Hermione was wrapped up in something warm and solid and alive that was the source of all the love in the world. She was starting to wake up but the warm something was still holding her and she fell asleep once more. She started dreaming again, and this time the dream was more vivid than all her previous dreams of Ron making mad, passionate love to her that her body started to ache. The dream felt so real that she ignored the sensation of some sort of minor earthquake beside her. But she was beginning to hear sounds that made her dream a little less real.
She heard a muffled thump! sound on one side of the bed, followed by two smaller bumping sounds. 'Rats,' she thought. Only, rats didn't swear, did they? 'Oh, who cares about rats, I'm dreaming about Ron and something he's doing with eclairs to my -- oh, my!'
Those sounds again! The dream was fading. 'No, no, come back, Ron... Oh, my, I'll have to ask Dobby to bring me some eclairs tonight so I can...' Hell, there goes that thumping sound again, like someone bunny-hopping across the floor. She really didn't want to open her eyes yet. She just might fall asleep again. She sank back across the pillows. She was getting drowsier by the second.
Click. Was that her door opening? Can't be, no one could break the spells on her door. The only way her door would open like that was if someone had opened it from the inside. And she was the only one inside her room.
Wait. If she was the only one inside her room, then why was she hearing... "I'll come back later, I promise. I love you." The door closed. Ron! 'Open, open!' she ordered her eyes. 'Too bright, it hurts,' was the response. 'Eyes can talk?! I'm still dreaming, that must be it. But I have to wake up. WAKE UP!' The fog in her brain started to roll away. Ron WAS here last night, and he DID make love to her. Wasn't he? Didn't he?
When she woke up, he was gone.
Did he leave after she fell asleep? No, his side of the bed was still warm. He must have left just before she woke up. The bathroom! Why didn't she think of it before? He might be inside her cozy, large, private bathroom. She really could use a nice, long bath with Ron scrubbing her back, and maybe doing other things with his hands and his mouth and his tongue that would make her squirm and scream...
She slowly moved to a sitting position on the bed. She felt... different. More alive, somehow. A little, er, sore, especially, well, down there. She looked at her body. Her breasts, particularly her nipples, looked a bit swollen. She suddenly recalled the way he had touched them and licked them and... did he bite them? No teeth marks; probably not. He DID bite her just above her collarbone, though. She would probably be bruised there. She flung the covers off her and stood up. Her legs felt a little unsteady; her center of gravity seemed to have shifted. Oh, right. That was normal, particularly for, ahem, first-timers, according to The Beginner's Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or How to Make Them Moan and Groan All Night Long. Her body would shift back to its usual, er, setting, before long.
She frowned. Their clothes were still strewn all over the floor. His robes and jumper were still slung over the back of that chair. 'I should make him clean up this mess, I really should,' she thought. 'And then, after he's done that, I should... punish him for being such a slob.' She smiled wickedly. Since when did she become this naughty?
She walked over to the full-length mirror by one side of her dresser. She stood in front of it and looked at her reflection. "Goodness, dearie, what did you DO? And you Head Girl! Tsk, tsk," the mirror squawked.
"Oh, shut up! How many Head Girls have shagged boys in this room before, eh?" Great. She was arguing with a mirror.
"Tut, tut, language! And if you really want to know the answer to that question, 658 since I was brought here in the year 1081! Repeat performances with the same boy don't count, although the same girl doing it with more than one boy does!" Ewww. That was way too much information. Certainly not the kind one read about in Hogwarts, A History.
"Do you want to know how many Head Girls and Head Boys did it together?" Oh, Lord. The mirror was sniggering at her.
"I need a bath," she said weakly. She was walking to the bathroom when the mirror called out, "301! And that already includes you and that yummy Weasley boy! You should have seen him hopping around earlier. Like his, er, hindquarters were on fire!"
"What? You saw him leave?" She whirled around and stood in front of the mirror again, hands on her hips.
"Yes, dearie. Looked like he had somewhere else to be."
"Oh." Her face fell.
"Don't look like that, love. I've seen too many boys act the way he did after they do it. Scares the blood out of them, you see, after they realize what they've just done."
"I -- I thought he was different from all the other boys." Her bottom lip was trembling.
"I think he is, dearie. He DID promise to come back later. AND he did say he loves you."
WHAT?! "You HEARD that? I thought that was just part of my dream." Wait a minute. "What else did you hear last night and this morning?" She stared at the mirror, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Oh, don't worry, dearie. Usually I leave when I hear more than one person in this room."
"Leave? Where do you go?"
"Oh, there's a place that all mirrors go to when their owners need privacy. Usually the owners have to ask us to leave, but caring ones like me know precisely when our presence would be too embarrassing. So don't worry, I didn't stay very much longer when you and that yummy Weasley boy were doing it."
"But you.. you WATCHED us!"
"Only for a little while, dearie. I just wanted to make sure the two of you ended up together. You're SO right for each other, you know."
"But... how do you know that?"
"I knew when you brought him here that time to look at his bruises. He could have taken advantage of you while you were crying over him. But he didn't. That's how I also think he's different from the other boys. Maybe he really just had somewhere else to be, so he had to leave. But then again, what do I know? I'm just a mirror."
"Oh. Well, thanks."
"Anytime, dearie. By the way, shouldn't you be getting dressed or something? You might catch a cold, walking around naked like that." It was unnerving, the way magical objects had a life of their own. She made a mental note to buy a nice, thick drape for her mirror next Hogsmeade weekend. Two nice, thick drapes, actually; the other one was for that painting of the shepherdess dozing against a tree, hanging on the wall opposite her bed. Lord knows if she really sleeps all the time.
She ran a warm bath in the tub and stepped in. She let the water and the soapy bubbles ease her soreness. She didn't want to cry, she really didn't, but her tears fell anyway. She knew better than to think the worst of Ron. He had always surprised her. Just when she was positively certain he was the biggest prat in the world, he turned around and did something so unexpectedly sweet and kind and uncharacteristically mature, that she fell in love with him just a little bit more. So why should this time be any different? She would just have to wait and see what he was up to. But the trouble was, she could be so impatient sometimes. Like right now. She had waited for him to love her nearly half her life, certainly for the entire time she was at Hogwarts.
Her thoughts went back to what had happened last night, and promptly started to blush. Ron was right; she was a scarlet woman. The way she kissed him and groped him and licked him were, well, just -- just downright wanton. It was so... so... right and good and true, but only with him. She could never be like that with any other man. Ever. She couldn't even think of doing those things with, to and for, any other man. She would just have to make sure there would be many, many, many, er, repeat performances with Ron, hopefully starting tonight.
Then her thoughts went over the words he said and the sounds he made. The way he was growling and moaning because of what she did to him was so... arousing. So arousing that she was starting to feel that now-familiar tingle down there. Oh, my. She really had to have that repeat performance as soon as humanly possible. She thanked all the stars and planets in the universe that she and Ron were young and strong and, well, capable. She couldn't imagine any old people, say like -- ewww, Snape, or -- double ewww, McGonagall, doing that. Ewww. When she was younger, she didn't understand why some people had heart attacks while they were in bed. She didn't think there would be so much strain involved in just lying down, maybe reading a book or something. Now she understood exactly how that could happen. She made another mental note, this time to check her mattress once she got out of the bath, just to make sure she and Ron didn't burn any holes in it while they made love last night.
She sighed. The bath water was beginning to turn cold. She thought about casting a warming charm on it, but decided she wanted to go lie down again. She dried herself off and pulled on a thick, pink, fluffy bathrobe. She was going to get herself a good book, a few handkerchiefs (just in case she got weepy again), and lie down until, maybe, hopefully, Ron came back, perhaps with something to eat, anything -- ooh, eclairs would be nice.
When she got out of the bathroom, she nearly fainted. Her desk, the top of her dresser, and three chairs were overloaded with trays of food, enough to feed an entire Quidditch team, their coach, and maybe a dozen of their closest friends. And tidying up the bed was--
"Dobby!! Wh--what are you doing here?! "
"Miss Hermione Granger! Dobby is so glad Miss Hermione Granger is awake and feeling better. When Dobby saw Mister Wheezy coming out of Miss Hermione Granger's room, Dobby thought Miss Hermione Granger was sick. Mister Wheezy did not say if Miss Hermione Granger was sick, but when Mister Wheezy asked Dobby to bring Miss Hermione Granger's breakfast, Dobby thought--"
"R-ron asked you to bring me breakfast?"
"Indeed, yes, Miss Hermione Granger. Dobby met Mister Wheezy outside Miss Hermione Granger's door, and Mister Wheezy was in a hurry, Mister Wheezy was going to the Quidditch field for the final match, but he asked Dobby to--"
Oh. Lord. The Quidditch final. That was why Ron was in such a hurry to leave. She had to get to the Quidditch field NOW. She lunged for her dresser and started to pull out some clothes. She never heard Dobby saying goodbye, nor did she notice him leaving the room. She had a life-altering decision to make. Should she wear her never-before-used, almost-a-year-old, mother's-present-for-her- eighteenth-birthday, too-embarrassing-to-wear-to-class, lace underwear set? Or should she not wear underwear at all, in anticipation of the, er, after-game celebration? For the space of five agonizing minutes, she hopped from foot to foot, writhing in doubt.
At last she decided it wouldn't hurt to try the lace set on for size. When she did and went to the mirror to look at herself, the mirror was surprisingly silent. 'Wait, is this mirror growing dim? Is there something wrong with it?' She stared stupidly at it until she realized it was fogging up in the same way the little mirror in her bathroom did whenever she took a bath. She smiled wickedly again. If the mirror reacted to her lace knickers that way, Ron would probably have a heart attack. 'He better not! Well, at least not until I've had my way with him.' She suddenly remembered Ron could banish all her clothes in one fell swoosh, so it wouldn't really matter anyway. But, by Circe and Morgana and all the famous witches in history, she was going to make Ron take off every stitch of her clothing with his bare hands, even if she had to break both his wands!
For the first time in her life, she regretted not having a broomstick. Though she ran down the staircases at her top speed, she still felt as though she was crawling on the ground like a slug. And, rounding corners like that made her dizzy and breathless. But then again, maybe it had more to do with the fact that she was going to have her fill of watching Ron without him noticing or laughing at her. Plus, she was starving. She really should have just grabbed a few pieces of toast to tide her over. But then again, she had several days' worth of food in her room, well, maybe a day's worth, reckoning Ron's appetite. They wouldn't have to stop doing what they wanted to do just to get something to eat. Uh-oh. She'd forgotten to ask Dobby for some eclairs. She nearly tripped by the castle entrance as she imagined Ron smearing the creamy filling of several eclairs across her body, then licking it off, then doing it over and over and over... Right. The game. She had to get to the Quidditch field.
The stands were packed and the game was in full swing by the time she got to the field. She looked around for a place to sit. As her eyes were scanning the stands, she noticed two identical heads of flaming red hair waving frantically to her. She scrambled up as fast as she could to sit between Fred and George. The ribbing started almost at once.
"Well, if it isn't our soon-to-be-if-she-thinks-our-baby-brother's-not-that-big-of-a-prat-sister- in-law!"
"Tsk, tsk, you're late, young lady! Where is your team spirit? You weren't here to give our Captain a good-luck snog before the game started. Neglecting your Head Girl duties, aren't you?"
"By the look of her, I'd say she'd given our Captain all the, ahem, good luck he could possibly need last night. That should be worth at least a year's, er, good cheer, to our ickle baby Ronniekins."
"D'you reckon he remembered to say those magic words before he got, er, carried away? I don't think I'm ready to be an uncle yet."
"George, I am SHOCKED at your insinuations! You know very well our ickle baby Ronniekins lives in holy terror of Molly Weasley! To forget such a basic precaution would mean his death -- his long, slow, torture-ridden death."
"Hang on, are we talking about the same Molly Weasley who, as we speak, is knitting an entire wardrobe of jumpers, mittens and scarves for 'dear Hermione'? The woman would welcome a Knight Bus full of kids from her baby boy and our Head Girl here."
"Oh, right. Bugger."
Hermione really did try to stop listening to the twins' banter, which must have continued for at least another ten minutes. She was a little less than terrified out of her mind right now. Was it that obvious what she and Ron have been up to? She was used to the twins teasing her about Ron every time they visited Hogwarts since they left school, but this was different. Nevertheless, she made another mental note (the third one this morning, she, er, noted) to do everything in her power to hide her relationship with Ron until the two of them agree on the right time to let Fred and George know. Considering that it was the twins, Hermione was all for waiting until she and Ron had had four children before telling them. Only the knowledge that she wasn't their sister-in-law (yet) restrained her from reaching out and knocking their heads together.
She noted with relief that the twins' attention turned towards the game again when the score was announced: sixty to ten, Gryffindor in the lead. Because of the twins, she missed seeing some sort of commotion in which Gryffindor had been awarded a double penalty. She glanced anxiously at Ron. He was shaking his head, as if trying to clear it. She was worried. That kind of lead was getting much too big for the Slytherins to ignore. Malfoy would be sure to retaliate, specifically targeting Ron and Ginny, who was one of the Chasers, for revenge.
Her thoughts and her eyes turned back to Ron. She saw the look of intense concentration on his face as he guarded the hoops. She remembered seeing that same look last night when she was on top of him, watching her impaling herself onto him. Her eyes glazed over, and she sat there with a vacant little grin on her face, when several things happened. First, she became aware of a hand waving in front of her eyes, a hand belonging to Parvati Patil, who was sitting in front of her, a knowing smirk on her face. Next, she felt elbows poking at her ribs, elbows that belonged to Fred and George, looking at her with identical knowing smirks on their faces. Then, she heard the roar of the crowd, and looked up in time to see Crabbe grazing Ginny on the shoulder with his Beater's club. Finally, she saw Ron's face turn scarlet, as he signaled to Madam Hooch for a time-out. She desperately wanted to run to him, but wasn't sure if he'd welcome her intrusion. She would just have to wait when they were alone so she could just-- just-- shag him shamelessly. Oh, my.
The game resumed. Slytherin's assault on Gryffindor began almost at once. Hermione shrieked when a Bludger narrowly missed Ron as the Slytherin Chasers, led by Blaise Zabini, attempted to score. She gasped as Ron did some sort of bone-twisting maneuver, consisting of thrusting one foot upwards to deflect the other oncoming Bludger and simultaneously reaching downwards to catch the Quaffle, which proved to be successful. For several seconds, Ron hung upside-down, holding onto his broom with one leg, fingers wrapped around the Quaffle, until Beater Seamus Finnigan helped settle him back onto his broom again. "I can't bear to watch anymore," she moaned, hiding her face in her hands. She felt her hands being pried away on each side of her face as the twins tried to make her "keep her chin up." Right. One day she will become their sister-in-law, and then she would be able to hex them with a clear conscience.
She felt more and more nervous as the Gryffindors inched closer towards their goal of accumulating a hundred-point lead before attempting to catch the Snitch. Hermione remembered one night during the previous week when Ron had discussed his strategy with her, hoping she would be able to point out any weaknesses in his plan. They had stayed in the common room late into the night, drawing up diagrams and plays. She had truly tried to understand the finer points of the game, but the fact that he was so close to her and kept on touching her hand or her arm when he was emphasizing a point was just too distracting.
Suddenly, all the Gryffindors around her were on their feet. They were a hundred points up, and Harry had spotted the Snitch. Although everyone else was watching Harry and Malfoy flying neck-and-neck after the Snitch, Hermione's eyes remained fixed on Ron. It seemed to her that all the other Slytherins were preparing to bear down on him. She was right. She watched as Beaters Crabbe, Goyle, Seamus and Dean Thomas seemed to be playing a bizarre version of Muggle tennis with their clubs and the Bludgers. Then suddenly, Crabbe and Goyle pelted the Bludgers towards Ron at a steep angle. Dean and Seamus, not expecting such a move from the Slytherins, were unable to block the Bludgers. There was a loud crunch as Ron's broom splintered under him. He leapt for the center hoop to avoid falling to the ground with his broken broom. Hemione was mesmerized by the way he fought to stand and gain his balance within the hoop, arms and legs extended in a fair imitation of Da Vinci's The Man.
She was expecting him to call for a time-out so he could get a school broom, but he was intently watching the Slytherin Chasers, who were flying towards the hoops, closely pursued by the Gryffindors. Zabini had the Quaffle and was taunting Ron, feigning indecision as to which hoop to use in attempting to score, as if Ron would still be able to intercept. Suddenly, Zabini chucked the Quaffle towards the right hoop, and Hermione watched in horror as Ron dove after it. He caught the Quaffle, but continued falling towards the ground. Hermione screamed louder than when she encountered the Boggart last night. Her voice was lost in the sounds the crowd made, a cross between triumph as Harry caught the Snitch and horror at the sight of Ron plummeting to earth.
Hermione found herself leaping down the stands and hurtling across the field towards Ron, the twins hot on her heels.