V. The Real Choice
Hermione hesitated only a split-second. Then she pressed her lips and her body against him, planted her hands on his chest and pushed gently so Ron fell back, and Hermione was lying on top of him.
"This is what's real," she said, and Ron nodded.
Forget, forget, forget…
"This is real." She forced herself to believe it.
There's no surer way to think of something than to tell yourself to forget it, though.
So when Ron's hand stroked her thigh and moved questingly up round her hip, easing up the short hem of her dress and setting the skin there tingling pleasurably, Hermione dove into the welcome distraction with everything she had. And it felt so good.
Don't think.
She opened her eyes and saw Ron suddenly hesitate, and to forestall thought she grabbed his shirt and unbuttoned it as quickly as she could – with predictable outcomes; at least two buttons were dangling by a thread when was done, but who cared? At the same time she tried to shimmy out of her dress, just as he tugged, and the dress slipped off to present herself clad only in the black satin knicker-and-bra set she'd specially picked out.
Hermione became aware of the hardness nudging her lower belly. She pushed herself against it experimentally, and was rewarded with a thrill of sensation and a loud intake of breath from Ron. His eyes widened, and Hermione smiled shyly at the open desire in his eyes, drinking it in.
Every moment, every detail, Hermione recorded in her brain, focusing hard on every little facet of expression, of perception, emotion.
She will need the memory in future.
But no… right now she wasn't going to think about that.
When she positioned her legs across Ron – feeling that hardness centred on her directly there, on her lower-most parts – Hermione was well aware that this was the farthest they had previously gone. From here on out they were breaking virgin territory.
No room for indecision or nerves. Best get it done quickly. She reached up behind her back in a smooth familiar movement, unclipped her bra and let it fall, aware that for the first time, she was doing it in front of someone – in front of Ron – and he was watching intently.
Hermione couldn't help closing her eyes. She listened though, and heard Ron say, sighing, "You're gorgeous..." Then she felt his hands on her breasts, where they'd never been before, and oh god what was that…!
Ron had learned a thing or two, over the years, and more of it came from being with Hermione than any bloody book.
As he ran his fingers and palms across her breasts Hermione gasped and clutched at his shoulders, and he knew he was on to a winner. Circles, he made circles all around those impossibly soft smooth beautiful parts of her, and Hermione shivered and her back arched slightly, then more and more. Ron was enjoying himself of course, he didn't know why but it made his pulse race to have her entrust her body to him, and he passed his thumbs over those deep pink nipples and felt her tighten her grip, and he chuckled.
Don't stop, don't think.
Pants and knickers off, quickly.
Hermione knelt on the bed and looked down, staring, and he was craning his neck to gaze at her too. She glanced up; it was clear that they were both equally fascinated, equally new to the sight, and the thought made her giggle. That helped. She took the plunge, reached out to hold him, and said "oh!" in surprise.
"What?" The tips of his ears were crimson.
"I had no idea. It's so – strange. Soft and hard at once." Right, she'd seen this next bit before – no, actually she hadn't, Parvati Patil, red and brown like a rosy-cheeked chestnut, had only attempted her idea of the motion two or three strokes on a toothbrush handle and then the whole dorm had collapsed laughing…
Ron groaned. "Keep that up, Hermione, and this is only going to last five seconds..."
Hermione laughed, and reluctantly let go.
"Very funny. Let's see how you like it..."
She liked it very much indeed, closing her eyes and pressing herself against Ron's fingers. Very, very much. Now she wished they'd done this much earlier, they could have had so much more of this, Crabbe was coming to kill them any moment…
Forget, forget, FORGET!
To drive the sickening thoughts from her mind Hermione threw herself into the jolts of sensation electrifying her body, and perhaps it was that desperation that made the difference. She was determined to enjoy herself, and she concentrated everything, mind body and soul she had on the sparks erupting everywhere Ron's fingers glided, and found that the more she did, the better it got.
Ahhh, I see…
Her body screamed for more. Looking down, she caught Ron's eye and knew it was time. Hermione reached down and helped guide him, but – flying in the face of everything she'd read – the two of them somehow just couldn't engage her entrance in this position.
"Maybe this way..." He quickly flipped them over.
Hermione landed with a breathless "oof!" and giggled. Ron gazed down lovingly at her from above, and she felt a surge of warmth and safety, nestled there in his arms. She reached down. "Okay, I'll just… okay, try now."
Ron kissed her, and stroked her side, and pushed slowly and carefully.
That didn't mean entry didn't hurt.
She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It hurt like a needle, a big needle, lots of big needles, and she couldn't help a tiny yelp.
"Oh shit, Hermione, I'm sorry," said poor Ron, his tone abjectly contrite.
She ignored him. Distraction, distraction… Hermione lunged up, pressed her body against him and searched for his mouth with her own, and in the process discovered that she could blend the pain with the pleasure from his touch that she had learned to enjoy, and she latched on to that and held on tight. Ron had frozen still so she moved herself experimentally, and ow it hurt again but yes, she could sense the underlying pleasure too, where his fingers had been, where now that part of him met that part of her…
And when she saw the strained look on Ron's face she couldn't help but laugh, and that helped loads.
"Are you alright?" he grunted.
"It's getting better," she said. "What about you?"
"Oh, don't worry about my end..."
So like him. Hermione laughed again, closed her eyes, and thrust.
A voice very like Robards bellowed in his head: Hold on! Hold on!
Thinking of that crotchety old bastard helped to take Ron's mind just a tiny bit off the smooth fiery liquid heat enveloping and squeezing his erection, and the incredibly sexy way Hermione clung to him and made small girlish grunts as she took over the pace. The contrast between the prim and proper Granger he knew and this intensely sexual creature beneath him, her mouth hanging open in a delicate O, was doing his head in completely…
The only way he was going to last, Ron decided, was if he sped things up on her end, and indeed, why not?
He braced on one arm – the bits that were aching from the Cruciatus complained, and that helped too – freeing the other to slide up Hermione's side and on to one lovely breast, to caress and stroke and pull gently, and yeah that did the trick, Hermione's back arched off the mattress, the stiff points of her nipples seeking for more, and he gave it to her.
Her mouth worked noiselessly, and Ron covered her lips with his, and swallowed her moan.
Too. Much!
You hug a friend with only shoulders and chest touching, in an A shape. Layers of clothes and underwear in the way. With Ron, before this they'd kept their pants on, but now they were skin on sensual sweaty sliding skin, connected everywhere from lips to legs, hell he was deep inside her, there was no way anyone could be more intimate...
His strained expression, his peculiar grunts, the rhythmic movements of him inside her… Hermione took it all in, every sense, and fed the inner fire with it. The weight of him on her, at once protective and deliciously domineering, even bestial; the powerful knowledge that she, Hermione, was making him want her like this, lose control like this… ummm!
Electricity all over, everywhere they touched, sparking off lips and breast and skin and grounding deep in her belly where his thick hardness filled her so full; and the jolts became a lightning storm, and Hermione Granger tensed every muscle in her body as the storm slammed into her with an intense fury she could never have imagined.
When Hermione came, she bit the back of her hand and tried to stifle the gasps welling up from deep inside. It emerged instead as tiny muffled whines from the back of her throat.
It was the sexiest thing Ron had ever seen and heard.
Now he could finally let go, and he did, allowing his body to take what it wanted. Hermione made more tiny squeaks as he thrust more urgently throughout the emptying spasms, and that fed the fire even more; he gave in to the animal urge and crushed that amazingly soft and smooth body to the straining cords of his muscles, Hermione finally crying out "Ohhh!" as he plunged down through the final waves.
Yes, oh yes, oh yes!
His body drained like never before, Ron let his arms give way and dropped down, managing to land on his side and not on her. Somewhat limply, Hermione turned, slid her leg over his – wincing slightly – and pillowed that gorgeous sweat-soaked mass of brown curls on his arm.
The girl he loved most in the world gazed back at him through wide flickering brown eyes, and a wave of affection overwhelmed him. Ron kissed her softly, tenderly, over and over again, forehead and cheeks and tip of nose, eliciting a tired giggle. In the worn-out wake of the tender brutality that just took place, he showered her with all his love, prolonging the dream as long as he could, making sure her attention was all on him.
Making sure that she didn't glance over her shoulder, to the corner of the room where the hateful red recording light of the camera stared balefully.
Afterwards, as she lay all tangled up in Ron but too exhausted in a delicious new way to move, the fantasy slowly began to fade.
Hermione clung to the memory of the last few minutes with all her mental powers, extending it for as long as possible, reliving the glorious sights, sounds, sensations in as much detail as she could. But the passing world, the real world insinuated itself steadily. Black thoughts infiltrated the vivid colours, and the fear began to creep back in.
She glanced at the camera watching over them from the corner of the room, and the shame and despair nearly overcame her.
"It's not fair," she whispered.
Ron heard, and pulled her in so even more of their bare skin met, gently turned her head away and back to him, and that helped, but not enough.
"We're still so young," she mumbled into his chest. "We had the whole world, all our lives ahead." Wizards live easily to well over a hundred, there had been every chance they could have celebrated a hundredth anniversary, surrounded by dozens and dozens of friends and family unto the fourth generation.
"Well... I guess it's the same for Fred, and Tonks, and Harry's parents," said Ron gruffly. "Pretty unfair for them too. And unfair for poor George and Teddy and Harry as well, to have to live with it."
"Yes..."
"But it can't be helped, can it?" Ron continued. Hermione glanced up, he was staring at the wall, his eyes unfocused, perhaps remembering his dead brother, perhaps thinking about his own hopes and dreams – just like hers, soon to be prematurely dashed. "So much stuff is out of our control."
Like falling terminally ill. Being run over by a drunk driver. Being kidnapped and raped and tortured to death. "Yes," Hermione managed.
Ron shrugged. "But we do what we can, I guess. Stuff happens to us, and we can't help that. But we can choose how we face it."
And that's the real choice.
Hermione thought about it, as she snuggled back into Ron's shoulder, treasuring the warmth of his body and the comfort of his presence. We can surrender everything, let life control us, or we can take back control. Even if all "control" means is the ability to tell ourselves a pretty story, spin ourselves a fantasy in our heads. We might be so helpless that the only difference we'd make is within our minds. But that's still an important difference; the ability to take the worst brutalisings that life gives out, and remain silently defiant, heads held high, to the very end.
I can live with that. I can die with that.
And so they waited, with fear and love and defiance in their hearts, for come what may.
Tap-tap-tap.
There was a knocking on the door.
They had been waiting for a while now, dressed and prepared, but even so, Hermione gave a tiny choking squeak, and huddled into Ron's arms.
He pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her protectively; he kept his eyes on the door, but couldn't help them filming over with tears. Screaming in his mind was the thought that the next few moments could very well be his last alive, and this was Hermione's last loving embrace, before – before the meaning of the word would be unspeakably defiled, her world plunged into wretched nightmare. Incredibly bloody unfair, but there it was. Ron stroked her frizzy brown curls tenderly. I love you, Hermione,he thought, I love you forever and ever, with all my heart.
"I love you too," she whispered back. "My darling Ron. Love you, love you, love you."
Oh. Guess I said that out loud. Jolly good then.
There was a loud bang, and they both cringed. Brick dust puffed from the edges all round the frame. Then the door burst inwards, tottering crazily off one broken hinge, and a storm of noise entered the room as the enchantments surrounding it shattered.
"RON! HERMIONE! YOU IN THERE?!" A tall, scarlet-robed figure kicked at the door with incredible enraged force, so it broke free of the frame completely and spun crazily into the corner of the room, landing with a giant clatter.
"Harry!" Ron bounded to his feet. It can't be!
Harry Potter stormed into the room, wand at the ready, green eyes flashing with fury behind his round spectacles. When he saw them, his shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank God," he breathed. "You hurt?"
"Wand, Harry," demanded Ron, snapping his fingers impatiently. "My wand, any wand, now!"
"Got 'em here," said Harry, fishing in his pocket, and pulling out two wands, Ron's and Hermione's.
Ron snatched his trusty willow-and-unicorn, whirled round, and snarled, "REDUCTO!"
The camera and tripod in the corner exploded into tiny shards of plastic and metal, no piece larger than a fingernail clipping.
"What the hell was that, Ron?!"
Tampering with evidence. Ron breathed out a sigh of relief. "What had to be done, mate. Merlin's beard, you're a sight for sore eyes." He tried to give Harry a hearty slap on the back and grin, but somehow his hands were shaking too much to do more than give him a weak tap, then his knees were shaking, and he had to go down on one knee, the tears streaming down his face.
Next he was aware of a soft, oh-so-gloriously-soft arm coiling round his shoulders, stroking his back, Hermione's beautiful voice telling him it was okay, it was okay, a gentle kiss on the side of his face, and Ron clung on to her arm and sobbed harder and didn't know why.
"Harry, he's hurt bad, come on help me..."
Ron felt Harry put his arms around them both. "Oh, mate," said Harry thickly. "Oh, mate, mate, mate..."
It's over.