A/N: Dedicated to Anna (colorful swirls). Warnings: mentions of rough sex, infidelity. A disclaimer: This is written for fun, not profit. I do not own anything except the plot.
You know that - technically - you aren't a werewolf. Still, the full moon changes you, you can feel that it does.
You have hinted at this to pretty much everyone you know and you have even asked Harry outright. But everyone, even Harry, keeps telling you that it's all in your head. That there is nothing wolfish about you. That you are just being paranoid because of who your father was.
But you know, you just know, that there is something lurking in your bloodstream, something toxic, waiting for the moon to form a perfect globe.
Then it feels like electricity flowing through your veins.
That's why placing fluttery kisses down Victoire's slender neck is no longer enough. It's the full moon that makes you want to sink your teeth into her skin.
It has to be.
You don't, of course. But you can't hold back completely either - your fingers grip her hips just a little too tightly and your teeth pull her lips into your mouth just a little too hard and it's nothing, really. Just little side effects of the full moon.
Punching the wall and leaving a hole shaped like your fist when she asks you to slow down is practically nothing - though she doesn't seem to agree as she kicks you out of her apartment.
Going over to the burrow to see Lily must be some rash decision fueled by the moon as well. Maybe werewolves have a thing for redheads. Red is the most primal color after all, the one that draws the attention of all beasts.
(It's almost enough to convince yourself.)
And it has nothing to do with the fact that Lily - sweet little Lily, who has always been in love with you - lets you do everything you can't do to Victoire. She is your always reliable back up, a quite agreeable girl, likable enough and an excellent shag too. Better than Victoire at least, who just has to be the ice princess, needy and almost comically delicate.
Still, once a month with Lily is more than enough and you have no desire to indulge her silly little fantasies of you breaking up with Victoire for her.
You laugh and tell her she is being silly when she asks why she always has to be the second choice. Then you find something else for her to do that doesn't require much talking.
You shiver a little when you imagine just what Harry would do to you if he knew all the things you do to his baby girl, saw all the ugly bruises. Right in their family house, too.
The lack of privacy actually turns you on. You love knowing any Weasley can walk in as you bend her over the kitchen counter or pull her on top of you right in the garden, on the freshly mown grass.
It has to be the full moon. It's unleashing the beast within. This isn't the real you.
It can't be, right?
Right.
So as you kiss Vic on the cheek and apparate to the Burrow to "hang out with the boys", you keep telling yourself that it isn't your fault, it's just that lycanthropy - even in small doses - is a bitch.
You don't even notice that it isn't the full moon tonight.
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