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The Way We Are	By : shespeaksofnothing Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 2261 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
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The Way We Are
"To every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. The forces of two bodies upon each other are always equal and directed to contrary parts." Hatred, fear, love, and madness: such is the nature of the werewolf. The constant conflict between human and beast may break the foundations of the pack. If it is not torn apart by war, first
Hi everyone! This is something I've been working on for a few months now. I've got quite a few chapters done already, but thought I'd post one or two to see if there is any interest out there. I've hit a bit of a snag and thought some feedback would help me get out of the slump. I know alot of folks aren't fond of OCs, which is fine, but I do try to give mine some personality and at least make them an essential part of the story. Anyway, here's the first chapter. Let me know what you think and I'll post more!

Chapter 1

Annette shivered. Her body tingled, drenched in sweat and sensitive to every sensation, every brush of air across her naked flesh. Rough male hands clutched her hips with bruising force, his claw-like nails threatening to split milky white skin with their ferocity, pulling them back to meet his hips mercilessly. He grunted and growled his approval with each smart smack of skin on skin. His calloused thumbs kneaded the wobbly flesh around her hips and butt, which quivered from the force of his thrusts. God loved to dig his fingers into those mounds of flesh, and bite them and run his tongue across them. The pressure behind his spine came to a head suddenly, and he groaned, gritting his teeth and throwing his head back. He gave a hard, sharp jerk and buried himself as deep as he could into her silky grip, spilling himself deep within her. Annette whined and clutched the pillow tight, his member punching her insides painfully as he jerked through his orgasm. It was all so wonderful and agonizing at once. Her body was so sensitive from her own wracking orgasm, just minutes ago, yet she delighted in the feel of him moving within her when her body felt this abused. He shuddered above her, completely spent, and collapsed on top of the woman beneath him.
Annette squeaked in surprise, squirming under his weight. Fenrir Greyback was at least twice her size, and three times her bulk. He was heavy to say the least. Annette whimpered uncomfortably, and he trailed soft nips and licks along the curve of her shoulder in response. His breath was heavy and moist in her ear. Their bodies stuck together skin on skin, covering one another with sweat and body oil. The female whimpered again, and he answered her this time with an exhausted grunt, and pulled out before rolling to one side of her. She did not move, but remained sprawled out on her stomach, her icy blue eyes heavily lidded as she watched the werewolf try to catch his breath, his eyes closed. After a few moments he opened them again. A heavy hand reached up to brush the sweat-stuck fringe from her eyes to tuck behind the jagged remains of her left ear.
She had taken to wearing her hair parted to one side long ago, and let it go wild and long. It served to obscure four long, silvery scars that traced across the left side of her face and neck, including the destroyed shell of her ear, but also obscured nearly half of that side of her face. It was at times a bit of an irritation to Greyback, that she seemed to be ashamed of such distinguishing marks, marks that he himself had given her. Nevertheless, he allowed her to wear her hair this way and figured it was a trivial thing, really. The same hand traced a line down her body, palm open, calluses rough against silky, heavily scarred skin, pulling her against him. The female werewolf traced a finger down the line of his chest, smoothing the sparse fur across its expanse. His hand paused at the curve of her hip to knead the soft flesh there, before continuing down to her thigh. It was smooth, freshly shaven, and cooling in the chilly room.
He grinned ruefully. He never would understand the obsession the she-wolf had with such things. Things she referred to as �hygiene�, he simply considered frivolity. What could really be the purpose of removing so much hair - hair that was obviously meant to be there? And the hair under her arms, what was the matter with that? It was a silly human thing, at best. But when she�d removed the hair in other places�the time he�d ripped off her underwear after a bit of arousing wrestling around, revealing a completely naked snatch. He�d almost lost it right there. Her lips had been so soft to the touch, so silky and unprotected. He�d spent all night touching and tasting, reveling in the sensation. A few days later, however, things became rather unpleasant. As the hair filled back in her nether region became more like a torture device, tiny hairs scraped his sensitive parts, leaving them raw and burning. He didn�t care for that much, so he�d put a stop to it. The legs he didn�t mind quite as much, it did feel nice to touch such milky skin without boundaries and the stubble never burned.
But her constant obsession with being clean. Like smelling of things other than herself, of where she had been. Every day she insisted on showering. Scrubbing herself with that dreadful soap, which washed away her body oils, and nearly stripped away any residual scent of him, though he wasted no effort in replacing it any way he could. It was quite sweet smelling, though not unbearably so, almost pleasant like the air in spring. Fenrir buried his face in Annette�s shoulder, inhaling the very scent deeply. She smelled of honeysuckle, but most noticeably, of him. His sweat, his seed, his saliva. He smirked into her hair. Ah, yes. He allowed her these rituals, as he rather enjoyed the time spent counteracting them.
Only when she crossed into pushing those rituals onto him did he run afoul of such things. She�d complained once, long ago, about his smell being overpowering, even to her, and her sense of smell was not nearly as refined as his. Especially not in such a short time after she�d been bitten. He�d rather thought his scent was very worldly. It spoke of where he had been and what he�d done. She refused his presence at every turn, insisting he smelled of rank garbage and rancid meat, and leaving the room. They�d quarreled about it, although it was more like constant silent rejection from her than an actual row, until he�d grown so infuriated that he�d put a fist through the kitchen door, and stormed up the stairs. After about half an hour he�d emerged again, naked, skin pink from the steaming water, and thrust his face into hers, dripping all over the book she was reading. He demanded to know if she was quite satisfied with herself? She�d sniffed him gingerly, calmly closed the damp book, and told him that no, she was not, and in fact, now he smelled like an old wet dog, as well as rank garbage and rancid meat, and had he even bothered to use soap? Or just standing under the tap and getting all wet and pruned so he could come and drip all over the book she was enjoying? He�d snarled, gripping the edges of the armchair she was seated in, claws fraying the fabric. She�d looked nonplussed, being the infuriating creature that she was, and he�d stormed off, growling about not using any flowery shit meant for women and poufs. She�d called after him that she�d be happy to find some not so flowery shit if he were to take her to the neighboring Muggle village again for supplies. After much badgering, he�d caved, and ever after he�d been made to promise he�d use it, at least once a week. Not every day, and not near the moon, were his conditions. He really didn�t want the other males to smell him�they might think him domesticated.
It wasn�t all bad, in the end. It was a soap for men that had a musky, but not unnatural scent. He figured it must be quite manly, but he wasn�t sure that Muggles had much of a grasp on these sorts of things. After all, it never failed that after his weekly ritual, she�d invariably seek him out. She�d crawl into his arms quite willingly, or nuzzle unobtrusively against his side, or wherever she could fit herself, and just breathe him in.

The petite werewolf did this now, burying her nose into his neck, and breathing deeply. He smelled of the outdoors. Pine, soil, burning wood, and the old damp leather smell of his coat.
He chuckled, more of a rolling vibration through his chest, and sat up to reach across her to the bedside table. He grabbed a pack of matches and a single cigarette, settling himself against the headboard and lighting it. Annette settled into the crook of his arm, watching him take a long drag, inhaling deeply before heaving a satisfied sigh. Smoke curled around his pointed canines as he grinned to himself. She traced lines in the fur on his abdomen, admiring the smooth ripple of flesh and raw muscle, how his wide chest tapered into narrow hips and strong legs. He was completely comfortable being exposed and seemed not to feel the growing chill of the old cottage at night. He looked down at her, pulling her closer as she shivered a little. He held his cigarette out for her between two thick fingers, and she accepted with a coy smile. She held it to her lips and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke burn her lungs as the endorphins in her brain began to buzz excitedly again. There was nothing quite like sharing a post-orgasm cigarette with a werewolf.
The female took another long drag, and passed the cigarette back to him. He growled softly, leaning his head down and nipping her bottom lip. She made a sound of submission, which seemed to satisfy whatever urge he�d had, as he went back to smoking. Reaching down, she managed to grip the sheets and pull them up around her chin, shivering in earnest. Gooseflesh erupted across her body and Fenrir must have taken this as a hint, he rose from his position and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. He cracked his neck, letting the gesture roll down his arms to crack each joint in turn, right down to his fingers. He stood then, little nub of still burning tobacco hanging from his lips, taking the short few strides necessary to reach the fireplace against the far wall. A waning fire crackled pitifully, having been forgotten in the heat of mutual bathing and the ensuing fucking. He crouched and stroked it with an iron pike. No good. There was little heat left to renew. Taking the smoldering nub of his tobacco, the werewolf grabbed a scrap of The Daily Prophet nearby and held the two together. Annette didn�t watch with any particular interest, instead she snuggled herself into the middle of the wide mattress, closing her eyes as the fire rekindled, warming the dank wood surrounding them, heating the room quickly. In her sleepy haze she heard him pad quietly across the hall, headed for the bathroom.
It could have been mere minutes, or hours before Annette was awakened with a start to the sound of a shuddering doorframe. Someone was knocking very loudly, or had slammed the door. Outside, she heard voices. Sitting up slowly, she scanned the room for the male werewolf. His trousers and jacket were missing from the armchair over which they�d been abandoned. She slipped carefully out of bed, reaching for a flimsy dressing gown and synching it tight about her waist. Self consciously and out of pure habit, she ran her fingers through her hair, parting it from right to left, partially obscuring her face, padding down the stairs carefully to investigate. The voices grew louder, one was obviously Fenrir�s. The other was measured, drawling, a man�s voice. She crept to the door of the back garden, it was solid, no window to look through. Fenrir was obviously agitated, she could hear his sharp, barking tone through the flimsy wood. She pressed her ear to the space between the door and the frame, straining to listen. The other man sounded agitated as well, but he hardly rose his voice - instead he seemed to whisper, hissing like a serpent.
��can�t possibly be considering refusing His offer, Greyback. You�d be a fool to think-�
�You�re the fool, Malfoy,� Fenrir spit the last word with every bit of contempt he could, �showing up here in the middle of the night, throwing threats about. Especially this close��
She could hear the grin in his voice, thinking he must be pausing for dramatic effect, possibly gesturing to the waxing moon. They both knew well that Malfoy wasn�t in any more danger than he would be at any other time, all things considered. There was never a good time to threaten an aggressive werewolf.
Malfoy was quiet for a moment. Apparently Greyback�s words struck home, when he spoke again, it was with an air of coolness, which sounded all too forced, �We�re all well aware of your �abilities, Greyback. Which is why I have been sent here tonight. You�ve managed to increase the number of your�.followers, am I correct?�
�What business is that of yours?� there was an arrogant edge his voice.
�Believe me, I couldn�t possibly be less interested in your affairs. But the Dark Lord wishes to reacquaint himself with you and your kind,� Annette gasped behind the door, covering her mouth in horror, �He is aware that many years ago you lost a great deal of followers to his enemies as well as the Ministry.�
Annette heard a growl, it seemed to vibrate the door frame, �Is he now? And where was the Dark Lord when all this was going on? Where was he when they were snuffing us left and right? And the laws they�ve passed, the Registry, the threat they�ve put on our lives, the whole reason I had to go into hiding in the first place?�
�I assure you, if the Dark Lord had been in any position��
�When its beneficial for him, eh? When he wants to call forward his war wolves, a bunch of filthy half breeds to send in at his disposal? While he �wasn�t in any position�, I�ve built my own following back up. Without his benefits and without his war. Especially without his bloody Death Eaters.�
�You were a deserter, Greyback, that he�s shown you any mercy at all-�
�Say that again, Malfoy�I dare you.�
Malfoy sputtered, �W-with Him, you�d have unlimited access to prey. Your pack wouldn�t have to stay hidden, they could roam out in the open. There would be opportunities for them, riches beyond your wildest dreams. If there is no Ministry, there is no Registry. You could lead your kind to victory. Think about it, Greyback. They�.you� could do nothing but gain from this alignment�� he was bargaining, sounding slightly desperate to change the subject.
Annette chose that moment to burst through the back door. She had to stop the conversation, to shut him up. She knew already too well where this bargaining was headed: it hadn�t taken much more to bribe Fenrir in the past. Malfoy knew just what to say, and she had to stop it.
�Stop your lying! You�ve no business here, Death Eater!�
The man and the werewolf jerked their heads toward the little female. Her pupils reflected in the faint light cast out from the house, her wild dark hair framing her pale face. She strode out into the back garden, eyes on fire, fingers itching for skin to rake. Malfoy�s pale hair glimmered in the moonlight, his head turned up as he regarded her, disgusted sneer across his features. Greyback was snarling at her, turning on her quickly and rooting her into place just a few feet away from them.
�Back inside!�
The female had her gaze locked on Malfoy, but tore it away for a second to glance at Greyback. She crossed her arms, partially to say she wasn�t going anywhere, and partially to shield herself from the chilly wind. She turned her eyes back to Malfoy, baring her slightly pointed canines in his direction. He gave her a filthy look. The thought never occurred to her how ridiculous she must look: a little shivering woman in a maroon dressing gown, caught between a raging werewolf and a cold blooded wizard.
�We don�t want anything to do with you or your Master, swine, take your cause and-�

�I said back inside!� The male roared and advanced on her, only a few steps, but she flinched. Her eyes burned into his, neither faltered, neither blinked. She was challenging him, for all of her size and strength compared to his, she was staring him down.
�Inside, Half-head.� It was almost a whisper, a snarling threat. She�d crossed a line.
She flinched again, and blinked. His use of that awful name, that cold, distant tone. As if on cue, the wind blew up a mighty gust, and her hair flew out in all directions, revealing her scarred face to the silvery moonlight. Her cheeks burned, she felt suddenly very, very small and very, very exposed. She thought she heard an utterance of disgust, and she turned and walked slowly back through the open door.
�Oh yes. I can clearly see now, Greyback, why the Dark Lord wishes to have you at his side. You command such respect��
She heard Fenrir growl menacingly.
��you should consider muzzling that one, if you�re to let it roam about like that.�
Annette slammed the door as hard as she could. She climbed the stairs in silence, crawled into the huge bed alone and settled in, tucking the sheets firmly under her chin. She listened to the fire crackle defiantly, until she heard the door open and slam again. The cottage walls rattled with its force. But footsteps never pounded the stairs, no doors creaked open, and no comforting weight settled beside her. She fell asleep in her dressing gown, feeling for all of her worth, very strange.
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The Way We Are