Ok, more great reviews. Sorry this is all couples I've done before, but it's needed for plot. Besides, I just can't resist a little more Ron and Hermione time.
I'll try and get out another chapter this week, but I've got a ton of stuff to do.
Oh, to the person who offered to beta for me, I can't seem to contact you, so I'm sorry you don't get this first. I'll try another permutation of your email soon.
I may not be Snape, but I the best we've got, damn it. Hermione Granger scrubbed at the burnt cauldron with a viciousness born of frustration and anger. She had been brewing and mixing for months. She'd read every damn book she could find from the Room of Requirement, and some of the darker books from the Black library that hadn't been tossed. She'd gone beyond either Lupin's or Hestia Jones' ability at potions, and she could pass her potion NEWT's without even trying, but it wasn't enough for Harry. The fight had been brief, but intense.
"What do you mean, capture him and put him under Imperious or something?" Ron had said, perplexed at Harry's mention of Snape.
Hermione had rolled her eyes. "Ah, yes, that will work out. 'Please, Professor Snape sir, won't you be kind enough to invent a potion to melt a bit of the Dark Lord's soul.'"
Harry had exploded, "I DON'T RUDDY KNOW! But we've got to find something, and quickly. Voldemort isn't waiting around for us to finish. What we've been doing isn't good enough."
He'd stormed off, and Hermione had been hurt, more that she had admitted out loud to Ron afterward. She did her best, and it wasn't good enough. Tears began to fall, and she felt Ron's long fingers stroke her hair.
"Love, the cleaning will wait 'til morning. You've got soot everywhere, and we won't get anything done tonight. Take a shower, and let's get some sleep." He pulled on her arm, and guided her up the stairs and into their bathroom. He left her there, and she shrugged out of her dirty clothes and turned on the water, letting the warmth sink into her.
She stared at the clean white tile in front of her, and remembered scrubbing it the summer before fifth year from the creeping filgimold that at engulfed the place. This had been Harry and Ron's bathroom, before Harry had taken Sirius' room, and she and Ron had started sharing instead. Of course, Mrs Weasley still thought Hermione slept peacefully in her own empty bed, thanks to an ingenious product of Fred and George's. After Tonks' gentle reminder, Ron had also equipped his room with a silencing charm that played a very convincing recording of his snores. Hermione smiled at the memory of the first night they had slept together for the whole night in the same bed, and having to poke Ron in the side to get him to shut up long enough for her to fall back to slept, only to find something else poking her in the lower abdomen. He had given her an evil smile, and neither of them got much sleep after than.
The shower door opened, and she started at the sound, but relaxed as she felt Ron's hands run up her back, his consciousness touch her lightly, seeking to know how she felt. His strong hands massaged their way to her shoulders, kneading away the tension locked there, and she gave a little purr of pleasure. What would she do without Ron? He worked every bit as hard as she did, helping her with her potion attempts, reading and studying by her side, though she knew he hated it. And this, knowing when she needed to be touched, to be reminded of joy.
She felt the stirrings of want, of her body's endless craving for him, and felt the subtle echo of his own desire. Though the effects of the Amora were weaker now, they were still their, and neither of them could lie with their bodies reactions anymore. When in physical contact, they could still feel each other's pleasures and pain.
He moved closer, and she could feel his arousal against her lower back, and she shivered with anticipation. His hands left her shoulders, disappearing for a moment, and returning to her body, lathered with soap, and he cupped her full breasts in his hands, pulling her hard against him as he washed her breasts, her torso, slipping fingers inside of her to caress her sex. She writhed against him, torturing him with the twitches of her backside against his erect phallus. He returned the torture, abandoning her clit and turning attention to her bedraggled brown hair, soaping it lovingly, and holding it out for the falling water to rinse. His fingers against her scalp were magic, easing away her tension and headache, leaving only intense desire.
She wanted him, now. She turned, and grasped his pulsing cock in her hand, the warm water acting as lubricant as she stroked him. He pushed her back against a tiled wall, muttering a quick "Adhaere" to ensure traction as he lifted her up, his hands under her rounded bum, and thrust into her. God, that felt good. He was tall and strong, and she wrapped her legs around him, moaning her pleasure as he pounded into her, driving out every worry, every thought, under the world was just him and her and the incredible pleasure that their joined bodies could make.
The water cascaded around them, through them, and the bathroom filled with steam as she lost herself, screaming his name as he slammed into her cervix, and she came strong enough to see stars. Her muscles clamped down with her orgasm, and he too exploded. When she descended, she blindly reached out a hand and turned off the water, and wrapped her arms around him, overwhelmed with the love she felt for this incredible man.
He could feel her devotion, as he felt the smile, and with a lopsided grin that she loved so much, he grabbed her to him once more, with him still inside her, and they managed a ridiculous, clumsy walk to the bedroom and the bed, where he dumped her, unceremoniously disengaging from her.
"Ron, we'll get the bed wet!" She popped up off the bed on to her elbows.
"Hmm…then I'll just have to dry us off. Time to try that bit of Transfiguration you were so keen on." She furrowed her brow, wondering what on earth he meant, and he whispered, "Lingua felinus". He pushed her down, and then he stuck out his tongue, lapping at the water drops on the side of the left breast.
Holy Merlin. His tongue was rough, like a cat's, and Hermione remembered weeks before mentioning the spell after reading a book on animagus transformation that she was she either Harry's father or Sirius had used back in the Marauder's days. But not like this! Ron's tongue dragged across her fevered skin, licking up all the traces of water, and she felt so on fire from the rough sandpaper texture that she thought she might burn him. She growled, and she arched up, willing him toward her nipples, and he obliged. The rasp of his tongue against that tender flesh sent lightening coursing through her and her hands ran through the longish red hair, gripping him to her as he continued his attentions.
She thought she would come solely from this incredible sensation, but she wanted to do some experimenting herself. "Lingua felinus", she whispered, and pushed at him, turning him over on his back and crawling on top of him. She too ran her new tongue over the muscles of his chest, delighting in the enhanced feeling of his slick skin and the taste of him. He panted as she flicked over his nipples and worked down over his stomach, running her fingers through the tight red curls at the base of his erection.
Her tongue stroked his shaft and he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, which turned into a long groan as she reach the tip, the roughed texture of the cat tongue giving each lick of her tongue the impact of a dozen conventional ones. After only a minute of this treatment she knew he was close, and she was shocked as she felt him grip her hair, pulling her away from him. She gave a disappointed cry, but he flipped her on to her back, her head hitting the headboard, and pulled her knees over his shoulder, burying his face in her sex, his tongue unerringly finding her clit. With a few strokes of that amazing enhanced tongue, she banged her head against the wooden headboard again, arching the force of her orgasm. She was still shivering with it as he reared over her, plunging into her and driving her over the edge again with a few thrusts as he yelled and poured himself into her. She locked her ankles behind him, holding him to her tightly, awed that she could ever stand in the same room with Ron Weasley for more than two minutes without being naked and straining against him. Surely she was really an idiot if she ever wasted an opportunity to have him inside her.
He pulled out of her, and moved her down, holding her against him. She snuggled into his side, and breathed deeply, she loved the smell of him, the smell of them together. A yawn overtook her, and basking in the love she felt from him as he stroked her temple, she fell into a deep sleep, the worries of the day forgotten.
Godric, she was beautiful when she slept. He held Hermione in his arms, and watched her as she drifted into well deserved slumber. Completed unshielded, he had heard her thoughts, heard how she wanted him every waking moment. He felt the same, but he could not help the self-satisfied grin that he wore, pleased to no end that this incredible woman, the smartest, most beautiful witch he knew, had been so exhausted by the orgasms he had brought to her that she had fallen asleep within moments, despite her earlier anxiety.
Curse Harry for a being a complete and utter prat. He had no business insulting their efforts to come up with a way to destroy the damn Horcrux. He had problem run off somewhere to sulk, or to complain to Ginny, the great git. She was welcome to him.
He shook his head, remembering his very different thoughts the morning after their first carnal adventures. He had woken up alone, panicked that it had all been a dream until he'd found a note from Hermione saying she didn't want his mother to find them. He'd wanted to kiss her, wanted to reassure himself that she was his, so he was in a foul mood that he was alone. It grew even more as he remembered that Ginny had been with Harry, and he scrambled to put on his clothes and confront Harry. He threw open Harry's door, hoping at the last second that he wouldn't see his sister doing anything horrible, and he found Harry there, pacing the floor.
"Ron! I've got to tell you, something amazing happened. Voldemort tried to…."
"Cut it out, you wanker! Don't try any of that on me. I know what you were doing, you…you….seducer of innocents. Voldemort had nothing to do with it!"
Harry had looked at him wide-eyes, and turned a distinct shade of red. "Umm….umm…."
"What were you doing with my sister last night?"
"Umm…well…." Harry pulled on the collar of his T-shirt nervously, and ran a hand through his hair. "I assure you, Ron, that as soon as everything calms down I have every intention of marrying her, if she'll have me. If I'm alive."
Ron had opened his mouth to retort, then closed it suddenly. I guess he's serious then. "Well…still…you can't expect to keep doing that…thing, with her."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, Hermione doesn't have a brother to look after her, does she? What are your intentions with her then? Do you plan on not doing anything again?"
It was Ron's turn to blush. "Well…of course I'm going to marry her…if she'll take me…if I can ever work of the nerve to….but…but well, I don't think that it's quite the same."
"Yes it is." Hermione had called from the doorway.
Ron's eyes bugged out, he had turned slowly. "How long have you been there?"
She gave him the biggest, brightest smile. "Long enough." She had thrown her arms around him and kissed him, and both of them forgot about Harry for a minute as they recalled the amazing events of the previous night. The effects still lingered, as he could feel her nipples pucker in response to him, without even touching her.
Harry had cleared his throat, loudly. "I hate to bother you, as you look like you are having an excellent time, but something…odd happened, and it might be very important."
Hermione stepped back from Ron, and exhaled slowly. "Yes, we know. You can do wandless magic with the Amora. And that's why I'm afraid that you need to leave Harry and Ginny alone, Ronald." She stared at him meaningfully. "It just might help in the war."
Ron had grimaced. "But…grr…" He looked at Harry. "Remember, there's five more brothers that me, and if you hurt her, even Percy will wipe the floor with you."
Ron chuckled as he remembered the slightly green color that Harry had turned. Ron himself had grown accustomed, if not comfortable, with the fact that his baby sister was engaged in…mature activities with his best friend. And it was apparent that it was necessary. The four of them had shown increased powers, and such things might tip the balance in the war. Now, if only they could find the damned bit of Ravenclaw stuff and get rid of the rest of the blasted things….ugh. Now he was wide awake.
The activity which put Hermione in the deepest sleep always woke him up, lent him a manic sort of energy. He inched away from her warm body, and dimmed the light on her side of the bed with a word. She had a book on her side too, a great thick thing, for "light reading" she'd said when she'd brought it in. He decided he might as well try reading himself to sleep, he'd done it enough before.
Myths of Ancient Magicks. The title was more interesting the normal run of the mill Hermione book. He opened it, and licked his finger to turn a page. Ack! Oh, still the cat tongue thing then. Finite Incantum. He looked at Hermione. Should he remove hers as well? The prankster in him wanted to leave it, but he didn't want to suffer her particular brand of repercussion, so he waved a hand over her face and repeated his release of the spell. He heard Moody's clomping footfalls upstairs, and hoped that Tonks would make it through the night without any undue effects from the Amora potion. He didn't want to have to tell the Order why she was suddenly part werewolf or the details of the discovery of the effects of the potion. Tell Moody a half-truth about it was bad enough.
He flipped through the first few pages of the book, which detailed Egyptian mummifying myths and Chinese runes. Over all, there were a few interesting stories, but nothing compelling. Intent on the page, he wished that some stay bit of information would be useful, that he could contribute something as Hermione did everyday. Perhaps her love of books and research was rubbing off on him. If only there was something here about Horcrux, or something that might explain the strange effects of the Amora potion…something truly useful.
He flipped through the book furiously, and it fell to a random page, detailing the life of Merlin. Merlin was said to have been studying the effects of strong emotion in magic toward the end of his career. He had felt that love, both eros and phila, were untapped sources of magical enhancement. It was after these experiments, with which he was never completely satisfied, that he attempted to prove a theory of his and cross successfully through the Veil of Time, a process that resulted in his famous reverse aging phenomena. He was said to have stated that if he had been able to tap into the protective power that love provides, he would have been shielded from death itself.
Ron, usually dense when it came to these matters, realized that this just might be significant. What was the Veil of Time? Was it like the Veil in the Department of Mysteries? Merlin had lived to pass through it. He almost reached over to wake Hermione, but she mumbled something and snuggled against him, unconsciously shielding her eyes from the light still in the room. He marked the page, and put the book away, turned off the light, and put his arm around the girl by his side. He fell asleep to the sound of her soft breathing.
Harry stomped through the house, angry. Angry with himself for yelling at Hermione, for being unable to accomplish anything, for endangering everyone. He crawled through the cabinet to the Room of Requirement, thinking of doing some research to try to bury his frustration in work, but filled with a longing for peace, for home.
So, when the cabinet opened, it was not into the book room, but instead to a staircase. He followed it down, to find a perfect replica of the Gryffindor common room, his home since he was eleven, the place he felt happiest. There was no one there, but a fire flared to life in the grate, and the room had a soothing warmth to it, as though the inhabitants were cozy in their beds, safe in the dormitories above.
He sat on the couch, tears in his eyes, wishing that life was simple, that he was finishing his seventh year and worrying about NEWTs instead of weighed down with the responsibility of killing Voldemort. He stared at the fire, a wished he was waiting for Sirius' head to appear there, or Dumbledore to call him to some secret meeting. But there was no one, and he was alone. Pain at the losses he'd suffered pierced him, and he knew he'd best return and apologize to Ron and Hermione, and not alienate the friends he still had. Still, he could not move.
Consumed in memories, he remembered the first kiss he'd shared with Ginny, and wished this really was the Gryffindor common room, and that she was sleeping up in the girls side, that she might come down and find him, wrap her arms around him and remind him that he would never be alone when he was linked to her so deeply. It was that, more that anything, which made the blasted search, and the loss of Hogwarts bearable, that he made such a bond with her. He could feel it, feel her even now, and he knew she was ok. In fact, he knew she was still awake. Maybe she had prefect duty, or was talking with the other girls. Maybe she was studying in the common room, sitting on this very couch. Merlin, he wished he could see her, touch her.
And then the door to the girl dorm opened, and her heard footsteps. And there she was. She smiled at him, and sat on the couch, opening her arms just as he'd dreamed. He hugged her, and she held him close, kissing his temple as he put his head on her shoulder, knocking his glasses askew.
"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?" he asked.
"Aren't you?" she replied. "You gave me the map remember, and Snape's not around to prowl around so quietly." He flinched, and she rolled her eyes. "I thought that was it. You've got to stop obsessing."
"I know." He picked up his head, and looked in her eyes.
"We'll find him, I promise. But no one in the order's heard anything about him, or Draco. He could be anywhere, and You-Know…Voldemort hasn't trotted him out to crow at any Death Eater attacks." She smiled, smoothing his ruffled hair, though in simply sprang back.
"I know, I know. I'll try." She kissed the tip of his nose. He captured her lips with his, and a sweet kiss soon turned passionate, despite their activities earlier in the day. He needed her, and she had known, and had come to him. She would always come to him, and he to her.
Clothes disappeared at a simple word, and they made love on the couch in the common room, the titillating fantasy of every student, even though it was highly unlikely they would be caught. He needed to be as close to her as possible, and she granted him entrance with few preliminaries, her need as great at his once she had felt his pain. His cock was hard and heavy against her, and she opened herself to him, and he filled her completely. She reached behind her to grip the end of the couch, her feet braced against the frame as she brought her hips up to meet his thrusts. He lost himself in her warm heat and soft moans, but he held on long enough to hear her scream her release, before a few frantic thrusts sent him to heaven and he collapsed on top of her. She held him to her, their naked bodies entwined. He shifted enough that she wasn't bearing his full weight, but he was still inside her when they both fell asleep, more comfortable than they had been in weeks sleeping apart, bad dreams held at bay for the moment.