Current mood:

relieved

Fic: Lava Girl and the Ink Drop, 4/4 (Bill/Lavender, others, NC-17)
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


Part 4 (final)

* * *

Wednesday, 7:41 a.m.
Lava Girl hits the floor of the cell with a dull thud, the silky robes Weasley's wife had wrestled her into pooling gracefully around her crumpled body. "Slut!" she hears Fiona screaming at her from down the hallway. "Bitch! Animal!"

Her eyes widen and she crawls over to the bars, folding her fingers around them. "Fi?" she whispers when the vitriol stops. "What's the matter with you?"

But she already knows. The treatment is working. She knew she should have taken Fiona with her when she escaped before, she knew it! Closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the cool steel of the bars, she struggles not to cry. Wolf girls don't fucking cry, dammit. Fucking, bloody hell.

"They told me where you've been," Fiona whispered back. "Flat on your back for any man who asks."

"Is that what they told you?" she mutters, opening her eyes and gazing out at the terminal grey of the hallway. They have won, then. The ward is quiet now, filled with docile wolves reciting all the rehabilitation slogans, renouncing sex and power and insisting they are happy just to lie there, drugged and complacent.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, she finds herself thinking, sliding down the floor as the tears spring from her eyes. Maybe she really should just do what her mother and the nurses say, and give up all hope for ever living her life the way she wants to, give up the first taste of real freedom she has felt in years.

* * *

Simon was shaking his head before Bill had even rounded the corner to the Ink Drop's hidden location.

Bill glanced around. "You my one-man welcoming party?"

"Don't even try it. The wards are set against you now. I'm just doing you a favour by coming out to tell you in person."

"He owled my wife, Simon." Bill gave him a pleading look. "That shit's not on."

But Simon wasn't in a sympathetic mood, it seemed. "You know what's not on, mate? Breaking his fucking rules." He pushed himself off the railing he'd been leaning against and sauntered forward. "It's not fucking hard. Jesus, you got your pick of arse or twat in there. What the fuck's so special about that bird? She got a cunt made of candy or something?"

"Might as well have," muttered Bill, running a hand over his face.

"Well, I hope it was fucking worth it, because you're out, mate." He jerked his thumb towards the street. "For good."

"Come on, Simon. Let me talk to him."

"No fucking way. If he sees your face in there, I'll be out on the street with you."

Bill was about to try another tack, when a small group of men rounded the corner towards them, talking and laughing in loud voices.

"The fuck?" one of them called good-naturedly to Simon. "We moving upstairs tonight? Gonna take over the alley, get some fresh air?" They laughed, jostling each other as one reached Simon and gave him a punch on the arm.

"Fuck off," said Simon with a grin, giving them two fingers. "Usual way in; Jake's down there. I got business up here for now."

The group moved a few metres away from them and each man paced three times across the same spot before disappearing down the emerging staircase.

"All right, Weasley?" the last one asked as he passed, and Bill looked over to see Nash trailing behind the group. He glanced between Bill and Simon, eyebrow raised.

"Not really," he replied, forcing a laugh. "Don't suppose you were here last night."

Nash shook his head. "Sick as a fucking dog. I don't even know what the fuck. Haven't felt like that at full moon since the month after I got bit, yeah? Christ. Like I got shat out by a fucking hippogriff." He exhaled sadly. "Why, what did I miss?"

Bill ran a hand over his face. "Long story," he muttered, "but I fucked up. Really fucking cocked it all up." He nodded over at Simon, who was watching them with his arms folded over his chest. "Won't let me in."

"Simon," sang Nash, grinning at Simon and kicking a rock over towards him. "You can't kick Weasley out. He still owes me a threesome." He wet his lips and let his eyes drift back to Bill.

Bill laughed. "Christ. Yeah. That'll convince Bowden."

The grin faded. "You want me to talk to him?" said Nash, his tone turning serious. "This something we can fix?"

"God, I hope so." Bill rubbed at his jaw. "If he'll talk to you, then yeah, that'd help. Tell him Brown's in trouble. That new girl," he clarified, when Nash squinted at him. "Real trouble."

Nash paused. "What kind of trouble?"

"She's caught," said Bill, his throat closing at the very thought of what had happened to her, and how he hadn't been able to prevent it. "Locked up. Some facility south of the city; I don't even know where."

"Not that fucking 'rehab' place," said Nash, mocking the word, and Bill's eyes widened.

"You fucking know about it?" he said in a rush. "You know where it is?"

"Yeah, I know where it is," Nash said darkly. "Thought they closed that clusterfuck down. Fucking hell." He pushed his tongue over his teeth, thinking. "She's one of ours, yeah? Got the ink?"

Bill nodded, and Nash shook his head.

"Fucking hell," he repeated, heading for the still-visible staircase. "I'll talk to him," he called to Bill, hurrying down towards the club, "but you'd better hope he thinks she's worth saving."

* * *

Friday. Maybe. Who even fucking knows what time?
Lava Girl sits in the dark, her knees curled up to her chest and her dirty hair hanging over her face. Her body aches with the pain of holding back, holding everything back. It's not just about the sex; it's never just been about the sex. It's about the power she knows she could wield, the power she could draw on out in the world to choose her battles at last and not only fight them fairly but win them.

The sex is simply a conduit, she can see that so clearly now, just a way for her to get what she needs and to constantly drink in the power of a desire fulfilled.

Something occurs to her at that moment, and she sits up straighter. "Did you get jealous, Fi?" she murmurs, her voice easily carrying through the darkness to the neighbouring cell. "Did you wish it were you out there with the other wolves? I found them, you know. All the wolves like us. They don't think it's so bad to have a little fun at full moon. They don't try to stop you, try to drug you till you can't feel it anymore."

The hallway fills with silence, hovering between their two cells like heavy cloud.

"You're lying," whispers Fiona at last, and Lavender presses her nose and lips through the bars, desperate to get closer to her.

"I'm not," she insists, shaking her head. "You can still feel it, can't you? Don't you want to find those wolves with me, Fi? I'll take you to them this time. We'll go together."

Another long silence, before Fiona whispers, "Moira got pregnant when you were gone. Did you hear? Those fucking guards. Fucking bastards. They took it away from her, though. Took everything away."

Lava Girl sits quietly, hugging her knees and processing this information. "We'll take her, too, then," she says at last, firming the plan in her mind. "We'll take all of them."

* * *

"Customers, dear brother! Can't sleep all day if you're going to earn your room and board!"

The cackling voice floated up the stairs, and Bill rolled over, mashing his knuckles into his eyes and wondering for a brief moment why his legs were hanging off the bed. He squinted through the violating sunlight streaming in. Smallest bed he'd ever bloody seen.

The door banged open and George strolled in, carrying a tray. "Coffee, tea, biscuits, scones, jam," he recited, pointing at each item, "gravy, tomatoes, a cheeseburger–" at this he looked surprised – "pumpkin juice, fresh Atlantic salmon, and just for my big brother, a French éclair." He bowed low, balancing the breakfast tray on three fingers.

Bill shoved himself into a sitting position, eyeing the tray. "Not bad," he muttered. "New line?"

George grinned, standing upright again and twirling the tray into a rapid spin on one finger until it swirled away into a wisp of air, before finally disappearing altogether. "Not really. Too hard to market it. I mean, whether it's your wife or a one-night stand, it makes you a bit of a dickhead to present a vanishing tray of food, doesn't it?" He sighed sadly. "That one I have to keep to myself."

Bill smiled, rising from the bed and ruffling his brother's hair. "Same old Georgie. The éclair was a bit cruel, though, you've got to admit."

George had the sense to look slightly sheepish. He scratched at the back of his neck. "Yeah, all right. Sorry." He paused. "So, has she cooled off yet, or should I order a matching towel set for us?"

"Not yet," said Bill, yawning, "on both counts. She'll be all right. Just, you know." He waved his hand. "Women."

"I'm not even going to ask what you did, and consider that a personal favour, because I know it has to be something spectacular." His eyes twinkled.

"It was," Bill assured him, closing his eyes as the memory of Fleur's face twisted in anger and disappointment swam in front of him. Just then, a burly, dark owl tapped on the window, and as Bill glanced over at it, he got the impression that if it could have crossed its wings over its chest and glared at him, it would have. Waving George off, he took the owl's note and unfolded it.


She's pack. Nothing else matters.

We go in next full moon. Let them think no one's coming for her for a few weeks. Nash knows the place. We're putting together a plan.

Make no mistake, Weasley: this is for her, not you. When it's done, I still want your balls in my back pocket.


It was signed only with the stamp of the Ink Drop, and Bill sagged back against the window, breathing a sigh of relief.

* * *

Later. Morning, maybe.
Lava Girl is tired of waiting. She can barely feel Lavender at all anymore, the girl she used to be has weakened so much, withering inside her like a wounded animal. It doesn't matter. No one needs that girl anymore, snivelling and whimpering and sitting around just wondering what the world is going to do to make her happy today.

Lava Girl is tired of waiting to be strong again.

She has mastered the art of holding the potions in her mouth until the nurse leaves, feigning a deep gulp and earning pats on the head and an extra piece of bread to chew. But as soon as she is alone, she leaks the fluid into the folds of her filthy robes, covering her hands over the bubbling steam that contact with the fabric causes and watching with alert eyes for signs that they have discovered her deceit.

They haven't, though, and they never will. They still believe her last escape was an accident, after all, simply the result of her lost, confused wanderings and a careless guard. They don't believe her capable of doing it on purpose.

No one ever thinks her capable of doing anything on purpose.

In that respect, they are not much different than some of those bloody wolves.

* * *

The morning of the next full moon, Bill was minding the counter at George's shop while George was in the back, conducting God knew what sort of experiment. Bill's bones ached and his stomach was in knots, but he wasn't sure how much of that had to do with the moon and how much with the anticipation of their rescue mission that night.

He glanced up at the sound of the tinkling bell to see Fleur walk in, her head down and her face drawn. She stood just inside the door for a long moment, looking at him.

"Hi," he said softly, his heart clenching at the very sight of her. He hadn't even seen her in weeks, feeling too angry and ashamed of himself and genuinely not knowing what to do to fix this.

She smiled gently and moved further inside, but still stood away from the counter.

"I miss you," he added, and her smile deepened.

She nodded. "I miss you, too." She paused, her fingers clenched around her handbag. "Can you promise it yet?" she asked, her head tilted to the side. "Promise me you won't hurt that girl again, or anyone else like her?"

Bill swallowed, the old anger beginning to rise. He struggled to keep his voice even. "I've thought about what you said," he began carefully, "and I know what it looked like. But you saw what happens to me if I don't– if I–" He frowned. "If I don't go after wolves, then one of these times, I'm going to end up hurting you." His voice cracked on the last word, and he took a deep breath. "I know I fucked up. I know I shouldn't have brought her home. But I haven't felt that– free, that calm, in a long time."

She moistened her lips carefully before speaking. "It was for my benefit, then," she said, an edge to her voice, and Bill shook his head.

"Don't do that. Don't make it sound like that. It's no different than before, with Remus. God, we've been through all of this before!" His voice rose, and he ran a hand through his hair, gripping the tie of his ponytail for a brief moment before letting go. "I know what you need, and you know what I need. We knew all of that, and we still got married, still promised each other we could do this." He paused. "I still want to do this."

"This is not the same as Remus," she said quietly, her shoulders sagging. "It is not the same, because with Remus, you were in love with him."

Bill's eyes snapped up. "No," he began, shaking his head, "that's not–"

"Yes, it is," she said firmly, before her voice softened again. "It is okay. I always knew. Remus knew too, I think, but he did not make it plain to you – for my benefit, I think. And for poor Tonks." She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. "But it was not just the wolf, with him. You have to admit that."

Bill was silent.

"You have not grieved for him," she whispered, "not properly. You still expect to find him everywhere, in any person in that club. Any hard body will do, anyone who says the things to you that maybe he did. This girl, I think maybe she says these things to you, makes you angry, excited."

He closed his eyes.

"But she is not Remus. She is not the same."

"It doesn't matter," he said after a long pause. "Even if you're right, and I don't even know anymore, it doesn't matter. I'm still a wolf, I don't have Remus and I need to let it out on someone at full moon. That hasn't changed. And it can't be you. All I know is that I fucking can't let it be you. Lavender, she can help me make sure it's not you."

Pressing her lips together and ducking her head down, Fleur turned back towards the door. "No," she said sadly over her shoulder. "She cannot."

* * *

The attack came at midnight. Armed with their wands and, almost more importantly, their brute strength and their fierce determination to rescue their pack mate locked in that grey, stone building, the wolves of the Ink Drop bound the guards, scaled the walls, and breached the hidden fortress before anyone inside could do anything about it.

Bill felt the energy of the full moon merge with the thrill of the hunt in his blood, desperate to see Lavender again and assure himself that she was alive, that he hadn't done her any permanent damage by allowing her mother to drag her back here like that. He tried to block the thought of Fleur's complicity in it from his mind. No. Dwelling on that would only make him angrier, and on a night like this, when the air was already thick with testosterone and aggression, he didn't need an excuse for more rage.

She had only done what she'd thought was best. He told himself that over and over again.

"Down this hall!" someone shouted. "Now! Now!"

Nurses' alarmed cries were silenced by quick spells, binding or stunning them, and Bill moved behind the advance guard, making sure no one was bleeding and no limbs were broken. He ran to catch up to Nash and the others at the werewolf wing, only to nearly slam into their backs as he rounded the corner.

The group of them had stopped abruptly just inside the gate, staring slack-jawed at the series of cell doors that stood swinging open, rusted iron creaking in the unnatural silence.

Bill pushed his way forward, running down the hall and checking in every cell, but they were all empty. In the final one at the end of the row, three words had been stuck to the concrete floor in strands of sticky long hair:

FUCK YOU ALL

He barked out a laugh, turning incredulous eyes back on the other wolves who had followed him down the hall.

"They're already gone," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Already fucking gone."

* * *

3:32 a.m., probably.
Lava Girl approaches Shell Cottage cautiously, tiptoeing through the grass of the far lane like a tiger on the prowl. He is at the Ink Drop, she figures – it's full moon and he'll have more than enough hormones to take care of, but she can't risk going there, not yet. Instead, she waits for him here, not even sure what she wants from him. Closure, she imagines. Maybe a fuck, maybe just a cup of tea.

She needs to see him, though. That's all she knows.

She sent Fiona and the others off to find food and a place to stay, at least somewhere to get them through the next few days. In the meantime, she sits down with her back scratching the bark of a tall tree in his yard, closing her eyes and taking too much pleasure from the feel of rough spikes over skin still sensitive from that flogger.

* * *

Exhilarated by the hunt and still reeling from the shock of finding Lavender and her cellmates already gone, Bill and the other wolves headed back to the Ink Drop, laughing and clapping each other on the back. The troupe of black-clad men strode loudly through the alley, sending loitering drunks and homeless wizards scattering, before arriving at the club and heading down the dark staircase to follow the pulsing music that had started up again at their return.

"No."

Bill turned his head away from Nash, who had been telling a rude joke with his hands, at the feel of a large palm pushing against his chest. He faced Bowden head on for the first time in a month, narrowing his eyes and steeling his jaw. "No, what?" he muttered.

"You still ain't coming in, is what."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Bill jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "After all that?"

"That wasn't about you."

"If she's pack, then I am, too," he bit out, pointing at the ink on his upper arm. "I've been here longer than most of these blokes, and I've never done anything to fuck with you." He knew he had to say it, but even as he did, the pride of the wolf began to bleed through, simmering with rage at having to bow to this wolf before him. His body had never recognised Bowden as its alpha, never instinctively deferred to him – not like it had with Remus, or, fuck, even with Lavender.

"You've done nothing but break my rules," replied Bowden, folding his arms over his chest. "I gave Lupin some room, because he was worth respecting – even when he threw you in there and the pair of you lost me all fucking kinds of Galleons, fucking each other instead of the fucking clients. But all right, hey, yeah, I didn't say nothing. Then you show up with that girl, and–"

"I didn't fucking show up with her! She–"

"–and proceed to make a fucking bitch of me in my own fucking club? You had one rule to follow, Weasley: I control who touches that girl, not you, and you couldn't even fucking do that."

Brimming with anger, Bill stepped towards Bowden, his nostrils flaring. "Am I pack or not?" he said quietly, his voice laced with metal.

Bowden met his gaze evenly. "You're on probation," he replied, a nasty grin sliding over his face.

"And Brown, if she shows up?"

Bowden shrugged. "She'll have to learn to follow rules better, too, but fuck, what do I care? She's just a bird who wants wolf cock, and she brings in the clients." He barked out a laugh. "I don't fucking care what else she does."

Bill bit back a stream of vitriol that he knew, somewhere in the back of what remained of his rational mind, would only land him in St Mungo's or worse, dead in this filthy back alley. "Fuck you," he muttered instead, shaking his head.

"Get out of my face, Weasley," snarled Bowden. "Two months on your own, and then you can come back. See if you've learned to fucking behave by then." He turned on his heel and stalked back down the stairs.

A few of the others gave Bill a sympathetic punch to the shoulder as they passed, but he barely registered any of them. Blinded with anger and still thrumming with the adrenaline of the full moon and the rescue mission, he stormed up the alley, Apparated back to the gates of Shell Cottage and wiped a hand over his mouth, trying to bring his temper under control before he went inside. He had no home, and now he didn't even have the Ink Drop to go to. He was determined to fix at least one of those things tonight.

But the sight that greeted him as his eyes adjusted to the dark and his feet settled into the dirt of the lane post-Apparition sent his blood boiling over.

"You fucking slut," he spat before he could stop himself, kicking the gate off its hinges and striding down the lane towards the front door of his house, where his wife's hand was wrapped around a man's arm, her lips still wet with his kiss. "In my fucking house. Is this what you're fucking doing now, bringing this home with you? You fucking cunt. You fucking–"

"Hey, okay, it's all right, mate, my God, just, wait a second."

"Guillermo, no, do not try to speak with him! Just, go home now. Please."

Bill paused, appraising the man. "So, you're the famous Guillermo," he drawled, already almost tasting the sweetness of the man's blood over Bill's teeth. "I've been waiting to meet you," he added, before his voice turned ugly again. "Waiting for a reason to rip your fucking face off. You see that?" He pointed up to the sky, where the clouds were shifting to reveal the full moon. "You know what happens to blokes like me at full moon?"

Guillermo's eyes went wide, and he turned to Fleur. "Your husband is a werewolf?" he whispered fiercely. "You did not tell me this!"

Fleur shrugged helplessly at him before turning back to Bill and grasping his arm. "Please," she said quietly. "Get out of here. You do not live here anymore."

"And you replaced me in a heartbeat, I see. Does he live here now, then? Is he fucking you in my bed?" The rage coiled through his chest and down into his fingers, curling them into fists. "Do you fuck on my kitchen table, in my living room?"

"You are one to talk about kitchen tables," she replied, her voice icy, and Bill grabbed her wrist, throwing her to the ground.

"Shut the fuck up," he shouted, and he couldn't even see her anymore, couldn't even think. She had ceased to be his beautiful wife, the wolf had seen to that; she was nothing but an object of jealousy and rage now. There was no turning back.

"Oh, God," whispered Guillermo, bending to help Fleur to her feet, but Bill stopped him, grabbing a fistful of his cloak and throwing him up against the front door so hard it rattled.

"I always fucking hated you," Bill panted, pulling his right arm back and releasing it over the man's jaw, the wolf flaring inside him at the sound of the crack as his head hit the door. "Always in my fucking face, sending my wife fucking roses and chocolates." His left hand pulled at his cloak until Guillermo, dazed, was facing him again, and then his right hand landed another punch, a sickening purple beginning to blossom over the man's jaw.

"No, please, I'm sorry," he stammered, breathing hard.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Bill! My God." Fleur grabbed him from behind, whirling him around to face her and struggling to hold his wrists down. "Do not hit me!" she shouted, her eyes piercing his. "Listen to me! You are my husband," she began, her face pleading. "I love you. I desire you above all others. This man–" she gestured her head to Guillermo – "he is nothing to me, do you understand? It is only you."

But for the first time, Bill felt the urges of the wolf slice through her recitation. Where those words usually calmed him when he became unreasonable, now they only made it worse. "Nothing to you but a wet dick," he spat, throwing her off again. "Nothing to you but–"

"Hey, Weasley! For fuck's sake, you are one sad fucking creature, you know that? Christ. Is this what you do for fun when I ain't around?" A shrill laugh cut through the night air, and the wolf's instincts whirled him around. "You want to fight? Get the fuck over here, then. That's no fucking fun, ripping up a pair of cunts like these two."

He strode away from the door and found Lavender strolling up the lane, dressed in her Ink Drop uniform and with her hands calmly placed in her trouser pockets. "What the fuck do you know about it?" he bit out, but the wolf jumped at the chance to see her again, to battle with her and inhale her scent, maybe even bite down over her blood. He shivered with desire at the thought.

"I know they ain't fucking worth it." She slid a hand around the back of his neck and dug her fingernails in, pulling him down towards her. "You want to fight? Let's go. You and me, dickhead. Right now." He vaguely registered her eyes flickering over his shoulder and her head gesturing quickly to one side, and he heard movement back at the door, but her nails scraped down his neck and he shuddered, suddenly no longer interested in whatever was going on behind him.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her towards him, immediately grinding into her. "Right now?" he breathed, and she shifted her hands, pushing them up under his Ink Drop vest and scraping down his back hard enough to cut flesh.

"Guess what I've got?" she whispered, wetting her lips, and he arched towards her as the sting of her nails plunged through his skin. Her eyes flicked over his shoulder again while one hand reached into her pocket, withdrawing a miniaturised version of the palm flogger they had used the month before. Pulling out her wand and whispering a word, she let it grow to its full size again, brushing it in front of Bill's face.

His cock thickened at the very sight of it, and he groaned low, maneouvering her back against a tree while pulling his vest off at the same time. "My little pain whoring wolf?" he murmured, shoving her against the rough bark and devouring her neck, but she laughed, easily pushing him off.

"Or mine," she said slyly, whirling him around. With another quick word and wave of her wand, his arms flew up above his head and his wrists were bound to the trunk, baring his back to her. She pressed the heel of her hand between his shoulder blades and leaned in to lick at the drops of blood already seeping from the damage her fingernails had done. Without warning, the flogger abruptly rained down over his back, the sound of the air shooting past its leather tendrils adding to the instant pain that stabbed through his flesh.

"God," he choked out, mashing his cheek against the bark and writhing back against her.

The flogger smashed down again, and Bill could feel the skin tear, opening for her and feeding her need for blood and pain just as much as his. "You feel that yet?" she whispered in his ear, the tendrils stroking gently across his back, and he arched back further, swallowing over a loud groan. "Maybe I'll do this till you come; maybe I won't. Maybe I'll keep doing it so long after you come, that you'll never even think about pulling this mad fucking shit again. How about that, yeah?"

He gasped at the third strike, his back flaming. "What the fuck?" he panted, his dick aching.

Another loud crash against his skin, followed by another, and another, and with each one, with each new word out of her mouth that accompanied each stroke, her voice shifted in his mind, becoming deeper and even more disappointed with him.

"You know who to take it out on when it gets bad like this, and it's not your fucking wife," the voice muttered in his ear, and a surge of pain and desire so poignant swept through him that he would have fallen to the ground if not for the bonds around his wrists.

"Remus," he whispered, his mind whirring and the dark seeping in around the edges of his vision. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I can't– I just– I can't do this without you."

The voice hesitated for a moment, but it soon spoke again. "Yes, you can," it whispered, the whip subsiding as a warm hand slid into his trousers and grasped his cock. "Come for me," it soothed, light and comforting in his ear, but with all the pain he still needed. A fingernail scraped at his slit and the hand squeezed too tight, and Bill felt the waves of pleasure begin in his thighs. "Come for the girl. She'll take care of you now. Just let her. Come on, Bill. You can do it."

His body began to pulse, and the vision of Remus swam through his mind, all the pain and pleasure he used to bring out in Bill swirling in a mess of sensation over his skin, but just as it all began to crest, a firm circle of fingers closed in around the base of his cock and twisted. Hard. He gave a shout, clenching his fists in the bonds and whirling his head to the side. Opening his eyes, he saw Lavender glaring back at him, her eyes soft but her expression angry.

"Never again," she bit out. "You come to me when it gets like this – do you fucking understand me? You stay the fuck away from your wife and anyone else she's with." She paused, and Bill panted, closing his eyes again. Her fingers dug in harder around his dick. "I said, do you fucking understand me?"

He swallowed down the humiliation of finding those words so bloody arousing, knowing in the back of his mind that this was serious, this was his entire life, his marriage they were talking about, and yet, all he could hear was Lavender's ragged voice against his ear, battling with the wolf and challenging him in all the ways he needed. "Yes," he spat, pushing up against her hand. "Yes. Fuck. My wife's a fucking goddess; you've seen her. Whatever it takes to keep her."

With a smile, she released his dick and gave it a long stroke upwards, and his body convulsed in delayed pleasure, spiralling out of control and sparking pleasure and relief through every limb, every cell. She smeared her hand through it and then pulled it from his trousers, bringing it up to her mouth and making sure he was watching before licking off every drop.

He slumped against the tree, suddenly exhausted beyond his years.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting back against the tree, his wrists raw but released, with the two women talking in low voices a few paces away.

"Is your bloke all right?" said Lavender quietly, her hand on Fleur's arm.

Fleur nodded, wiping her face. "I took him away, but then, my God, I had to come back. I had to Stun him before he would let me, but..." She forced a sad laugh. "How could I not come back?"

Lavender's voice was dark. "I don't know. You sure you can stay here with him like this?" She paused. "Fiona's looking for a place for us. I mean, you aren't my favourite person, but if you need to stay with us, it's all right."

"No, no. My God. I– thank you. He is–" Fleur hesitated a moment before figuring out how to say it, and Bill felt a surge of love for her that she would even try to defend him after this. "I know this does not look good," she began, "but it will be okay. You did not see him before, after the attack. He was like this always. My Stunning spells became very good." She gave a wry smile and paused, taking a deep breath. "And then, one month, it was gone." She snapped her fingers. "I did not believe it. I did not know what to think, but later, he told me: it was because he began to be with Remus, to be intimate." Her voice softened, and Bill remained quiet, not wanting to alert them that he was awake. "That was all he needed," she continued. "Someone to be with him at full moon, to calm him or let him rage. Someone who could not get hurt."

She raised her hand to Lavender's face and stroked her cheek.

"I think I was wrong about you," she said quietly. "I am sorry."

Lavender was silent for a long moment, seeming to let Fleur's magic wash over her and keep her warm. "You were trying to help, when you sent me back there," she began, her chest heaving. "Weren't you?"

Fleur nodded, sweeping her hand up to push the hair off Lavender's face. "I did not know of the things they did to you there, no, but also–" she swallowed, steeling her jaw – "I was too angry that day to care. I am sorry," she repeated, before tilting her head to the side. "But you got out? Again?"

A slow smile spread over Lavender's face. "Yeah," she said, running her tongue over her bottom lip. "Again. Those stupid arses, always underestimating what girls can do."

"I think they are not the only ones," said Fleur, nodding towards Bill and smiling when she saw that he was awake.

"Hey," Lavender interrupted, turning Fleur's face back towards her with a light finger at her jaw. "That day, I mean..." She put her hands up in surrender. "I've never been too good at following rules, especially where sex is involved. I didn't, I mean, I wasn't trying to be a total cunt to you."

Fleur gave a surprised laugh, cupping Lavender's face again and nodding. "I know," she murmured, before turning to Bill again and kneeling down on the grass in front of him.

He held her eyes and nearly broke down from the intensity of it. "I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching for her hand. "I don't even know what to do anymore."

Kneeling, she set her palms flat over her thighs. "I do," she said decisively, nodding at Lavender to join them. "You know how much I dislike to say things like this, but–" she cleared her throat – "I was wrong." She nodded at Lavender, her eyes narrowed. "She is your new Remus."

His mouth opened to object, to reassure her that he was past grieving for Remus, that she was the love of his life, that he needed only her, but he found he couldn't say any of that, and so he closed his lips again, looking away.

"You thought he was here tonight," said Lavender quietly, "in me. You heard his voice, didn't you?"

He glanced up again and met her eyes, nearly gasping at what he saw there. Her gaze was steady, and he felt the strengthening calm radiating out of her, just as he'd always felt from Remus. When he tried to deny what she'd said, he didn't have the energy. "What– is it magic?" he breathed, not even able to identify what he was feeling, but Lavender rolled her eyes, breaking the gravity of the moment.

"Am I Professor Lupin reincarnated?" she said with a laugh. "Uh, no, Weasley. I'm not. But I'm not fucking afraid of you, either, and it seems like I'm the only one around here who's not, yeah? So, sure." She sat back on the grass and flexed her feet. "I can play the big, bad wolf for you." She glanced at Fleur. "If the little wife lets me, that is."

Fleur smiled, shaking her head. "You are mad, you know that? This switching between personalities, it is not healthy!"

Just as quickly as she'd come, the wolf dropped away again, and Lavender grinned at Fleur. "It wasn't healthy, maybe, but I think I've got it now: don't be a cunt to people who are trying to help you, but be a total cunt to those who aren't." She shrugged. "That's not mad; it's just good business."

Bill glanced between the pair of them, these two formidable women who both had such power over him, and an unexpected sense of peace stole over him. He leaned his head back against the tree again and closed his eyes, still feeling the cuts from the whip over his bare back and the pleasant ache of desire fulfilled in his body. He moaned and leaned forward, his eyes still closed, when he felt Fleur's lips brush over his, soft and loving. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, breaking away. "Is Guillermo all right?"

He opened his eyes to find her nodding, her fingers playing in his hair, and he let her cradle his head against her chest, soothing him. "It is good for me to know, perhaps, that he is not so good at defending me if we are attacked." She smiled against the top of his head and he burrowed in deeper against her, mortified.

"I am such an arse." He thought about her words. "But yeah, Jesus, you'd better hope you don't get mugged in Diagon Alley with that bloke."

"One night," whispered Fleur against his hair, her laughter fading, and he felt new hands over the cuts on his back, Lavender's small fingers lightly ghosting over them, teasing him. "Full moon night," she continued, "you two may do what you need to do, wherever you need to do it." Her voice choked off near the end, but she swallowed and took a deep breath. "We made promises to each other knowing there would always be others," she added, and he felt a wave of her magic washing over him, calming him and sealing her in his heart. "If this is what you need, then I cannot stand in your way."

He raised his head at last and took her face between his hands, kissing her like he did on their wedding day and putting all the love and desire he felt for her into the gesture. She clung to him and parted her lips, gasping into his mouth and pulling him in closer, and he knew they would be all right, that he could bring the wolf under control again for her sake, because losing her was not an option, had never been an option. Lavender's hands slipped away, and he was silently grateful to her for giving him this moment with his wife, especially after what she had just agreed to let them do once a month. "I love you," he whispered against Fleur's lips, and she smiled as she always did, nodding and pushing her hair off her shoulders.

"Yes," she murmured. "I know."

* * *

Two nights later, Bill and Fleur were leaving George's shop in the early evening, her hand linked tightly with his against the shadows of the dusk, when Lavender and Fiona passed them on the way to Knockturn.

"Weasley," drawled Lavender, grinning at them. "Keeping busy?"

He rolled his eyes at her and squeezed Fleur's hand. "Yeah," he muttered. "Always."

She glanced up at George's sign, and her brow furrowed. "How's George, by the way?" she asked quietly. "I know what happened to me wasn't the worst of that battle."

A flash of grief passed through Bill at the thought of all he'd lost that night – not only Remus and everything he had meant to Bill, but also Fred, and the way their entire family had been torn apart at his death. "He has his good days and his bad days," said Bill honestly.

"Think he needs some help with that shop, then?" she pressed, and Fleur gasped beside him.

"Yes!" she trilled, clutching Bill's arm. "It is perfect! What do you think?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, you can ask." A grin tugged at his lips. "Better than living on the dole from me forever."

"Brilliant," she murmured, wetting her lips. "I'll stop by tomorrow. Meantime, I've got a date with Nash in there." She nodded down the alley towards the Ink Drop.

Bill raised an eyebrow. "Making specific dates now? Ahead of time?" He couldn't lie and pretend that old surge of possession didn't crash through his chest at the thought of her going to the club that night and spreading her legs, but somehow it seemed more manageable now, knowing he could still have her the next full moon. He held onto Fleur's hand as if for dear life.

"I owe him," she replied, her voice dark. "He's the only one who knew where to find us, yeah?"

"But you did not need them," said Fleur, her brow creasing. "You were already gone."

Lavender smiled over at Fiona, who blushed, shoving Lavender lightly on the arm. "Yeah," said Lavender. "We didn't need no rescue party. But it was nice of you blokes to try." Her tone fell grave again. "He and his sister got bit at the same time, you know," she said. "Mauled on their way home one night. He got turned out on the streets, but she got put in that ward." She leaned in close as Fiona whispered something to her, and then she nodded, glancing back up at Bill and Fleur. "She died in there."

Bill felt Fleur deflate beside him, sagging against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her. "Jesus," he muttered. "Tell him... thanks, then. For me." He paused, eyeing her. "How did you get out, anyway? And Christ – twice?"

Lavender just grinned, slinging an arm around Fiona's shoulders. Ignoring Bill, she let her gaze run down the other girl's body and back up, pausing at the cool flesh of her arm visible under her t-shirt. Neither of them seemed to be shivering in the winter air. Lavender brought her free hand around and pressed her thumb into Fiona's bicep, tilting her head and considering. But she dropped it after another second, leaning in to nuzzle Fiona's neck as the sauntered down the alley towards Knockturn. "Come on, love," she said loudly for Bill's benefit. "Got to see about getting you some ink."

Bill's mouth fell open a little bit as he watched them leave, and with the force of sudden realisation, he let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. At her questioning look, he wrapped his arm tighter around Fleur's waist and led her off in the opposite direction. "Bowden, that stupid bastard," he muttered, still amazed that he hadn't seen it before. "He's always been worried about me trying to challenge him for power at that place, but he's been worried about the wrong person. He should be worrying about her." He nodded back in the direction Lavender had gone, and Fleur laughed, squeezing his arm.

When he rejoined the Ink Drop in two months, he mused, the first thing he'd have to do would be to pay his respects to the new alpha.

The second thing, of course, would be to dig out Remus's old flogger and pay off his debt to Simon. With that thought in his head, he smiled all the way home.

* * *

A new life, when the night belongs to her, 10:46 p.m.
Lava Girl strides – no longer tiptoeing – down Knockturn Alley, her eyes narrowed and her nose in the air. She can smell them. The doors of the businesses along the alley are locked and barred for the night, and the pulsing music she can feel through the soles of her feet hasn't escaped into the black air around her. They won't come out, but now she knows exactly where to find them, how to become one of them, and – most importantly – how to find herself in the process.

Her new life and endless possibilities in front of her, she heads out into the night.



-fin-


Edit:
Art! There is now art! ships_harry drew Lava Girl (G). So cool! Thank you!



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