Oh my dear readers, I'm so happy to see so many of you again. I'm going to keep throwing chapters at you as long as the muse keeps talking. Hope you all enjoy this smutty little chapter ;)

PS your comments/reviews fill me so much joy, please consider leaving one.

Hermione

Hermione stood, laying her two vibrators down on the bed, and crossing over to her wardrobe to remove her clothing. She knew she could have just lifted up the skirt of her robes and the yellow summer dress she wore underneath, but she preferred to have her whole body available for the pleasurable spell work that was about to ensue.

It had taken her a few rounds with Charlie Weasley to learn the sometimes complicated spells that could bring her more pleasure than she could imagine. Before long, she had mastered them for herself and put them to use.

Staring at her body in the mirror of the wardrobe, Hermione runs her fingers lightly down the skin of her chest and abdomen. Purposefully she ignores the peaks atop her rather large chest. It had taken a full year for her figure to fill back out after the war, and the time of near starvation while they hunted the Horcruxes. She now had hourglass curves, her muscled thighs meeting, she was soft in all the right places, and had never heard a complaint from her bed partners.

Using her wand, she cast her spell over two thin pieces of leather as she made her way back to the fourposter bed. Once she laid down in the middle, she swirled her wand again, enjoying the pull of the restraints on her wrist and ankles. She always kept an arm free, just in case she needed her wand in a hurry.

Charming the strips of leather, she had them teasingly slide over her nipples, bringing them quickly to a peak atop her luscious breasts. Sighing already at the delicious heat radiating within her core, Hermione made quick work of the two vibrators. Charming the girthy, purple one to enter her slowly at first. The other almost wand-like one, she made rest just above her clit, and circle around the currently hidden nub. She began to let the magic and heat build within her body.

Fenrir

Fenrir had chuckled as the little witch had stormed from the kitchen. It had been a surprise to him that she was experienced, but clearly, she wasn't mature enough to discuss it openly. Part of being an Alpha was recognizing specific traits in the people he came into contact with. Fenrir knew that the witch he shared a house with was a vixen, a freaky one if he had to guess. Though he was grateful for his chance at freedom, he wouldn't deny himself the bookish witch if she offered. But he knew the chances of that were nil.

He drained the last of his tea and grabbed the almost empty bottle of firewhiskey. He was set on exploring the house he would be sharing with Granger. He still wasn't sure exactly what his role would be when it came to catching up with Winters, or how soon he would need to begin. Until then, he would keep himself busy, doing absolutely nothing. It had been years since he had tasted that kind of freedom.

He found the bathroom was the first door on the left, just off the hallway that had led from the front room to the kitchen. Just by the scent, he could tell that the two bedrooms he stumbled across were not inhabited. Eyeing them both, he reasoned he would make the decision later after the witch rejoined him. He was nearing the last two doors at the end of the hall when he caught a whiff of the witch in question.

Stalking closer to the closed door, he could see the flickering light of candles from under the door but could hear nothing coming from the room itself. He smirked, the hint of arousal he had noticed in the kitchen was much more pronounced now. Fenrir didn't have to guess what was happening on the other side of the door, the naughty witch was taking care of her own needs.

The thought caused Fenrir's pants to grow tight, and for the first time in years, his hand fell to the bulge growing there. There had never been privacy in Azkaban, though that hadn't stopped others from seeking the little bit of pleasure they could. That was their business, though, and Fenrir refused to settle for the callouses of his own hand knowing the other prisoners could see him.

It wasn't an issue of privacy. Fenrir had enjoyed werewolf orgies, around the full moon, in the past, so any type of sexual pleasure, in his mind, didn't require any form of hiding. However, it was difficult enough to plunge into willing women and wolves, knowing his mate was still out there. He wasn't about to fight through the urge to find her when all he had was his hand for company.

Released a possible century earlier than his sentence had allowed, Greyback was quick to give in to the lust that he had tried to keep bottled up in prison. Unable to deny the sweet scent of the witch's arousal that hung in the air around him, Fenrir unbuttoned his jeans and placed his own hand on her throbbing member. He almost fell to his knees at the first stroke of his own hand. Putting a hand on the door frame of Granger's room, he leaned forward, desperately wishing he could undo the silencing charm she had placed on her room.

Fenrir could not recall a single time that a witch's arousal was enough to harden him and make him pant with need, but that was irrelevant now. As he began to move his fingers along his length, the smell in the other room began to strengthen. Fenrir could tell the little witch was getting quickly to her edge. He expected her to burst at any moment, but thirty seconds passed. A minute and Fenrir could tell that she hadn't gushed yet, and her arousal was slowly diminishing.

Without thinking, Fenrir leaned his forehead on the door and began to speak.

"Oh girly, you smell so gooood," Fenrir rasped, his hand furiously pumping. Though he couldn't hear her reaction, he noted that her arousal scent had begun to strengthen again.

"It's been years since I enjoyed the pleasure of a naughty witch, and what I would give to feast between your delicate folds. I bet you taste amazing, girly," Fenrir was getting so close to the edge of his own arousal. Still, he desperately wanted to taste the air when she finally gushed. "You just say the word, and I'll eat you up and offer myself to you as a snack. Oh girly, the things I would do to you."

Without a wand, Fenrir was powerless to do any magic that would allow him to see her or hear her. Through the haze of arousal, he made a mental note to remedy that as soon as possible. If this became a regular thing, smelling his housemate's arousal, he would need more than just her scent and a locked door to feel satisfied.

Unbeknownst to most outside of werewolf packs, the need to rut was imbedded in a werewolf's DNA. Whether it was the witch on the other side of the door or a random muggle, Fenrir would need to meet his needs before the next full moon if he hoped to stand a chance of taking on Winters.

Fenrir, with his head leaning against her door, about lost his footing when he felt the tremble of power sweep past him and deep into his body. He had never felt anything like that before, but it sent an immediate rush of pleasure to his manhood.

Now enveloped in her sweet scent, Fenrir's hand sped up, realizing that the witch had finally found her pleasure. The werewolf pictured the witch spread eagle on her bed, whatever it looked like, as he began to shake with his own pleasure. It took him more than thirty seconds to stop the flow from his still hard member. With a small growl, he recognized that one round was not going to be enough for his neglected body. Without another word, he moved away from the door, and down into the first bedroom he had found.

It smelled better than the other, and to his delight, had an en suite. He quickly lost track of time and count as he tried to get his erection to die down. The witch's imagined image in the other room kept him hard for far longer than he had expected.

Hermione

Back in her room, Hermione laid perfectly still. She was sure she had put up a silencing charm, but how else would Greyback have known what she doing in the privacy of her bedroom? Once she had heard his deep voice growling at her through her door, she had quickly reached a peak higher than any she had achieved before. She had never screamed so loud in her life.

With a wave of her wand, she released all the charms she placed, allowing her hand and ankles to come free and the long leather strips to fold themselves neatly on the nightstand beside her. Her cheeks flushed as she realized that she would now have to face the werewolf. What if Fenrir mentioned it in front of Harry or members from the Ministry. He had thought her a virgin, and now he might consider her the opposite. Though she didn't believe in what people termed as "slut shaming" she also wouldn't want her friends and work circle to know how needy she could be. It was something she kept under tight wraps, even her friendship with Charlie Weasly was unknown to most everyone.

Summoning up her Gryffindor courage, Hermione sat up and began to put her things away before she dressed and left her bedroom. If Greyback was decent, he would ignore what happened.

She walked down the hallway, noticing that a bedroom door was closed. She could hear the shower running from the attached bath, but continued on her way into the front room. Hermione grabbed a book and began to take different notes of things she wanted to know about werewolves. She planned to ask Greyback.

To be continued. . .