March strode in amidst gale force winds and thunderstorms, Spring fighting a vicious tug of war with a dying Winter. Daffodils, crocuses and snowdrops had sprung up in abundance around the castle due to the wet weather and the cats were beside themselves at the increase in the bird population.
Since the night of the Valentine's ball, Hermione's work situation had become increasingly weird. Waking up in Ron's bed had been a strange, if thrilling experience, and she had been appreciative of his restraint when it came to this new, physical side of their relationship. It wasn't as if she found it easy herself- often just his hand on top of hers was enough to knock her concentration- but she was wary of jumping straight in. It just didn't feel like the right time, what with everything else that was going on.
She had been the one to request that, for the time being, they keep their emerging whatever-this-was private and Ron had agreed in theory, though he knew Harry would sniff them out fairly quickly. Still, it didn't stop the long, scorching kisses pressed up against the inside of Hermione's office door after hours or the creep of hands underneath collars or up jumpers when no-one was around.
On the first of March they threw Ron a small birthday party in the kitchen over lunchtime, with Mag producing a beautifully iced Victoria sponge, clearly made with love but served with sniffy indifference and a slap on the hand when Ron poked his finger into the buttercream.
Hermione was only able to stay a short time before retreating to her office for a web conference with the grant body. Ron appeared at her door a little while later, a slice of cake on a plate. Hermione put her finger to her lips, indicating her conference phone wasn't muted.
Ron tiptoed exaggeratedly into the room and pulled up a chair next to her. Delicately, he carved a sliver of sponge and offered it to her on the end of his fork. He fed her in the spaces between her discussion with the disembodied voice and when the cake was finished, he propped himself on one hand on the desk next to her paperwork and watched her computer screen as a PowerPoint slideshow flicked by.
Nonchalantly, he reached down to where her hand rested in her lap and encircled her wrist with his fingers. His middle finger began tracing a vein under the fragile skin, up and down, up and down. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, focusing diligently.
She prepared herself for whatever the escalation was going to be and was surprised when it didn't happen. Ron sat quietly watching the screen, just moving one finger back and forth. Occasionally the tip of his nail would scratch ever so slightly over the surface, causing a chill to gather at her neck. The small, simple action swiftly became torturous.
She knew what he was doing; she wanted to lean over and tell him that she was on to him but every time she tried to catch his eye, someone in the call would speak and she would be forced to tune back in or answer.
The nail scratched again and her shoulder ticced involuntarily. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ron bite his lip.
She turned to him and mouthed 'STOP IT' and he shrugged, wide eyed and all innocence. Looking back at the screen, Hermione took a breath and tried to somehow lessen the effect he was having on her, not for one second considering why she did not simply pull her arm away from his reach.
In the end it came down his patience versus her stamina and, annoyingly and perhaps unprecedentedly, Ron lucked out.
Leaning across the desk, Hermione slapped the mute button and glared back at him. "Ok, you win. What. Do you want?"
Ron smirked, stood up and then bent over. Taking her chin in hand he kissed her; one soft kiss that was over in a blink. Then he sauntered out.
Hermione thought about that kiss for the rest of the day.
OOO
"Can't do it Gin." Ron angrily chewed on a hangnail.
Percy threw up his hands in exasperation and Ginny grimaced.
"You know I feel the same way but what the hell else do we do? We need the bloody money, Ron."
"There's another way. There has to be. Muriel is not a nice person. I told you she called Hermione fat at the ball?"
Ginny almost smiled. "Twice."
"She's mean and she will hold this over us forever." He lifted the page he had brought with him so he could pretend to make notes and began tearing it into little pieces. "She's just waiting for us to become desperate…"
"We are desperate." This from Bill. "I've seen the same figures you have Ron and you know they aren't good. If we carry on any longer without a plan, we'll lose the castle."
Ron couldn't remember the last time all of his siblings had been present at a family meeting and it scared him a little. Charlie had managed to call in, though he was currently working deep in the rainforests of Cameroon studying Cross River gorillas. Bill had returned from France, spurred into action by a late night call from his sister who was at her wits' end.
Both Fred and George had come straight from a work dinner, sartorially outlandish but facially sober. Percy was due to fly to Brussels in the morning for a conference and had brought his wheeled suitcase so he could go straight to the airport hotel.
This evening family meeting was deliberately undocumented so neither of his parents knew to attend. It felt sneaky and underhand, but Ron understood why Ginny had set it up this way. She had wanted them to be in total agreement before they broached the topic with Arthur and Molly.
It would be a shock to the elder Weasleys, not because they were insensible to their financial instability but rather that it had always been this way and yet they had never completely bottomed out. They were, essentially, lucky. And now inexplicably, the luck was running out.
Bill cleared his throat. "We're all frustrated about this. But here's the facts. Wedding season isn't going to kick in for at least another two months. We don't have that long. The hand cream is doing really well but we don't have excess cash to expand the line at the moment. Hermione has been excellent; I mean she has pulled everything back to the bare minimum and those talks she's been doing are helping. But it isn't enough."
He paused and looked back down at the page he was holding, as though it would somehow give him better news.
"We need cash. Actual, ready cash," he said finally.
"How much longer can we carry on?"
"Ron seriously…"
"How much longer?" He hated raising his voice but he felt so on edge, like a piano wire about to snap.
"We'll get to the end of March. Then we're in the red. And not the normal red. Bad red. Hell red."
OOO
Hermione was cleaning her windows with more vigour than necessary but it helped her work things through in her mind and she was glad of the physical exercise. All week, for almost two weeks actually, Ron had been dull and lacking in his usual sparkle. She knew the cause and, infuriatingly, had no solution for it. She had wrestled with it all day Saturday, slept poorly and then risen on Sunday morning with more energy than she knew what to do with; hence cleaning.
On Friday Ron had gathered her into his lap and just held her there, not speaking. When she tried to ask him questions he rebuffed her, saying he had a lot on his mind. It wasn't in Hermione's nature to just take things lying down but she felt like they had exhausted all other alternatives.
As she clambered off the window ledge, an engine gunned and a car coasted into the driveway in front of her house. Her heart expanded in her chest as she recognized the little Spider, but withered in confusion seconds later when Ryan extracted himself from the driver's seat.
"Surprise!" Ryan held his arms aloft proudly. "What do you think?"
At first, Hermione was a vortex of emotions and she didn't move while she scrabbled to catch up in processing them. The prominent thought in mind was: 'What the hell is he doing here?'
Since she had unceremoniously deserted him at the Waltham Hotel, Ryan had been offhand. She didn't blame him really; it had been a rotten thing to do to someone you were meant to care about. They had been on two further dates in January, both of which had felt strained. In February, he had spent much of his time in Europe on business. He texted occasionally and she responded but her heart wasn't in it. Not wholly before and not at all after the Noth party.
She had been preparing to call and let him know that whatever it was between them was over but life had been frenetic- caught up in her job and the excitement and joy of the growth of her relationship with Ron- and when she heard nothing from him in March, she gratefully took it as a sign he had lost interest too. The memory of Ryan had limped out of her mind. Yet here he was.
Ryan stared at her expectantly and she continued to think. To buy herself some time, she lifted the bucket of dirty water and walked back into the house, leaving the front door ajar.
As she poured the water into the sink, she heard him shut the door and follow her into the kitchen.
"Not exactly a warm welcome Hermione."
She threw the sponge, still sudsy, into the bucket and said quietly, "Is that what I think it is?"
He grinned. "Certainly is. Picked her up this morning."
Her stomach rolled and she thought she might actually be sick.
"Why would you buy it? How did you buy it?"
Ryan was evidently not expecting this response.
"Sent them an email after Christmas," he replied, his voice intensely level, "Said I heard they had a Spider and I was interested in buying it."
"Who did you speak to?"
"Guy called Harry. He's your boss isn't he? Anyway, he said it wasn't his decision and he would pass it on."
Hermione clutched the counter as a thought occurred to her. "Did you tell Harry I told you about it?"
"Of course not. I'm not daft. Thought they might take it badly, like you were interfering. Said some mate at work was married to someone who worked there."
This didn't make her feel any better and actually she felt worse for so selfishly worrying about the Weasleys becoming aware of her part in this. Her eyes darted back and forth as she thought about what he had just said.
"Anyway," Ryan continued, sounding more confident now she wasn't speaking, "Harry came back to me and said it was a no. Never thought anything more of it until a couple of weeks ago."
She asked him what happened a couple of weeks ago, despite suspecting she already knew.
"Got an email from Ron Weasley. He said the family had agreed it was time to sell the car and was I still interested."
He paused to gauge her reaction.
"Why are you behaving like this Hermione?" Ryan was exasperated now. "That night at dinner you couldn't shut up about how much you wished the Weasleys would sell that bloody car and now they have! What am I missing here?"
Hermione pressed the heel of her hands into her eye sockets, causing sparks to explode in the dark.
"But I told you what it meant to them, Ryan," she shot back, letting her hands drop to her sides. "You knew how nostalgic the car was. It was their grandfather's. It was… significant."
Ryan snorted. "Not as significant as a fat cheque, it would seem." When she threw him a disgusted look, he pointed a sharp finger in her direction.
"You were the one who said they were wasting their time worrying about the car when they were facing financial ruin. 'Have-a-go heroes', you said. Dreamers that had no grasp on reality."
Hermione flinched, as though her ill thought out words had physically struck her. How ugly that sounded, had she really said that? She just wanted the best for Ottery and the Weasley family and, at the time, that had meant selling the Spider. Now, all things considered, the situation felt different.
"Look," Ryan said softly, stepping closer, "Let's stop fighting about this. It's done, darling. Your precious castle will get everything it needs and I have a sexy little car to drive you around in. Everybody wins."
He rubbed the tops of her arms in what was surely meant to be a reassuring gesture but it came out brisk and dismissive and she bristled at the word 'darling'. Aside from the obvious issue with the car, she was baffled that he had come back into her life after weeks of silence, acting like he intended to pick up where they left off.
The cold realisation that it was her fault that Ron had sold the Spider sat like a rock in her belly. She knew she had fired Ryan's interest in the car the night they discussed it and then her bitching and moaning about money had tipped the balance.
"Give it back," she said abruptly, causing Ryan to start. "Tell them you made a mistake and you want to return the car."
His eyes widened incredulously. "What? Why the hell would I do that?"
"Because I'm telling you to. Please, Ryan." Hermione reached for his hands and cupped them in her own. "We can do without the money at Ottery but I don't want him to be without the Spider. Please."
"Him? Who's him?"
She froze and Ryan's expression went from incredulous to angry in a blink.
"Don't worry, I know who you mean." His voice was surprisingly venomous, something Hermione hadn't heard before. "It's your precious Ron you're concerned about isn't it? Not the family, not the principle. Just the Weasleys' wee brother. I should have guessed."
"What does that mean?"
"Only that I can't believe I didn't figure it out right away." When she didn't respond, Ryan carried on, "I mean, you aren't exactly subtle about it Hermione."
It took all her strength to keep her voice even. "About what?"
"Ron Weasley," he spat, as though the name was deeply offensive. "I knew there was something going on between the two of you."
She made a snap decision about what to say next. It would be a terrible lie and she wouldn't be able to take it back. But what felt worse than lying was allowing Ryan to become privy to the secret, exceptional developments between her and Ron, their special, gorgeous world. She didn't owe him an explanation and he wasn't getting one. But there was still a chance she had him on her side and she couldn't squander it.
"I can assure you there is nothing happening between me and Ron."
He ignored her, snarling, "All the signs were there. Running off every time he snapped his fingers, all those nights working late…"
"I work late because I have a hard job Ryan!" Hermione's voice rose against her better judgment but she couldn't prevent it. "And I don't go running every time he calls."
She paused.
"And even if I did do that it would be because he is my boss and I have a responsibility to turn up when I'm needed. Because… I'm a good employee!"
Silence settled over them for a moment. Hermione stared at the hardness of Ryan's jaw, feeling the beginnings of a headache fingering its way into the base of her skull. Her thoughts swirled around the Spider sitting accusingly outside the window, shamelessly red and throbbing with guilt.
"The car belongs in the Weasley family," she said finally and, she hoped, reasonably. "I understand why they sold it and I understand why you bought it but it has to go back. It would be wrong to keep it."
Ryan's jaw relaxed and her heart with it. He was going to do the decent thing after all.
Then he looked up and said, "I'm sorry Hermione but the answer is no. I bought that car fair and square and I'm not giving it back based on some schoolgirl crush you have on Ron Weasley."
A chilly fury descended over Hermione. Quietly, she whispered, "I think you better leave."
The fury must have been etched in her face because Ryan took one look at it and made his way to the door without question.
Hermione watched him soundlessly. She could never have predicted how cold he would be towards her in this moment or how unwilling to recognise the importance of what she had told him.
How had she not been able to make him understand? What could she have said differently?
Ryan opened the door and turned to face her and again her brain tried to calculate if this was still do-able. But Ryan had a strange light in his eyes and his mouth was twisted unkindly and Hermione knew instinctively that whatever was about to come out of it would be unkind too.
"I thought we were good together Hermione. I mean well-suited, well-matched, whatever you want to call it."
His words did not sting the way she believed he intended them to and he could see it in her eyes.
Then he carried on, "Mind you, you always were a bit of a snob so I'm not surprised you've traded in an average Joe like me for a guy with a castle."
The crescents of her fingernails bit into the flesh of her palm.
"Having said that, you could have picked better," Ryan said, now smirking. "I mean for God's sake, he hasn't even got any money."
Hermione had shoved him into the garden before she really knew she was doing it. It was a thuggish shove, with all her weight and rage behind it and Ryan was caught off balance, hopping on one leg inelegantly to stop himself falling on the bonnet of the car.
"Ron Weasley's worth ten of you! Stay away from me!"
Before he was able to right himself and respond, she slammed the door and turned the deadlock. She then walked calmly into the living room and watched him leave through the blinds.
OOO
On reaching the castle, Hermione swiped herself through the back gate that led into the orchard. On Sundays the front gate was locked and opening it would require Geoffrey or Mag, neither of whom she wanted to see. She just wanted Ron.
During the drive, she had thought about phoning him before she reached Ottery- she wasn't even sure if he was here today- but she didn't know what to say and she hoped that seeing him face to face would enable her to find the right words.
She found him in the kitchen, standing next to the table and tinkering with something that looked mechanical and old. When he saw her his mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. She strode over and wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could. He responded after a beat and they stood for a long moment in a fast embrace.
Eventually Ron mumbled, "What's wrong?"
Not letting go of him, she replied, "I know about the Spider. I'm so sorry."
Ron seemed to consider this before saying, "Did Harry tell you?"
Hermione pulled away and rested her body against the table. Honesty was the best policy but it was a cold, spiked pill to swallow.
"No," she admitted finally, hardly meeting his eye, "I know… the person who bought it."
He frowned, though not unkindly. "Oh? Friend of yours is he?"
He was throwing her a tease, expecting her to pick it up and run with it. When she didn't, the frown deepened.
"Thought he was a bit of a slick git if I'm honest. Pleased with himself and flashy with it."
"He is all of those things."
Ron took a step so he was in front of her.
"So, how do you know him?"
"I dated him."
Hermione didn't look up at Ron's face; she imagined he was staring at the top of her head somewhat perplexed.
"You dated him?"
She forced herself to regain eye contact. "Yes. Around Christmas."
Comprehension flooded Ron's features.
"Wait a minute. Is that fucker Mr. Waltham Hotel?" he asked disbelievingly. When she nodded he took a step back. "I knew there was something I didn't like about him. Creepy twat…"
He trailed off.
There it is, the realisation. The pieces clicking into place.
Ron started to look upset, a wave of confused distress rippled over his expression. Hermione fought the urge to shout it down, to somehow bargain or rationalise her way out of it. It's what she would have done, had it been anyone else. Unfamiliarly, she couldn't do it with Ron.
When he spoke, it was with the quiet voice of the reprimanded child or that of a person disappointed by someone they hadn't seen coming.
"So, what are you saying?"
Her throat felt parched. "I…"
"Are you still dating him? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"What?" she croaked, "No. Of course not. Why would you say that?"
"How did you know about the car?"
"He drove it to my house to show it off. He was expecting me to be happy about it. I think he thought it was going to be this great surprise. I haven't seen him for months, I don't know what he was thinking."
Ron's bottom lip protruded a little and Hermione had a realisation of her own.
"Wait a minute, is that what you're upset about?"
"I'm not upset. I know we've only started, you know, seeing each other. I just want us to be clear. If we're, you know. Seeing other people or…"
Hermione grabbed him forcefully, almost knocking him over and making him the second man that day she had body slammed.
"I'm not seeing anyone else, Ron!" she exclaimed in relief. "Ryan is the distant past, honestly! I thought you'd be mad because I told him about the car."
Ron appeared more bewildered than ever. "The car?"
"Yes." Her voice dropped now as remorse took hold again. "At Christmas. I told him about the Spider and that… that I wished you would sell it."
Ron made a face and she rushed on.
"Only because we were in so much debt. I was frustrated because we're always struggling. I didn't think anything of it. I didn't think he was going to buy the bloody thing. I was horrified when he arrived in it like cock of the walk."
The corner of Ron's mouth lifted. "Cock of the walk?"
Hermione half laughed in response. "You know what I mean. He was so pleased with himself, I could have punched him."
"You should have. I'd feel better."
"I threw him into the street, is that any good?"
He grinned, a real grin now and enveloped her in his arms. "Yep, that'll do."
Inside his embrace, she leant against his chest and felt the warmth of his skin penetrate her cheek through his t-shirt.
"I'm so sorry I told him about the car," she said into the fabric, almost drunk on how good it was to be this close to Ron, "And I'm sorry you had to sell it. Was your dad very upset?"
"Not as much as I thought he'd be. He'll be fine. It was him who said 'stare decisis'. He made the final call." He kissed the top of her head.
"I told Ryan to give it back but he refused."
"Give it back? Jesus, don't tell him to give it back. I've got twenty-five grand sitting in my bank account because of him."
Hermione pulled away abruptly. "Twenty-five? You told me it was worth fifteen!"
Ron smiled a tad sheepishly. "Yeah well. I could tell he was a slick git on the phone, knew he could afford more. I let him barter me down from thirty, so he thought he was getting a good deal."
"Ron Weasley!" She batted him with her hand before laughing. "I love that you did that."
He beamed in response and kissed her triumphantly.
"And I love it when you say 'we'." She frowned. "As in 'we're in so much debt'. Obviously I'm not crazy about the debt, but I like the word 'we'. Like you finally consider yourself one of us."
Her bones turned to jelly. "I do. Consider myself one of you. Do you… consider me one of you?"
"Of course I do. Always have." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "It's nice to see you at the weekend by the way."
"I know. We seem to have this unwritten rule that we don't do weekends."
"Time we broke that. Can you stay for a while?"
They spent the afternoon watching TV in the old playroom, eating the scones that weren't sold during the week in the café.
"I literally live off these things," Ron said, slathering half a scone with cream and jam. "Honestly, they're a food group all of their own."
Hermione poked him in the stomach. "I don't know how you stay so trim! If this is what you're eating all the time."
Ron was cheerfully unconcerned. "It's the Weasley genes. Gin calls us skinny fats. I'm sure it'll catch up on me one day. Do you think you'll still love me with a belly?"
Hermione stared straight ahead at the TV and replied slowly, "I think I'd manage."
Ron seemed blissfully unaware of what he had said and carried on scoffing.
The afternoon wore into evening and Ron prepared them a simple meal.
"Freezer surprise, I'm afraid Hermione," he said, setting the plates down on the table. "If I'd have known you were coming, you might have eaten better."
"It's perfect," she replied, and she meant it.
Ron opened a bottle of wine from the bar and poured her a glass.
"I shouldn't really. Driving."
He focused intently on the passage of the wine from the bottle to the glass as he said, "You could stay."
It was a bashful invitation and one he had been longing to make but didn't for fear of rejection. Since the night of the ball they had danced carefully around each other, subtly moving things forward inch by inch. Which Ron didn't mind half as much as he probably should. It felt exciting, this slowly unfurling thing between them.
Hermione was complicated; not in the simplistic 'all girls are a mystery' sort of way but in a Hermione sort of way, all of her own. Her expression rarely betrayed what she was thinking, not even if it was a good thought or a bad one. That made it tricky to know where the boundaries lay. Was she waiting for him to make the first move or did he hang back and let her do it?
"Stay here?" she asked now, sounding surprised.
"Sure. Unless you have somewhere else to be."
Nonchalant. Good, Weasley. Very good.
"But I have work tomorrow. We have work tomorrow."
Ron felt himself smile, despite the thudding of his heart. "No fun on a school night, huh?"
"It's not that… it's just…" She stopped and their eyes met, the space between them drawing itself closed.
"Yes," Hermione said finally, smiling. "I'd love to stay."
As an afterthought, she added, "I hope you have pyjamas I can borrow," and Ron stifled a smile.
As they finished their meal, Ron brought out the ice cream again.
"Let's go light the fire. It's getting chilly."
Hermione rose, pausing when he didn't head towards the door that led to the apartments.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see. C'mon."
He took her hand and led her through the castle and up the main stone staircase. Ottery was frigid without the hubbub of people and visitors, the only real light filtering through the windows from the moon. The air was still, the castle resting in its grandeur.
When they reached the master bedroom, the door opened with a juicy creak and he pulled her inside.
"This room has the best fireplace."
"We can't sit in here Ron." Hermione didn't attempt to keep the panic from her voice. "This is the state bedroom. Actual English monarchs have stayed here. It's a museum!"
Ron was unperturbed and started laying kindling in the hearth of the imposing marble fireplace.
"Oh, calm down, they always light the fire in here during the week. And people trudge about in here every day."
"Those people aren't eating ice cream and drinking wine."
Deeply conflicted, Hermione sat gently onto the rug in front of the fireplace, holding her wine glass and the tub of ice cream firmly in her hands. She watched Ron expertly raise the flames from a spark before he sat back and opened the ice cream, unconcernedly casting the lid onto the floor as he did so.
"Ooh, you're doing that to wind me up!" Hermione scolded, lifting it and setting it onto the console table nearby.
"You need to relax. You forget, I've lived with most of this stuff my whole life. It never changes, never suddenly disintegrates. Take this for example."
He tapped the Regency, scroll-ended sofa directly behind them.
"When we were kids, we used to pretend this was a pirate ship." Hermione was horrified. "Yep, it's just as bad as you imagine. Seven kids hanging off it, all snotty and grubby and…"
"Okay! You've made your point!"
Hermione reached out and patted the sofa, as though commiserating with it on its prior hardships, and tried not to imagine them.
They talked and ate and drank into the late night, the heat from the flames searing their cheeks and the wine warming them from the inside. Mostly they talked about their common Ottery interests, but also other, previously unspoken things. Their childhoods and education, Hermione's family.
She had just finished telling him about her grandmother when he reached over and stroked her upper arm.
"I like you in that jumper." Hermione looked down. "You were wearing it the night of the Christmas party."
She raised an eyebrow, the alcohol making her bold. "I shouldn't have thought you were paying much attention to what I was wearing actually."
Ron grimaced. "Heard about that did you?"
She nodded, deciding not to disclose that she had also bore witness to it.
"Yeah, not my finest half hour."
"Half an hour? That must have been some kiss."
"Yeah, yeah, alright," he replied awkwardly, shoving her shoulder with his. "There were… extenuating circumstances."
"Such as?"
"A vat of cinnamon punch for a start. You can blame Fred and George for that. And… well she had on that dress with the splitty thing up the side."
"I remember." Hermione's tone had gone from teasing to frosty and Ron jumped in hurriedly.
"I'm only human! Anyway, I only did it because you wouldn't dance with me."
"Don't blame me!" Hermione spluttered, swallowing her wine too quickly and choking for a beat. "I'm taking no part in you snogging the electrician. That's on you."
Ron looked resigned. "Fair enough. It really was you I wanted to kiss though."
Her voice softened. "Then why didn't you?"
"Didn't think I had a shot did I? I'd already kissed you once and that went tits up. Which I still don't understand actually. Care to explain?"
Hermione shook her head and scooched a little closer. "No. Not right this second."
His mouth curved a little and he leaned down to her. "Rather just put it right the good old fashioned way huh?"
"Something like that."
If Ron had been expecting a slow, sensual seduction from Hermione, he was in for a surprise. In fact, as she moved to kiss Ron, Hermione found she surprised herself.
Almost immediately she was on her knees and between his, pressing their mouths together fiercely, pushing her torso so it aligned more closely with Ron's. He rose to meet her; his arms drawing her in.
They sank back onto the rug together. Ron's hand crept underneath her sweater and he laid his palm against the base of her spine, anchoring her pelvis against his. In response, she slid her knees around the outside of his hips, clamping him between them in a desperate attempt to relieve the low ache caused by so much arousal.
Automatically her hips started to bob against him, the fabric of their jeans rubbing between them.
It was good but it wasn't enough. She felt Ron take hold of her hip, rolling her to one side before pulling her to her feet. She moved at his command. Once they were upright, he immediately pressed her against the ornately carved footboard of the bed, kissing her hard. As she answered with equal hunger, she could feel his fingers tugging inquisitively at the hem of her sweater.
Feeling reckless and abandoning herself to her desire for him, she placed her hands over his and guided them gently upwards. Ron enthusiastically followed her lead and yanked her sweater and vest off in one swift movement. The instant the garments fell from his hands, she reached for his t-shirt and it quickly met her sweater and vest on the floor.
The callouses on his hands felt deliciously rough, his finger trailed from her throat down through the valley between her breasts. It followed the line of her bra, under the cup, stopping briefly to swipe a thumb over a hardened nipple, before moving round to her back.
Hermione felt the lace give as he unfastened her bra. It fell away from her chest, sliding down her arms so when Ron pulled her into him, her bare breasts crushed against his chest. The sensation caused her to cry out and he pressed harder, kneading her arse with urgent hands.
Ron's erection firm against her thigh, she pulled him with her to the side of the bed and unsnapped the top button on his jeans.
His mouth broke from hers and he took her jaw in his hand so she met his eyes.
"Sure?"
His shoulders were lifting with the labour of his breaths, his eyes glittering like embers. Hermione felt dizzy with the power she possessed; this man with all his strength and fire in the palm of her hand. There wasn't anything she wanted more than to completely immerse herself in him.
She nodded. "Sure."
He smiled a little. With slow deliberation, Hermione undid the remaining buttons and pushed his jeans over his hips to his feet. Maintaining eye contact, she unsnapped her own jeans and released the zip. Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat. Despite her all-encompassing lust, she still felt nervous, still worried about being enough.
Ron's eyes were fixed on her lower stomach, his bottom lip caught his teeth. Resisting the urge to speed up, she pushed her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and slid them languidly over her hips. Slowly, she toed off her shoes. Practically hypnotised, Ron did the same. In unison, they stepped out of their jeans.
Hermione was vaguely aware she was barely breathing. Almost involuntarily, Ron reached for her lace clad hips; his hands closed around her hipbones. With the flat of her hands, she stroked upwards from his wrists to his shoulders, pleased to leave a line of goose bumps in her wake. She kissed the soft skin on his chest, running her nose through the wiry hair there, before lapping his nipple with her tongue, causing his hands to clench and his fingers to dig into her flesh.
She mouthed from his nipple back up his chest and neck, savouring the taste of his skin as she pinched it occasionally between her teeth. When she reached his lips, she licked into his mouth and dragged him onto the bed with her.
The slippery satin bed linen felt chilly against her naked back. Her spine arched in response and Ron grazed a nipple between his teeth as her breasts rose. With one hand splayed wide on her ribcage, he trailed her knickers down with other. Kissing his way over her stomach, Ron moved lower until he was between her legs and then he kissed her there.
Involuntarily, Hermione's hand rose from the bed and wound itself into his hair, the sensation of his familiar mouth in an unfamiliar place causing her blood to thicken and boil. Each swipe of wet flesh on wet flesh was almost torturous, bridging the gap between pleasure and pain.
His stay in this most sensitive of spots was brief; she could feel him making his way back up her body, alternating kisses with nips.
When their faces became level, she kissed him, one hand keeping their heads together, the other releasing his cock from his boxers and running her nails up the shaft before trailing her thumb over the tip.
Ron released a strangled groan into her mouth in response.
"This isn't going to last very long," he murmured, his mouth moving towards her ear, "If you keep doing that."
Hermione's hand slid to the base of his cock and back again firmly, an unequivocal demand for an unmet need to be sated.
"Well. We have all night."
He groaned again and pushed off the bed. Locating his jeans, he fumbled in the pockets until he found his wallet, from which he pulled a condom. Hermione propped herself on her elbows and watched him slide it on.
He caught her eye and they smiled shyly in unison and for a few heartbeats the moment lost some of its sexual frisson as something passed between them.
Hermione sat up slowly and Ron reached for her. Enclosing her face in his hands, he kissed her, gentle now, loving. An act of mutual understanding.
The kiss deepened, her tongue reaching for his and together they manoeuvred Ron back onto the bed. Within seconds he was inside her, her hips instinctively lifting, drawing him in further.
He rocked into her without leniency, the rhythm of his thrusts quick and hard from the beginning, their bodies rubbing over each other with slippery friction. The weight of him pressing her into the bed was breath-taking; pushing heavily onto her pelvis and heightening the sensation of him moving within her.
Ron began to shudder almost instantly, gripping Hermione's hip in one hand, the back of her neck with the other. Sensing his imminent loss of control, she bucked against him faster, fingers sinking into the muscle overlaying his scapula as it bunched under his skin.
She could feel herself start to climb, each exquisite sensation layering on top of the one before.
Ron was exhaling hard, his eyes half-closed.
Suddenly, they opened wide and he growled, "Fuck."
There.
The spasms spread like lightning bolts over her and she choked in the heat of them. They moved together for a few more seconds before Ron grunted and fell against her. His breath was torn and she could see his pulse leaping in his throat.
I did that.
She lifted her head and lightly kissed the trembling skin and Ron nuzzled into her hair.