A/N: This is a collaborative fic with Benkins1 and myself. Not only was he my Beta for this, but also is a great friend and the creator of the idea for this story. We both hope you enjoy it!
August, 1998
~o0o~
"Ron…right there…no, there…" Hermione shifted her body slightly so the pressure of Ron's too-rough fingers poking their way around her clitoris but never exactly on it was eased. She was lying on her back on his small, twin-sized bed, in the darkness of his bedroom. It was late, but Hermione had lost track of the time. It felt like they had been doing this for hours; it always seemed to feel like that lately.
"Mmm…sorry, here?" Ron was slightly out of breath, and Hermione could tell he was also a bit frustrated. Instead of rubbing her hooded nub that was aching from lack of any touch, he slipped a finger inside of her a bit too forcefully, wiggling it around as if looking for something, "Do you like that?"
"Yes…" Hermione bit her lip and lied. Lying was easier than explaining to him what to do, because she really didn't know how this was supposed to work either. This was the fourth time they had had sex, and although it was much less painful so far than the first, Hermione just didn't understand it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been out of town for two weeks visiting Charlie in Romania, which had left Hermione and Ron, as a new couple, plenty of time to experiment, but Hermione always found she wished she could speed up these times.
When Ron jammed another, and then another finger into her, she jolted back to reality, looking up at him hovering over her, she smoothed back some red hair that had fallen into his face and leaned up to kiss his temple. He was trying, she had to give him that. He responded back with an endearing smile and Hermione did her best to smile as well, pulling him closer to her in hopes that he would take his fingers out of her and just simply stop whatever he thought he was doing right down there. It certainly didn't feel right on her end.
"Ready?" Ron's brow was furrowed. Hermione spread her legs a bit and arched her back, more so to get away from the lumps in his old bed than wanting to get closer. She reached her hand down and wrapped it around his cock, helping to guide him into her. It burned a bit when he entered her, as she wasn't very wet, but he managed to push inside of her, grunting, before finally laying on top of her.
"Ron!" She squirmed, uncomfortable, and he immediately got the hint, blushing a bit as he lifted his chest from hers to stop crushing her. He grabbed each of her breasts, a bit too roughly, and started thrusting inside her in a rhythm that made no sense to Hermione. She tried to meet his thrusts by rolling her hips, but they never could get in sync with each other.
Sometimes it felt good. Maybe one thrust would just barely graze something inside her and make her sigh, but it was always fleeting. Some moments he would thrust into her so fast, so manically, that all Hermione could focus on were the sounds of slapping skin and a dull soreness from the friction between her legs. Other moments, when Ron was trying to make himself last longer by stopping, all Hermione wanted him to do was to move. And she told him so. But it was never quite right.
"Baby, are you okay? Are you…are you going to…y'know?" Ron asked. Hermione found it both humorous and a bit bizarre that neither of them said words like 'cum' or 'pussy' or 'cock' to each other. But truthfully, she could never imagine saying such things aloud. They just fumbled around, almost politely at times, twisting in the sheets of his bed, kissing when they could, their teeth knocking together when he would decide to push into her again.
Ron picked up his pace again, locking his arms so that he allowed her more room to breath. Hermione moaned, giving him an imperceptible headshake. Honestly, she wasn't sure she was going to come. She wasn't even sure she had yet. Ever.
Hermione placed both of her hands on the back of Ron's neck and closed her eyes, trying to be in the moment. A few more jolts of pleasure made her body hum, but they never amounted to anything greater. She only opened her eyes again when she felt Ron slide out of her, make a noise somewhere between a cough, grunt, and a moan, and spill himself onto the bed sheets. Hermione didn't bother to watch and instead, just laid there, listening to him. A moment later, just as he had done every other time, Ron crawled over to her until he was right next to her, planted a sloppy, sleepy kiss on her lips, draped an arm around her, and fell asleep.
Hermione pulled the covers up over the both of them, and held his hand to her chest. She felt safe with Ron, and she had to admit, sleeping next to him was nice, but she couldn't help but feel as if there was something missing.
She thought back to their first kiss—shared in the Chamber of Secrets on the last day of the second wizarding war. They had been together ever since. For both of them, it seemed a natural transition. Hermione had always wanted him, and Ron's love for her grew exponentially by the day when he soon realized he was just being thick for years and had always cared about her. His parents were happy, and her parents, once she found them and returned them to their normal state with some help, were overjoyed that she had found love amidst such destruction. The aftermath of the war somehow made everything good seem to nearly glow. Everyone was holding onto any shred of light they could-the Weasleys especially. The death of Fred had rocked all of them, and Hermione still cried about it some nights, especially when George came for dinner and his missing ear brought back memories. She knew that Mrs. Weasley saw her relationship with Ron and Harry's with Ginny as a more than welcome distraction. She doted upon the four of them, and now that Fleur was pregnant, another happy distraction was added to the mix.
When Charlie had extended an offer to his parents to stay with him in Romania for a few weeks, they jumped at the chance. However, Hermione had no idea it would be the start of her and Rons' physical relationship. She was closer than she ever had been with Ginny, and she knew that the youngest Weasley and her best friend had started down that road almost right after the war-and were blissfully happy about it. Hermione didn't know if she was alright with it, but she knew she had no room to judge. They were all children of war and in everyone's eyes, were now old enough to do whatever they pleased.
In the back of her mind, Hermione always guessed that the realization was there, that she knew sex was going to be a part of the equation sooner or later. She loved being with Ron and kissing him. It felt easy and natural. But things moved so quickly. There hadn't been any dating—they just started sprinting down a path together that Hermione could only assume ended with marriage.
Rushing things was a side effect for everyone—the uncertainty of the time they all had left during the war was causing rash decisions to be made left and right in the present. Hermione was not immune to this feeling and knew she might never be. She had seen so many die-Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Lavender…even though the war was over, how long did they really all have? Would it happen again?
She snuggled closer to Ron and thought about going back to school. In two weeks time, she would return to Hogwarts. Immediately after the battle, she swore she would never go back-the destroyed façade of the castle was too painful to look at—there were too many horrible memories in those halls. Harry and Ron were immediately offered apprenticeships as Aurors in training after the final battle, as was Hermione. She turned it down without even really considering it. It was her boyfriend and best friends' dreams to become Aurors, but she only fought because she had to.
Because of this, it wasn't long before Hermione reconsidered her initial thoughts and decided to return to Hogwarts to finish out her last year. Ginny was going as well, but neither was sure who else would come. Minerva McGonagall, now the Headmaster, had made it very clear that she would make sure the best education was provided to those who wanted to return, but it certainly wasn't necessary. The castle was being rebuilt all summer, but it still would not be back to normal.
But if Hermione was being honest with herself, she wanted to go back to school to avoid the celebrity the war had thrust upon her. She hated being stopped with Ron if they were out in Diagon, having dozens of pictures snapped of them and then turned into headlines the next day. She wanted her normal life back. And above all of that, she hoped that some space from Ron might increase their sexual chemistry, or at least give her time to read up on what the bloody hell she was supposed to be doing in bed.
~o0o~
Lucius Malfoy sat alone in what was left of his study in Malfoy Manor. The paintings had been confiscated from the Ministry during various Auror raids before and after the ending of the war, as had his other valuables. He still didn't have a wand, although he was hoping to rectify that as soon as possible. It seemed unlikely, however, since the Ministry had placed him under a probationary period. After multiple trials at the beginning of the summer, right after they were discovered hiding in their South of France home after defecting at the end of the final battle, Narcissa and Draco were deemed innocent and still had most of their rights. Lucius, on the other hand, bore the brunt of the punishment for his family, but he knew he would do it again if necessary. That final day of the war had made so many things clear to him-especially that his family came first, and he had seriously jeopardized their lives for a fleeting taste of power.
But even though his wife and son had a reprieve, things had changed so severely. Various Aurors watched the Manor on a daily basis- as they told Lucius, in case he 'had a change of heart'. He scoffed at this as he took another long swig from his whiskey, his eyes slowly glazing over as he looked around the dark, almost empty room. Every bit of their property, including priceless family heirlooms had been taken, stripped with magic, and either given back to Lucius, useless, or trashed. Some of the items, such as the goblin silver, he sold to cover expenses, as currently, and the Malfoy family fortune was on its last legs. Not only had the trials sucked up funds, but also the Ministry had seized what was left. For the first time in his life, Lucius Malfoy was poor and in need of a job.
"Damn it all," he grumbled to himself.
To compound his misfortunes, Narcissa barely spoke to him. She kept to her side of the empty Manor and if she did join him for a meal, her look was always one of constant disappointment. Lucius ached inside. He had been a terrible husband and father for almost two decades, and giving up his place in the ranks of Voldemort at the bitter end just was not enough. He knew it probably would never be.
Although he had made a few inquiries about possible jobs, Lucius found that he no longer had many friends. One of his last, true friends, had died in the war, and now almost everyone turned his back on him. A Dark Mark, a stint in Azkaban, and cowardice resulted in closed doors everywhere he turned. So, that afternoon, as he finished his glass of whiskey, Lucius wrote a letter. It was his last possible hope, and there was a very slim chance that it would even be answered.
~o0o~
"I would say you were looking well, Lucius, but I have never been one to lie."
Minerva McGonagall pursed her lips, regarding the man before her in her thick Scottish brogue before waving her hand for him to sit. She peered over her small glasses at him, the letter he sent was open and on the table between them.
"You've made great progress on the castle and the grounds," Lucius searched for anything to converse with her, trying his best to be polite. He felt incredibly humbled, sitting before a woman who had once taught him, whom he had gone toe-to-toe with in the final battle, and lost to. His hair was cropped to his shoulders, and not pulled back, and he was wearing simple black robes, nothing showy. The circles under his eyes were prominent, but Minerva was not completely willing to find sympathy for him yet.
"No thanks to you and your lot."
"They aren't 'my lot' anymore. And if they were, I would not have written to you," Lucius replied, trying to keep his voice even.
"How do I know that history isn't repeating itself? If the Death Eaters were to rise up again, would you not join them? In both wars you deserted when things didn't quite go your way…" her eyes were scrutinizing every movement on his body and the slightly pained expression on his face.
"My family is more important than that, a fact I should have realized years ago. As you know, Draco will be finishing his last year here and I need a job to support him and my wife. No one else will even look at me…" Lucius felt himself teetering on the borderline of begging and it hurt his Slytherin pride immensely.
"With good reason," Minerva scoffed.
"It can be under any stipulations you see fit. It can be probationary. The rest of my life is, so what is one more thing?" A hint of sarcasm was apparent in Lucius' voice, which made Minerva crack a very small smile. She sat back in her headmistress chair, considering her options for a moment. After the end of the war, nearly half of the staff had left. Their potions Professor had been murdered and the grounds were a mess. Barely anyone wanted to stay on besides herself, Hagrid, Trelawney, and Flitwick. Hogwarts was in desperate need of help and she could not recruit Professors fast enough, even if the enrollment was one third of what it used to be. The longer she deliberated, the more smug Lucius began to look. They both needed each other.
"Fine. What position were you hoping for? You may not know, but Argus has retired…" Minerva suggested with a twinkle in her eyes.
"I was thinking more along the lines of Defense Professor."
"Ha! Oh my…" Minerva gasped, clutching her hand to her chest, "A Death Eater as a Defense Professor? We might as well give up and send the children to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang and close the doors!"
"Former Death Eater," Lucius locked his jaw, holding firm on his request as Minerva came down from her tizzy, "The few young men and women that are brave enough to return here have probably severely disabled other Death Eaters in the final battle and would have no reason to be scared of me. No Dark Magic, I promise."
Minerva pursed her lips again, "Potions might be better suited for you, for now." Lucius cocked an eyebrow at her suggestion, "Severus was much more adept."
"I seem to remember Slughorn giving you rather high marks…"
"Only because Severus did most of my assignments," Lucius countered, which made Minerva sigh in exhaustion.
"You will teach Defense classes to the 6th and 7th years only. They will be combined in one class. I will teach the younger years until you can prove that you aren't a loose canon, and only if you can. You will also teach potions. All years. You will live on the grounds and will have twice weekly meetings with me. Your salary for the Defense class will go back into Hogwarts to help rebuild, but you can do what you wish with your potions salary. Am I clear?" Minerva asked when she had finished her stipulations.
"Crystal. And about my wand?" He asked, satisfied enough with the arrangement, and honestly surprised she even agreed.
"Ah, yes, I heard about that. Pity. On the first day of classes report to me and I will have one for you…and the books you will teach from. And you will not stray from the material, especially in Defense. Half of them still have N.E.W.T.S to take this year," Minerva pushed her chair away from the desk, standing up and prompting Lucius to do so as well.
"Thank you Minerva. I cannot explain to you how thankful I am," he told her, inclining his head.
"Do not try. Just show me. And do not make me regret it."
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! We would both appreciate your reviews and follows!
