No Time For Epilogues
Chapter 20- Dessert, Only Better and Poor Crookshanks
After dinner, Ron's flat
"Hope that didn't set you back too much," she said when he closed the door.
"Did you enjoy it?" he asked and hung her cloak by the door.
"Immensely."
"Then it was worth every galleon. Besides, I like being able to do things like that for you, including this."
He summoned a jewelry box from the dining table, opened it and held it before her. Hermione gasped at a teardrop shaped ruby pendant, with a diamond set in the drop, hanging from a platinum necklace.
"I think she likes it," he said softly when she gently took it from the box.
"Put it on me," she said.
"It looks better now that it's on you," he said and drew her close.
"You can be quite charming, Mr. Weasley."
"You can be quite alluring, Miss Granger."
When their lips came together, Hermione decided that she didn't want to talk anymore. At dinner they talked about the food, their work that day, their friends, various wedding plans- which was all well and good- but for the time being, no words were needed. They walked hand in hand to the bedroom.
While Hermione was doing whatever she did in the bathroom, Ron remembered this time last year. They were living in a tent, with death and terror just around the proverbial corner every day, living on weeds, mushrooms and whatever else they could forage. He recalled the brief time spent at Grimmauld Place when she fell asleep every night next to him, her small soft hand in his. He also recalled how close he came to losing her. Death would have been better than life without her, he was sure of that now. The bathroom door opened and she emerged in a sheer dressing gown, strolling to the bed, her dark eyes gazing at him in desire. All unpleasant thought of mushrooms, terror and loss fled when she stopped next to the bed.
"What were you thinking just now?" she asked softly and sat on the bed.
"It doesn't matter," he said. "You're here, that's what matters."
She slipped the dressing gown from her body. "Touch me," she whispered.
Of course he would. He sat up, drew her closer and ran his hands through her hair, causing her to close her eyes, let her head fall back and groan. This left her neck a perfectperfct target, so he nipped and suckled on her neck, up to her earlobes and back down to her shoulders, taking equal time with each side.
He's getting so good at this! she thought as he massaged a breast with one hand, her head with the other, while kissing her neck. Oh yes, right there!
She gently pushed him on his back, straddled his hips and reciprocated his efforts.
Bloody hell, she's getting so good at this! In his humble opinion, she was a lover any man would be lucky to have. Demanding, (but not frighteningly so), enthusiastic, attentive, and the best part: she was uninhibited once she got going. He loved how she just surrendered to the moment. With just a flick of his tongue or finger in just the right place, his articulate, model-of-propriety, genius Hermione morphed into a lustful, needy Hermione who whimpered nonsense and sexily begged for more until she became a orgasmic banshee. All for me!
She gasped and he groaned in pleasure when she lowered herself on his throbbing, eager cock, awaiting their pleasure. She rocked and bounced, riding him for all she was worth, nails raking his chest until she leaned back and rode him hard and fast, close to her peak. When he he gripped her hips and growled, "Yes woman, that's it, take it!" it sent her over the edge. She fell forward, gripping the bed covers, face contorted in bliss, accentuating each bounce with a cry of "YES!FUCKYES!" When she knew he was close to his peak, she rode him hard and fast again until he wrapped his arms her, deftly flipped her over and pumped into her until his pleasure loudly matched hers, again.
Minutes later, they lay panting in the afterglow. "Damn, we're getting good at this," he said.
"Mmhm," she mumbled and snuggled closer to him under the covers.
The next morning at the Granger home, Elizabeth noticed that Hermione's cat wasn't winding himself around her legs as he always did when she cooked sausage with breakfast. She looked out the kitchen window and didn't see him prowling the yard. Ian yawned when he came into the kitchen.
"Have you seen Hermione's cat?" she asked. "He's always around when I make sausage."
"No, can't say I have."
After breakfast, she looked around outside and in the garage. Hermione's room, why didn't I think of that before. She glanced in the rooms before she came to Hermione's room and opened the door. There lay Crookshanks on the bed. She walked to the bed.
"There you are, I made sausage, didn't-" she stopped and looked carefully at the cat and rested her hand on his side. He was barely breathing or showing signs of life. "Ian!" she called out and he came in. "Something's very wrong with her cat, he's barely alive."
He gently picked him up and carried him from the room. "You call her while we get him to a vet."
Before dinner the previous night, Hermione turned her mobile phone ringer off and set it to voice mail. She woke and saw her mobile flashing, indicating that there was a message. She wrapped a sheet around around herself and checked the message, listening to the voice of her mother.
"Pumpkin, you might want to get to the vet here in town on the corner of Tenth and Patterson, we're taking your cat there now."
She went back to the bed, sat next to Ron and gently shook him. "Love, wake up. I need to go, Mum and Dad had to take Crooks to the vet, she sounded serious."
"Hm?What?" he mumbled sleepily.
"Go back to sleep, I'll call you later," she said, kissed his cheek and went to the bathroom. She washed her face, hastily brushed her hair and put it in a ponytail and ran into Ron, who was entering the bathroom as she was leaving.
"I'll come with you," he mumbled and emerged dressed minutes later.
"You sure did last night," she quipped.
She dressed in some clothes she had at the flat and they apparated to the Grangers. She grabbed a set of keys to the other car and drove to the veterinarian's office. She saw her Dad's Benz and parked next to it. They went inside and saw Ian waiting in a chair. He pointed down a corridor and said, "Your mother and cat are there, second room on the right."
Ron waited with Ian while Hermione went to a treatment room. Elizabeth sighed in relief when she saw her.
"Thank goodness, we were hoping you would arrive before it was too late," she said.
"Too late for what?" Hermione asked, now alarmed and went to the examining table where her beloved Crookshanks lay. "What's wrong with him?"
"Multiple organ failure," the vet said kindly. "I've ensured he's in no pain, but I recommend that he be put down. Your mother has said how much you care for him and that you wouldn't want him to suffer."
Hermione shook her head as tears fell down her cheeks. She bent over and nuzzled his neck with ther nose as she had done countless times. She scratched under his chin and he feebly extended his tongue and touched her hand.
"My poor Crooks," she whispered. "No, I don't want him to suffer."
"I'll give him a shot that will quickly and painlessly stop his heart. You may hold him if you like as I do it."
Hermione nodded and cradled him.
"I'll leave you alone with him," Elizabeth said sadly and left the room. Outside, she saw Ron and Ian talking.
"The doctor is putting him down, it's for the best."
"Now?" Ron asked. Elizabeth nodded. Ron may not have liked the cat over the years, but Hermione adored the cat and this would hit her hard. A few minutes later, a sobbing Hermione came from the room with a box. Ian paid the receptionist for services.
"I'm taking him home and placing him in the backyard, a nice spot under the tulip bushes," she whispered sadly.
At home, Ian and Ron dug a hole for the box and Hermione gently laid the box in the hole. She took the shovel and covered the hole. When she was done, she knelt next the freshly dug mound and patted down the dirt. She never said a word. Ron rested a hand on her shoulder.
"How are you love?"
She shrugged and took in a shaking breath. "The doctor wanted to do a necropsy, but I couldn't let them cut him up, not my Crooks. Besides, he's a kneazle, not a regular cat, it would have turned into some kind of scientific scandal."
After a while, Hermione came in an announced that she needed aspirin and rest a lie-down. "I'm depressed and hung over, not a good combination."
"I've got to pop into the store this morning anyway. I'll be by later love," Ron said and followed her to her bedroom, taking off her shoes and looking through some drawers, knowing how she liked to "veg out" in track pants and a t-shirt.
Harry, who was off Tuesdays, half Wednesdays and Saturdays, was at Hogsmeade visiting Ginny.
"Did she like the book?" she asked, regarding the book Harry had given Hermione.
"You should have seen her face, then Ron's when she appeared at the door ready for dinner," he said.
"Do you spend a lot of time there?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Let's put it this way, you can always find me in one of three places: work, your home or the Grangers."
"Grimmauld Place hasn't grown on you?"
"No, and I don't think it will."
"You've got enough money for a place, any place you could want, surely you can find something you like."
Harry nodded a waved to someone. "Yeah, but I'm waiting."
"For what?"
"Someone to house hunt with."
"Wha-" she started but stopped when Harry rose from the table to greet Ron.
"Hey you two," he said and slid into the chair across from them. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Not really," Ginny said.
"Something wrong?" Harry asked.
"Hermione's cat died this morning."
"Oh the poor thing," Ginny said.
"Which one?" Ron asked.
"Both, you toerag." Ginny retorted.
Harry rolled his eyes. "How is she?"
"Pretty broken up about it, but I have an idea to cheer her up, I hope."
"Which is...?" Ginny prompted.
"Get her another familiar."
"Today??"
"Why not?"
Harry went with Ron to The Magical Menagerie, still not sure if it was a good idea to get Hermione another familiar so soon. Besides, he wanted to see what owls there were. Hedwig's loss still tugged at his heart at times, but there might be a familiar he could come to like, or rather "one that picked him" as the saying went.
"Why is this one all be herself?" Ron wondered out loud, looking at a bin that had a single, small, sleeping kitten. "She's cute." The kitten woke and looked at him and arched her back in a stretch then mewed at Ron. The store clerk answered his question.
"She's a kneazle, but the runt of the litter. For some reason, totally unfounded I might add, people believe that small kneazles make them less of a familiar."
"Can I hold her?"
"Of course."
Ron examined the small brown tabby. "I know someone that will fall to pieces over you, in a good way," he told the kitten, who settled in the crook of his arm.
"Hey Harry, what do-" he turned to ask but stopped. It appeared that Harry was having a staring contest with a falcon on a perch.
"Ah yes, people are starting to use more and more falcons these days instead of owls. You're Potter, aren't you? How is your owl working out for you?" the clerk asked.
"She was killed last year."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Are you in the market for another? It can take a while, but I can put in a order for another snowy owl," the clerk said.
"What about this falcon?"
"She's for sale, but I warn you, falcons are a temperamental bunch, females especially."
"Aren't they all?" Harry answered with a chuckle.
"Extend your arm, see if she comes to you."
Harry did so and the falcon hopped to his arm in seconds. Harry ran his hand over her head and down her back. The bird preened, shook her feathers and lightly nipped his hand.
"I'll take her," Harry said. The falcon hopped onto his shoulder.