Ok, this is an early warning. This was originally rated, er... "higher", but I toned it down in order to test it out on the FF audience! Which pretty much boils down to using more ambiguous words... Anyway, if you're really sensitive about the R rating, then I suggest you look elsewhere. I've tried to keep from offending while at the same time keep the integrity of the work. Believe it or not, this has a plot. I just hope it doesn't get lost in the translation...

If anyone is offended, let me know and I'll do something about it (remove it or further modify it, I dunno.) Otherwise, on with the fic! :)

Be Not Still

by CrystalMage

Hermione Granger was frustrated.

With a vicious push, the door to the flat she shared with Ron slammed shut to a satisfying crash. She hadn't been calm enough to Apparate and for all the stomping of her feet and cold October wind on her face, the blood still boiled inside of her.

Stupid, Seamus.

It had been more than a year since Harry had defeated Voldemort and the battle had been neither short nor painless. Too many of their classmates, their professors, their family members, and their energy had been lost to the war. But after it had all ended, there had been a surge of euphoria that had not been seen in the wizarding world since Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald. The festivities had continued on for weeks, with people reuniting with their loved ones and celebrating the notion of simply being alive.

Those that had been closest to Harry had suffered the most, as they always had. But of the remaining Gryffindors, and a group of the closer members of the other Houses, there had been created a tighter bond - one stronger than the sorting hat had made when it divided them on their first visit to Hogwarts. It had become a monthly tradition for each one of the surviving members of the Defense Association to hold a get together for the night. Though trying to get everyone together all at once was near impossible, there was always an air of importance to these nights. For it was on these occasions that they were able to find out how everyone was, what new things were going on, and where they were all situating themselves in this new age of their world. More importantly, while accepting the notion that the war had changed everyone, it was an opportunity for them to maintain their old friendships in their minds and hearts, if only for a few hours each month.

Hermione ripped her scarf from her neck and threw it onto the kitchen table. Her coat came off a couple seconds later and she chucked it in the general direction of the coat hanger in the corner of the living room.

Stupid, idiotic, brainless, moron.

This month, Seamus and Lavender had hosted at the Hog's Head to one of the bigger turnouts of the year. Harry and Ginny had met she and Ron at the pub and in no time, the party had begun in earnest. Fred and George were, as always, providing entertainment in the form of testing out their new Crustacean Cakes on any unsuspecting (or inebriated) partiers. Neville was laughing good-naturedly at being taught how to dance by Dean and Katie Bell, managing an awkward jig before crashing into Luna and blushing fiercely. And a tipsy Lavender had taken it upon herself to ask Ron when he was going to propose to Hermione, causing Hermione to spill her drink and Ron to remove his arm from around her waist quicker than if it were on fire, sputtering wildly about "timing" and "none of your business."

In the flat, Hermione let her shoes fly across the hallway, not caring where they landed, and made a hard pivot into the bedroom.

Everything had been fine, until he had opened his stupid, fat mouth.

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Hermione was saying her goodbyes to Ginny at the end of the night when the younger redhead looked up to find her new boyfriend.

"Oh, there he is."

Following her line of sight, Hermione spotted Harry who was squashed next to Ron and what looked like the entire male half of Gryffindor Tower, and a few girls, all leaning into a person in the center.

The two girls looked questioningly at each other but it was Hermione who decided to go have a look. She walked up quietly, everyone too concentrated to notice, and heard Seamus's voice from the center saying something that sounded like "...her legs." As the boys were all chuckling, she came up right between Harry and Ron and asked in a low voice, "What's he talking about?"

Ron jumped a foot in the air, Harry looked like the drink he had swallowed had gone down the wrong tube and was in a coughing fit, and the rest of the group had looked over at her and turned the most amazing and collective shade of red. As if she were carrying the plague, the group backed away from her and Seamus, made spattered excuses about the late hour and work the next day, and in no time fled the scene.

Her brow already coming together, she eyed the three remaining men individually: Harry had finally gotten a hold of himself and was clearly embarrassed, eyeing her as if she was about to scold him. Seamus looked like he was eyeing an oncoming Bludger, a tinge of green coming up under his freckles. Ron, however, just looked concerned. Completely confused and becoming annoyed, Hermione asked, "Ok, what's going on?"

Seamus looked to Harry and Ron, but Ron continued to look at her and spoke very evenly, as if he were measuring all of his words. "Seamus was just telling us a joke."

Hermione lifted one eyebrow at her boyfriend then turned to look at Seamus. "What's so wrong about a joke, that they all ran away like that?"

Harry spoke from her left. "Well, it's... er, I mean... it's a bit of a....uh, 'guys' joke, Hermione."

Never taking her eyes off Seamus, she said, "Well then, why were Angelina, Alicia, and Katie here?"

Squirming under her gaze, Seamus choked out, "Well, they're, you know... different..."

"Different than-" And then realization dawned on Hermione. "Different than me?" Now affronted, and admittedly a little hurt, she bore her eyes into Seamus's. "It was just me you didn't want here?"

Ron immediately started on her right. "No, Hermione, he just-"

"Well, sort of," said Seamus weakly. Ron and Harry had given a pair of startled, "what?" cries on either side of her, but she wasn't paying attention. Hermione's jaw had dropped and when Seamus spoke again, he was running his hand through his hair. "You know you're great Hermione, you really are. But... well, when we were in school you were always so," Seamus sighed and shrugged, "... uptight."

"Watch, it Seamus!" Ron belted.

"She wasn't uptight!" Harry said quickly, from her left.

Seamus stepped from one foot to the other and looked up pleadingly to Lavender, who had just walked over to see what the commotion was about. Finally, he looked back to Hermione again, who was ashamed to feel tears prickling her eyes, and said, "You just always acted like one of the teachers."

"I was a Prefect!" She said proudly. "And Head Girl!"

"I know," cried Seamus, "but you were always like that! I guess I just didn't think that someone like you would want to hear some stupid, randy joke."

And though Hermione knew in the back of her mind that it should have been a small compliment, she couldn't help but bristle.

Someone like her.

Raising her chin, she spoke as evenly as she could, feeling the fury beginning to coil in her. "Well then, it's very obvious that you know very little about what 'someone like me' would enjoy, randy or otherwise."

Jaws dropped, and though she swore she saw a hint of a smile on Ron's lips, she nevertheless defiantly made her way out of the Hog's Head, and onto the street. After storming through the nearest Floo she could find, she made her way to a nearby stop, and paved a fiery path back to the flat.

xxxxxxxxxx

Now pacing the bedroom, she was no less full of furious energy than she had been before her arrival. Someone like her? Just hearing the words in her mind made her flare up again.

The reason for her anger raced menacingly up and down her skin and screamed inside her head: If he only knew.

But that was the whole point. No one knew. No one, except for she and Ron.

The first time she and Ron had made love, it had been a slow and sensual experience, neither one of them to eager for it to end. In the middle of the war they had found each other, finally and completely. Their eyes had been locked when not slipping closed in ecstasy, and loving words had been whispered into each other's skin. Tenderness and the stumbling of two friends becoming lovers had culminated in the sweetest moment Hermione had ever experienced as a woman.

The shift in their relationship had led to the paving of other new roads for them. She no longer suffered so much over what the next day would bring or how they would survive it, but merely faced it with her strength and that of her friends. She had listened to Ron's opinion about where Harry had been, emotionally, after the war and had backed off a great deal of her mothering. He had made more of an effort to listen to her insistence of his potential, leading him to a skyrocketing career at the Ministry as an Auror. Things between them were more earnest and clear, further building on their years of friendship and affection. Nothing was off limits and everything was wide open.

Well, almost everything.

Hermione had become quite at ease with being intimate with Ron, and she never dwelled too much on the way that their sex life could be improved. Satisfaction was reached amazingly for them both and she had never heard Ron complain or push her for more. Slowly, however, a thought came to bother her mind more and more frequently: was she truly being as open as she could with Ron? For while Hermione had always considered herself a simpler type of woman in that sense, she couldn't deny the way that her body reacted when Ron touched her. She began to wonder on the ways in which she held her desires in check. How many times had some saucier thought raced into her head, only to be pushed down?

This admission had been a shock to Hermione, who had been trying to be as honest with herself as she could. Then and there she had made a decision. She was not going to claim to love openly and completely when she was, in fact, holding back in one of the most intimate ways with her lover. She found herself thinking about taking this next step constantly and eventually, her worries slowly began to fade away, instead coming to be replaced by wants.

She realized that every stolen tidbit she had heard in the girl's bathroom, every naughty fantasy she had ever allowed herself to imagine, and every means to achieve it were fully within her grasp.

The first time she let herself go was after Ron had returned from a week-long assignment for the Ministry, early last September. She had missed him terribly and her secret thoughts had only multiplied in his absence. He had Apparated into their flat and scooped her up in an enormous embrace. She had breathed in his sweat and felt his stubble gently rasping her cheek, and immediately felt the concern melt away and the fire in her belly ignite. His voice had rasped in her ear about how he had missed her, while his thumb was already making circles on her waist, just under her shirt. Her eyes had closed shut for a second, and when she opened them, she knew the time had come to shed her insecurities and allow the thoughts that had driven her mad all week to be explored. Without a word, she had led Ron back into their bedroom and proceeded to shock the hell out of him... several times. She had ridden him harder and moaned so much louder that she was sure that had they had closer neighbors, they might have received a scandalized letter by owl the next morning.

However, morning had come with no angry letters, nor any interruptions to their afterglow. Hermione remembered laying in Ron's arms, almost wishing he would stay asleep for the rest of the day. What would he think of her? Would he think any less of her? Could she still look him in the face and argue chess, and Muggles, and magic - and every other topic they loved to debate about - even after he had seen her throw her head back with such abandon as she pounded herself on him?

She hadn't the need to wait long, and she looked back fondly at how stupid she had been to fear anything with Ron. He had looked at her with such care in his eyes and told him how privileged - privileged! - he had felt at being the one she had chosen to share this with. Her eyes had watered at how he told her he had never seen anything more beautiful than the woman he loved, trust him so completely.

From that point, Hermione had held nothing back from Ron. She let him know what she wanted, what felt good, and he would comply readily, as greedy for her to unleash as she was. While her blushes still came when she whispered that she wanted it hard, they always disappeared in the wave of affection she felt flowing between them. It transcended the bedroom, making Hermione feel more confident with Ron in everything that they did. She had never felt so emotionally naked before with anyone in her life, and she had never before felt so free. It was as if she had been allowed her own chance to grow into her skin, as opposed to being forced into a role by the dangerous necessities or circumstances of their lives.

Yet, now?

Now, Seamus presumed to peg her back into her mold from school, assuring himself that good ol' Hermione was nothing more than an old crone in a young body. Everyone had changed, but plain, know-it-all Hermione had remained the same.

Well, sorry Seamus, she thought, but you couldn't be more wrong.

Hermione slid her jeans roughly down her legs and kicked them over to the dresser across from the bed.

She would always retain, at the core, the central characteristics and values that made her who she was. That person had helped countless classmates pass their classes, kept Ron and Harry out of unnecessary risks, and aided in the downfall of the most dangerous wizard of their time. She was, and would continue to be, proud of the person she had been. But she would not let the oblivion of one person make her doubt all the progress she had made for giving herself a more fulfilled life.

Crossing her arms she grabbed the hem of her shirt and was bringing it up over her stomach when she heard a small pop behind her.

"Don't stop now."

She dropped her arms and spun around to where Ron was standing, staring at her with a concerned look even in light of his joke. He put his wand on the night stand and they stood staring at each other across the room.

Hermione broke away first and felt the anger ebb away for a second. "I'm sorry I left like that. I just..." but she trailed off and stared at the carpet, shaking her head

Ron toed off his shoes and threw his scarf onto the bed. Quietly, he padded across the room and wrapped his arms around her waist. Sighing, she slid her hands over his chest and buried her face under his chin.

"He has no idea what he's talking about Hermione, you know that." His voice reverberated under her palms and the rumble stirred a warmth in her chest.

"It's probably what most people think, though." She hated to sound so concerned, but was it possible that no one saw her any different than how she had been when she was ten? Even after everything?

"To bloody hell with what other people think, Hermione."

"Don't use that kind of language," she said softly, breaking into a sigh. Ron's large hands were slowly running up and down her back in the most soothing way. They curved around her shoulders, down into the curve of her waist, and flared out again right at the top of her underwear.

"Would you like me to speak in Troll?" His voice had taken on a lighter tone as he spoke into her cheek.

But this was bothering her too much to simply be taken aside by his humor. "Tell me the truth. Tell me... is that why Seamus didn't want me there? Because, I haven't changed?" Again, Hermione felt the weakness come out, but wrapped up in her lover's arms, she felt ready to take the blow.

Sensing her need to have this out, he voice lowered. "The truth?" He let his hands travel further and curve around the shape of her ass. She nuzzled closer, his hands awakening her and his words washing over her. "The truth is that Seamus was more worried about saying anything in front of Lavender. The truth," he curved his hands around her hips, "was that Seamus was keen to call us over when Harry and I were talking about the Cannons, thus avoiding you entirely." She smiled softly and her breath hitched as his thumb teased her belly button. "The truth is that the second I heard him say what he did, I knew you would be upset."

At this, his hands stopped their paths, one resting gently on her hip and the other rising to cup her cheek and tilt her head up to meet his eyes. "But I never felt more proud to know you the way I do, Hermione. The truth is that just because he doesn't know, it doesn't make it any less real." He breathed in and gave her a soft smile. "You may be a lot of things Hermione Granger, but you're not standing still."

She looked into his clear blues eyes, speaking to her directly from his heart, and felt the affirmation hit home. She knew Seamus's words should not have bothered her so much, and thinking back on it now, it was unreasonable to have left in such a huff. She needn't fear the fragility of her own changes. She could remain confident in herself and her decisions, even in the face of obvious question. And she knew that if she ever felt doubt, she would always have Ron there, by her side, helping her back to where she wanted to be.

With no preamble Hermione slanted her lips across Ron's and thrust her tongue into his waiting mouth. He moaned and the sound ignited her further. She could already feel him against her stomach and she squirmed from the warmth that burned in her. She wove her hands into his hair and brought his mouth even closer, fighting the need to pull away for breath.

Unfortunately, Ron decided otherwise. Gasping, he pulled away from her and took a step back. Lips slightly parted, blue eyes glassy and disoriented, he held out a shaking hand. "Just... just wait a second, Hermione. I know this might be the stupidest thing I've ever done," he looked at her hungrily, half-clothed mere inches away from him. "Ever." He pulled in a deep breath and looked at her closely, "But we don't have to do this, if you don't want to. You don't need to prove anything to me."

Hermione watched her lover with her head slightly tilted, a small smile forming on her lips. His erection was straining hard against his slacks, two of the top buttons from the shirt he wore had come undone, and he was breathing harder than if he had just come off the Quidditch pitch.

Slowly, she moved back up against him and placed her hands against his chest again. "Ron, I knew who I was before you got here tonight." He gave her a confused look, but she continued on. The thought was coming to her and her conviction grew with every word. "I knew that Seamus didn't know what he was talking about, but it still bothered me because this is still so... new. But," she looked up at him with a smile, "I found something in me, and I'm not going to let it go the first time I get scared. I found that power through loving you," she whispered quietly.

Hermione brought her hands back up to her shirt hem and lifted the material over her head. Her bushy hair framed her face and she saw him lick his lips. "I'm not proving anything, I'm just reminding myself why I'm so sure he's wrong."

With a whispered "Yes, mam" he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hard. His hand found her left breast through her bra and she sighed low in her throat. The hands that were gripping his shirt in bunches suddenly flew apart, dividing the shirt and sending a few buttons flying. He didn't so much as flinch, but merely lowered his head down to lick her neck.

"Tell me what you want, love," he whispered harshly into her ear, sucking as his hands undid the clasp of her bra and brought the straps down her shoulders.

"I want you filling me, Ron."

Both hands were now at her chest and her noises accompanied the sound of his zipper coming undone.

He gave a strangled growl, and she pulled ever so gently on him and brought him flush against her. In turn, he encircled her waist with his arms and picked up her, carrying her not to the bed behind him, but instead over to the chest of drawers behind her. He seated her on top and only parted from her long enough to slide off his boxers and socks before coming back to her again.

The chest was the perfect height, allowing them to be level with one another at Ron's height.

Breathing hard and running her hands through his hair and over his shoulders, she spread her legs on the chest, bringing him into the cocoon of her limbs.

She felt fiery, seated before her lover, poised to take what she wanted. What he so willingly gave and allowed her to share with him.

She brought her ankles together and used her legs to bring him into her. She imagined that they had both moaned, but the volume of her own had drowned out any other sound in her ears. The tension of the night and the anger that had fueled her away from him, left in a haze.

Desire ruled over anticipation. She crushed her lips to his again and allowed him to continue his movements for a spell. Over and over their voices reached out into the night. She bent down to whisper in his ear and it only made him move faster. She let her nails trail down his back, down to where her legs kept a firm grip around his waist. She raked them back up, maddeningly slow, compared to the tempo at which he was moving under her.

Hermione threw her head back and yelled his name into the room.

She could feel his movements growing more erratic, but she did not want it to end just yet. "The bed, Ron."

He looked up at her wildly and slowed his movements. Grabbing a firmer grip on her waist, he walked them backwards, still joined, to their bed. He sat down roughly and they both groaned at the friction.

Knees on the mattress, she straddled her lover and took a moment to move the hair off his damp forehead. They were both breathing hard and already she began to feel an insistence tugging at her from her core. She wanted completion.

She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him onto his back, his legs bending over the edge, his feet firmly planted on the floor. He smiled up at her and she bent down to run her lips over his own. She lifted her body up and almost all the way off of him, then gave him her own smile and slammed back down on him.

"Hermione..."

She felt his hands twisting into her hair while her mouth worked it's way up his neck and sucked on his earlobe in the same rhythm that she was moving over him.

She straightened up and placed a hand on his chest and the other behind her, on his knee. Her eyes slipped shut and she began to ride him in earnest. Up and down, deeper and deeper she drove herself over him.

The cries were coming with each of her movements, his deep grunts and her breathy moans filling the room. She threw her head back and she heard him pant underneath her, "That's it, love. Let go."

Her whimpers and words came faster and louder. "Ron... Ron..." The movement of their bodies was at a frenzied pace and she was giving into, gladly, to the oblivion.

"Oh god, yes. Ron! Yes..." Feeling the tendrils loosening, his fingers loosened their grip on her waist and found her right above where they were joined.

With a cry that echoed through the house, she felt her release take her over, stars flashing before her lids, her hands balling into fists from the sensation. Below, her, Ron wasted no time in giving a few final wracked thrusts before following her, groaning her name. The sensation was incredible and it prolonged her own release knowing he had joined her so enthusiastically.

After a few final lazy movements, Hermione collapsed onto Ron's chest, a smile on her face. Their breathing slowed minutes later and she vaguely felt Ron fumble with the bedspread to bring it over the two of them. She snuggled closer to him and his arms wrapped completely around her back, his large palms coming to rest at the curve of her breasts.

He whispered a sleepy, "luvyou" before his breathing slowed. She was sure that he hadn't fallen asleep; he would be cautious of whether she wanted to talk. But Hermione had meant what she had told him: she was not proving a point. She knew who she was.

She was the brightest witch of her time.

She was a screamer.

She was lover to Ron Weasley, and best friend to Harry Potter.

She sometimes liked it rough.

She was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, the Defense Association, and head of S.P.E.W.

She was a young woman that had spent a large part of her life living cautiously and was now discovering the many facets of her character. Not without fear, but rather through love.

She was all these things, and several she had yet to discover.

And she was not standing still.