"Behind Closed Doors" By Kross
A/n: I don't own Harry Potter…I simply enjoy using the characters conjured up J.K. Rowling for my own sweet pleasure.
Pairing: Hermione/Ron and Hermione/Mystery man
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Hermione found that the next few nights were filled with frustrating dreams of her secret lover. Each night she relived the encounter, however, bits and pieces of the man were hidden or blurred. He had strong hands. His hair curled a bit towards the nape of his neck. He smelled like pure testosterone and held himself well. Each night she relived the powerful emotion she had felt, the toe-curling sensations of his hands and body taking over her.
She awoke each morning more confused than the night before, more angered by her own mind. He was familiar to her; he was someone she saw nearly every day. He was close enough to touch yet too far away to grab a hold on. She had trouble paying attention in class, her eyes would dart from boy to boy and her suspicions changed with each coming class. As the last bell of the day rang out with its magical chime, Hermione packed up her bag and took a long stroll.
She had hardly touched Ron in the last week. She was concerned with breasts that ached and grew tender. She lent this condition to the light pink bruises left from his hand gripping onto them. His little clues were every where. He lingered on her body, like a strong perfume or illness. Hermione's head swam with every step she had taken; her thoughts were filled with him. She walked down the hall way towards Gryffindor tower, her eyes drawn down, her mind focused on his shoulders. She walked blindly, narrowly missing young girls. One step and she hit an arm with her shoulder, barely noticing it.
"Watch where you're going…" He declared. Hermione took little notice to him, muttering a quiet apology. Her hand wandered up to massage the spot as she paused in the middle of the hallway. She heard his footsteps continue on, his shoes clacking on the hard stone flooring. He echoed off while she stood, her feet nailed to the floor where she stood. It was him.
She recognized his voice, deep and smooth. She could hear him in her mind; he had said just one thing while making love to her. 'He said "finally" while making love to me…' she thought. Her eyes widened. He had been so kind while making love to her, despite the slight wounds of passion. He had taken extra care to be gentle, taking her slowly at first as if she had been a virgin.
"Wait!" She called out, turning around and walking as fast as she could in the direction he had gone. "Come back!"
She let her feet carry her as fast as they possibly could. Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought of seeing his face. She had built up expectations beyond realism. She wasn't sure if he would be a nasty sort of man who took girls and ditched them as often as he changed his shirt. She also couldn't be convinced that he wasn't the sort of wonderful man she could love eternally and marry one day. She didn't know if she wanted either. The corridor seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning the way a castle had been known to do. Her books began to slip from her hands; her bag slapped her back with every stride. At last, she saw what looked to be the light from an open door. She hoped that this would be where he had stopped. Hermione found herself facing a bright window at the end of a corridor. No door. No man. No relief.
Tears stung at her eyes, not in sadness but in anger. He knew she had been following, he had had to know. He had slipped through her fingers, somehow, and she wasn't sure how it had happened. Her fingers curled around the strap of her back and she gripped onto the edges of her books. She feigned strength where none was to be found. She was afraid of what he meant to her. She was afraid of the consequences their love making may have had; she wasn't sure if they had used protection. She had sex so infrequently that she didn't feel that taking the pill was necessary. Too long a time had passed since the encounter for a spell or draught to save her from any problem.
The walk back to Gryffindor tower was a long one. Her insides felt as though they were strapped down with leaden bricks. She wanted to meet him face to face, although she wasn't entirely sure what she would say. Her blood chilled at the thought of seeing Ron. Did he know? Could he? Hermione had not entirely ruled him out of her list of suspects. He greeted her as usual as she entered the common room. It felt as though they'd been married for years. Kiss on cheek. Peck on lips. Maybe that was what delighted her about this stranger…novelty. Passion.
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Meg/Kross