, stepping inside.

"I hope you will forgive us for not inviting you in," continued Fleur, her face painted with apology. "We are making renovations in the living room, and there is much mess. But here, let me bring Lavender to you." Without looking at Bill, she disappeared upstairs, and Bill turned to Mrs Brown, his brain moving at the speed of dripping molasses.

"I– yeah. Renovations." A picture of the living room flashed through his mind, with furniture toppled and blood and semen staining the carpet. He winced. "Sorry for, uh..." He glanced down at his bare chest and ran a hand through his hair. "Not a morning person."

She gave him a pinched smile, clutching her handbag and looking eagerly over to the staircase.

"Here we are!" said Fleur brightly, emerging a moment later dragging a shell-shocked Lavender behind her. She was wearing a robe Bill recognised as an older one of Fleur's, but her hair was still loose around her shoulders, tangled from the night before and streaked with various fluids. She looked rather like a monster, in fact, except for the robe. Bill only had to let the observation pass over his mind before he realised that he looked exactly the same way. He tried to catch Lavender's eye, but she was staring at the floor, all the fight in her apparently flattened by the wolf's sexual satiation – or from the trauma of being discovered naked on the kitchen table.

Bill squeezed his eyes shut.

"Oh, sweetheart!" her mother exclaimed, rushing forward to envelop her in a hug. "We've been so worried about you!"

"She is fine," insisted Fleur, still smiling, "but as you can see, she refused to bathe while she was here. Such a pity! Such a pretty girl!" She lowered her voice, even though both Bill and Lavender could clearly still hear her. "I think it is dangerous for her to wander around alone," she told Mrs Brown solemnly. "Do you have a safe place for her? She is a wolf now, you know. Very dangerous." Fleur finally glanced over at Bill with that, her face stony.

"I knew it," said Mrs Brown, her lips pressed together. "She tried to wear me down, insisted she didn't need to be in the facility, but I knew better!" She fixed her eyes on Bill, frowning. "But you are one as well, are you not?"

Fleur nodded, answering for him even as Bill opened his mouth to tell the old bint where to stuff it. "He is older, though, and much more experienced with the condition." She squinted at Lavender, who still had said nothing. "I think maybe her bite was worse than my husband's, also. She seems much more affected by it." She paused, running her tongue over her bottom lip. "She is quite a danger to others, I think."

Mrs Brown swallowed and nodded, taking Lavender's arm. "Yes," she said firmly. "I quite agree. She is not the same girl anymore. The sooner she faces that, the better." Lavender shot an agonised look at Bill as her mother led her out the door, but her eyes were filled with tears and she seemed entirely unable to fight.

"No," Bill said at last, finding his voice as he watched them leave. "No. You can't take her back to that place. You can't–"

"Darling, don't be silly!" chirped Fleur, smiling at Mrs Brown on the steps while digging long fingernails into Bill's arm. "She will have wonderful treatment."

Nodding at her, Mrs Brown turned and hauled a stumbling Lavender down the step, where they Apparated away before Bill could process what had happened.

"Thank you! Good luck!" Fleur trilled, waving after them as she shut the door. As soon as they were gone, she turned to face Bill, her expression shifting from patient understanding to stone cold rage.

He said nothing, slumping back against the wall of the front foyer.

"In my house," said Fleur quietly, her voice laced with ice. "In my own fucking house." The unfamiliar word rattled off her tongue, and Bill closed his eyes, wincing at it.

"I couldn't help it," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't help it. How did you– when did you get home?" He reluctantly opened his eyes again.

"I received an owl early this morning from Geoffrey Bowden," she replied, shuddering at the name. "You promised me last year that I would not have to speak with that animal, ever. And here he is, sending me owls like we are such friends. And do you know what this owl said?"

Bill swore under his breath, picturing Bowden's face as Bill had lifted his eyes from Lavender's damp body at the club and seen him watching them. "He's angry with me. Just trying to get revenge. I'm sorry he brought you into it, but–"

"You are sorry he brought me into it," she said, her voice rising, "or you are sorry I have to be into it because my husband is fucking teenage girls on my kitchen table?"

"I fuck a lot of teenage girls," Bill pointed out, lifting his chin, "and you've never minded before."

"Not that one," she shot back. "Not wolf girls. Not the only one I have ever asked you not to fuck. And not in my house." Her cheeks had coloured and her eyes flashed with anger.

"And where were you when you got this owl, then?" Bill shouted, forgetting about his remorse and focusing on what he could only see as her hypocrisy. "Did you wait for Guillermo to get his dick out of your cunt before you opened it?"

She slapped him across the face at that, a burning imprint of fingers that stung like fire and sent him reeling backwards. "Don't you ever speak to me like that," she hissed.

"Do you even realise where you just sent that girl back to?" Bill pointed at the front door, trying another tack. "You want her chained up in a cell day and night? Is that what you want for werewolves? Would you send me to a place like that?"

"Right now?" She leaned in close to him, her face twisting. "In a heartbeat." She turned away from him, heading towards the stairs, and he was silent for a moment, reeling from that comment and not sure what to say. "And it is not like that. She is better off there."

"Fleur," he begged at last, softening his voice. "I'm sorry. You're right; I'm a dickhead. I shouldn't have brought her here. But have some pity on her. She needs wolves just as much as I do. She needs to be able to–"

Fleur whirled around on the stairs, glaring down at him. "She is not Remus," she bit out. "She is not your own personal wolf to play with."

"I– what?"

"Or is it you think she is you, and you are Remus. Is this it? You must be the one with experience, to teach her things?" She laughed, cold and harsh. "You wish you could be even half the man he was."

That much was true, but it still hurt to hear it. "This has nothing to do with Remus," he said quietly, running a hand over his face. The telltale cold ache settled in his heart as he thought of the man.

"You are a fool," she said to him. "You cannot even see this for yourself, can you? You have denied yourself other wolves ever since he died, denying what you need, and now this girl comes along, and you decide she is this reincarnation, this new Remus for you. It is madness. She is just a teenage girl, Bill! You have spoken to her – she is mad! She is calm one minute and insane the next. There is this, this–" she clenched her fists on either side of her head, searching for the word – "this break, in her mind. She must be in an institute."

"No. No. That's not what she–"

"My God, listen to yourself! Would you put up with a man like you doing such things to Ginny? To Gabrielle?"

Bill slammed his mouth shut, his stomach churning.

"She is better off in that place. They can help her."

"That's not it." He squeezed his eyes shut and fought the image of Remus that swam in and out of his mind. "No. The things they'll do to her there..." He grimaced. "She needs my help. She needs to learn how to–"

"What – how to get raped by married men twice her age?" Fleur shouted. "This is what she needs to learn? She is eighteen years old and frightened out of her fucking mind!" Fleur slammed her palm against the wall of the staircase, angrier than Bill had ever seen her before. "And you take advantage of that, convince her that all these older men should line up to have sex with her?" Her voice dropped and began to tremble, and she pointed a finger at him. "Get out of my house," she muttered. "You are nothing but a monster."

* * *

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