Part 2: Fighting the Current
I stare at the grandfather clock that ticks slowly on the other side of the room. I have watched the hands travel across its cold face almost all night. And in those hours I have lived a hundred lifetimes. In some lives Ron comes into my room and tells me the kiss meant nothing to him, that it was a stupid mistake. In others, we disapparate together to a secluded cottage in a far off land, free of Death Eaters and war, and we live out our days in a tangle of crisp white sheets, melting into each other over and over again. Countless other lifetimes drift across a continuum between the two.
When I managed to sleep, snakes factored prominently in my dreams; I was in an inky ocean and long shapes, dark as pitch, circled me as I fought to stay above water. Ron was swimming towards me, his face filled with horror. He reached for me, we were so close, until I felt something coil up my leg and pull me deep under the water. I woke up gasping for air.
Half past five, the clock's hands tell me, barely visible in the pre-dawn light. Too soon to rise? I haven't left this room since I barricaded myself in and drowned in my tears. I want to see Ron before breakfast and purge all the thoughts that have been mounting in my brain like clouds before a storm. But maybe it would be better if I wait until after breakfast; Ron is always more amicable on a full stomach. I wonder briefly if Ron and Harry spoke last night. Theirs is a friendship that I will never be able to compete with; my femininity will always separate me somewhat from them. However, I have a feeling that, even though they are extremely close, neither of them would be in a hurry to broach the subject.
My eyes feel raw, and my chest aches. I roll over onto my back, wishing I can just sink into the mattress and disappear. My brain needs to rest; it feels as if I have been trying to solve an Arithmancy problem with too many variables all night. I try to imagine a blank piece of parchment; emptiness. But as soon as I do, one word get scrolled across it: Ron… A smile cracks in the corners of my lips. Why fight it? I ask myself with a deep sigh. So I saturate myself in the memory of our kiss; I close my eyes and let it hydrate them, an oasis in a desert. I can smell Ron all around me again. And this time as I replay our kiss there is no Harry to interrupt us...
Memory turns to fantasy as Ron's muscular arms lift me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. Our lips intertwine, hot and wet. And suddenly we are naked; sweat runs down my back, making me slide up against the hardwood door frame as Ron thrusts into me with fevered passion…
The next thing I know sunlight assaults my still-recovering eyes as it breaks through a crack in the thick curtains. I turn my head and look over at the clock; quarter past eight. Ron and Harry must be up by now. I bring a hand up to shield my eyes from the sun, giving them a slight reprieve from the morning light. I attempt to move my other hand to rub my face and realize it's caught inside my knickers. I feel hot and sticky. I slip it out and a blush tingles over my puffy face.
No one is here to see me but I feel embarrassed and slightly ashamed of myself.
Although I know it's nothing to be ashamed of, but succumbing to my body's basal urges makes me feel weak. Am I no better than any other randy teenager? I shudder at the thought. The promise I made to Harry may be more difficult to keep than originally anticipated.
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~o8o~
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"We need to talk," I say.
I managed to catch Ron before he went down to breakfast. I knocked softly on his door after visiting the loo: I spent more time than I care to admit taming my unruly curls and using a cooling charm to take the puffiness out of my face. After scrubbing my teeth thoroughly I held my own stare in the mirror. And suddenly I was choking on a mouthful of giggles, as if I was sharing a private joke with my reflection. I shook my head. Oh Hermione, what has become of you? One kiss and you turn into a blubbering mess. Imagine what you would be like if you and Ron… I slammed the breaks on that train of thought so fast it jolted to a halt that flung me back to reality.
And now I'm standing in Ron's room, my emotions so tightly coiled and restrained I feel like if I were to bump into something I will violently spring apart.
"Yeah, alright," Ron agrees. He is standing beside his unmade bed and seems to have no idea what to do with his hands: He had shoved them in his pockets, crossed his arms over his chest and now, as he sits on the bed, he rubs them on his thighs. He gestures for me to sit next to him. I tentatively move towards the bed, and as I look at Ron and then at the tangled sheets I see a flash in my mind of Ron pushing me down onto them, his weight melding me into the mattress, as he snogs me deeply. My hands rake his back and I hook my leg over his thigh. I feel him hard against my core, and I dig my heel into his back, urging him to grind against me…
"Hermione?" I must have been staring at the sheets for too long. I pull myself, kicking and screaming, out of the daydream. My eyes slowly wander from the bedclothes to his face.
"Humm..?" I am still slightly dazed. "Oh, ahhh, I think it might be best if I stand," I say and I will my face not to blush. Ron looks confused at first. But then it's like a tiny light flickers in his head and the corner of his mouth turns up slightly. He has obviously read the thoughts right off my gob-smacked face. But right now I have enough to worry about and try to wade through my embarrassment.
"About what happened last night," I begin and then pause, waiting for a reaction from him. His face turns serious but I can't seem to discern any of what is going on inside his head. I would give anything to be a Legilimens right now. I am hoping he is going to give me something to go on but he remains a statue.
"I don't think we should do that again," I say as slowly as possible, giving my mind time to attempt to decipher his expression as he takes in my words. But his face is still stone, the same serious expression etched in deep. I am forced to go on, "it's not that I don't want to do it again," I practically trip over the words, as I blurt them out. "But it was totally inappropriate! I mean, it was lovely…" my eyes unfocus for a second, I feel a pull deep in my core as I think about the kiss again. Stay on track Hermione, "but we can't! It's just not the right time… Well, it's the worst time, really. I mean, I don't think there can be a worse time than this… and I wish it wasn't, but it is, and…" he is still unchanging as I splutter out practically incoherent nonsense. I want to take a hammer a crack through his stone visage to see what he is thinking. The few seconds of silence is terrifying, and I rush to fill it.
"We need to help Harry find the Horcruxes; we have to be completely focused on that. And if we start… What I am trying to say is… if you and I were to… and with Harry having these visions, and Voldermort looking inside him… He is already dealing with so much; it's not fair to him for us to be… I mean, not that we are…" My face must be vermillion by now and I am gesturing madly with my hands as if trying to grab for a life vest while drowning. "But even if we were…it… I… It's just not a good idea..." I am stuttering, flustered and completely out of breath by the time I stop talking. I can't look Ron in the eye, so I stare at his hands. The hands that were tight around my back and on my bum…
After what feels like a year of silence I gasp, "Ron, say something, please!" I steal a second of eye contact and then look down at my own hands; they hold each other as they tremble. I peek up to see Ron stand. He is moving towards me, that serious look is now accompanied by a gaze so smoldering I feel I need fresh air. As he moves I begin to back away like a rat cornered by a cat. My heart is pounding furiously in my chest. He continues to move forward and I stumble back further still, desperately trying to cling to the space between us. But I hit the door and Ron closes in, stopping only a foot away from me. I am completely trapped, paralysed. I can't even lift my eyes to look at him.
"Hermione," the softness of his voice lulls me into a false sense of security as he ever so gently puts a finger under my chin and props up my face so our eyes meet. He has me mesmerized, and it's impossible to break his gaze. My heart leaps into my throat. "Did you mean what you said? About wishing you could do it again? About it being lovely?" he asks. I am floored by the question; I had no idea what to expect, but am still taken by surprise.
"Yes," I exhale the word as if it's my last breath. Adrenaline sears my veins as I await my fate at the hands of my captor. Will it be quick and merciful, or slow and tortuous? I search Ron's eyes and find deep pools of longing. I want to make my escape; dive into them, never to resurface.
He opens his mouth and I am terrified he is going to kiss me.
But even more terrified he won't.
"Me too," is all he says, and he takes a step away from me. Disappointment is a two-ton boulder crushing me into the floor. If my arms weren't smashed to pieces they would be wrapped around his neck while my tongue took back every word I said. "But you're right," he sighs. "It's better this way. We don't want to… complicate things, I guess. We need to focus on helping Harry." He gives me a half smile and my heart is a puddle of melted chocolate dripping down my spine.
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~o8o~
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Harry, Ron and I sit in a triangle on the floor in the drawing room. Rays of early afternoon sun stripe the parchment and books scattered over the carpet as we begin to piece together all the information we have about the Ministry of Magic.
For the first time in my life I wish Ron and I were rowing. I wish I was furious with him. Well, I am furious with him, I think as I stare at the end of the quill that he is running back and forth over his upper lip. The sensation of soft feather across smooth skin is being mirrored in my core and I squirm, shifting my position on the carpet. I am livid at his moist pink lips because they aren't pressed against mine. I am enraged at his large strong hands because they are not exploring my body. And his hair… I am so mad that his strands of spun fire aren't close enough to burn my face.
I have always prided myself on being completely in control of body. For the past few years I have been extremely disciplined at suppressing any… urges I may have had while in Ron's company. Even when we were alone at the Burrow over the summer I did an adequate job at keeping my heart rate even and my hands steady. And when we accidentally made contact, although I often had butterflies in my stomach and felt that static charge between us, I was always able to remain level headed.
But Ron's lips on my body seemed to have awakened something wild and carnal that lay dormant deep inside me. A lustful dragon is stretching its wings and breathing fire, creating a fever in me that makes me sweat. Smoke puffs from its nostrils and chokes coherent thought. Ironically, it's now more than ever that I have to be vigilant, ready to stamp out any residual traces of desire that linger inside me. Flush it out. Harry, Ron and I are trapped in close quarters as we plan for the retrieval of the locket; there is no room for a dragon to spin out of control. It must be caged.
I mindlessly draw lines on a piece of parchment, trying to look focused on creating a map of a corridor, but what I am really doing is allowing my eyes to travel up Ron's arm to his shoulder. Hours of Quidditch practice has sculpted his upper body and his muscles test the thin cotton of his t-shirt. I lick my lips and I hear Ron take in a sharp breath. It startles me slightly as I realize he has been watching me watching him. I daringly lift my gaze to meet his.
His sapphire eyes tempt the dragon inside me.
My breath quickens as we hold the stare. I bite my lip, trying to trap a smile. But it escapes; the corners of my mouth curl up and I blush. This seems to have an effect on Ron because his ears turn a delicious cherry red. My core warms to an almost uncomfortable temperature.
Ron blinks, this tiniest of movements seems to bring us both back to reality; he clears his throat, I lick my lips nervously and my eyes drop down to the parchment once again. But my smile is stubborn and seems to take over my face and I almost giggle.
Not a minute goes by and my gaze begins to drift back to him. Ron is scribbling notes on his parchment. The tip of his tongue peeks out between his lips; inviting, seducing, begging me. It doesn't take long to lure his eyes to mine and soon we are locked in a smoldering stare once again. My heart is pulsing between my legs, pumping heat all the way down to my toes.
Our eyes continue to bait each other, each time they meet they create sparks that fall to the dry and dusty carpet. Tendrils of smoke begin to curl up between us.
"Do either of you want tea?" Harry asks, I feel like I am hearing him from under water. I fight to swim to the surface.
"Yeah, thanks mate," Ron says. Harry looks to me and I gulp and nod quickly. I can't seem to speak.
Harry rises and heads out of the drawing room. I watch Ron's eyes follow him to the door. When Harry disappears into the hall Ron's eyes snap back to mine, and in doing so it's as if he has knocked over a can of petrol, igniting the sparks he and I have been producing and the space between us goes up in flames.
Suddenly I feel like I have just run a marathon; I am short of breath and I can feel beads of sweat forming on my neck and chest. I am desperately thirsty; but not for water.
Ron's eyes paint lustful pictures as they trace over my body. I fidget and squirm under his gaze. A burst of bravery – or is it foolishness – brings my eyes to his in a stare that pleads for him to touch me, taste me, devour me.
Don't do this, Hermione, my brain tells me. Keep your promise to Harry. Concentrate on your map of the Ministry. But all I can focus on are the hairs standing up on the back of my neck and the shower of tingles that washes over me. My heart flips and wriggles like a fish out of water as Ron shifts on the carpet. He leans forward; I hold my breath. His chest is heaving under his t-shirt and his arms tremble slightly as he puts weight on them. It's as if he is being held back by invisible chains. His jaw is clenched and his gaze so intense it shatters me.
I want to smother the distance between us, grab his shirt and pull him into me. But my promise to Harry has me sewn to the carpet leaving my insides to knot and writhe salaciously.
"Kreacher is going to bring the tea in when it's ready," Harry says as he waltzes through the doorway, cutting in on the dance our eyes and breath are engrossed in. Thank god, I think as I let out the air my lungs have been cling to in since Harry left. I pretend not to be disappointed as he sits down beside me and says "So, where were we?"
I was just about to straddle Ron and snog him senseless, I think. And then I can't contain a snort-laugh that fills the stunned silence between the three of us. I clap my hand over my mouth.
"What?" Harry asks. I look at Ron and he is chuckling, his face blazing red. I shake my head and breathe out through my mouth, trying to regain some composure.
"It's nothing," I say, still trying not to laugh. Harry glances back and forth between us, his eyebrow peeks and he smirks.
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~o8o~
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The sun's rays have finished their day's journey across the drawing room floor and have left us for the evening. The gas lamps have been glowing for a few hours now and it is Harry and I that sit in their light. Harry and I have been discussing the lifts in the Ministry for the last few minutes. Harry is trying to remember how they are operated.
"Well don't you remember when you were there for your hearing?" I ask.
"Don't you remember when we were all there to find the prophecy?" Harry mimics my tone, adding and even thicker layer of condescension.
"I guess we were all focused on other things then," I say apologetically. "I bet Ron knows, his father works there, he must have been there more times than we have." Harry nibbles on the end of his quill, deep in thought. "I'll ask him," I say. "He just went up stairs a minute ago, he can't be sleeping already." Harry gives me a quizzical look and I roll my eyes, knowing exactly what he is thinking. I groan and cross my arms. "We aren't doing anything, Harry! I said we wouldn't and we're not!" I snap.
"Hermione, I didn't say anything!" Harry cries defensively, and looks offended.
"I'm sorry," I say thinking now that I may have overreacted slightly. Just because all I am thinking about is shagging Ron doesn't mean that everyone else is too.
I head up the stairs reaching the floor where Ron and my rooms are. I see his door is ajar, but as I move towards it I can hear the noise of rushing water. I walk past his room to the loo. The door is closed and the sound of the shower can be heard from the hall. I stop inches from the door and bring my fingers up to slowly trace the wood grain as I listen to the rush of water.
I let out a huge sigh and press my forehead against the door as I imagine the path the water is taking over Ron's muscular shoulders, down his smooth, milky chest, in between his thighs... The thought of being this close to Ron's naked body sends ribbons of lightning through my body and there is an agonizing pull between my legs.
A small whimper escapes my lips as I turn and put my back against the door, letting it support me as my knees become weak. I imagine Ron running a bar of soap over his arms and stomach, the rich lather gliding over the contours of his muscles. My eyes flutter shut as I let myself drown in the thought of his hands working the lather into his skin. And then I picture his soapy soft hands writing wanton tales over my frame. His fingers would feel like silk as they slide all over my body. I bite my lip as I try to imagine the feeling of Ron massaging my breasts, tiny bubbles popping over my hard nipples then being washed away by the hot water.
The area between my thighs spasms like never before and I cross my legs to try and dull the ache but it seems to only intensify it. Why am I doing this to myself? I wonder.
I am sticky with longing when I realize I have been leaning against the door for awhile now. I listen for the sound of the shower and realize too late that the noise is gone.
And then I am falling, my arms outstretched, as Ron opens the bathroom door.