Part 4: Pulled Under

The three of us stand in the dimly lit hallway of number twelve Grimmauld Place. Ron is fussing over Harry, flipping back and forth between making sure he is prepared and trying to convince him not to go. On this, Ron and I are of the same mind; we have been trying all morning to get Harry to stay, to convince him it's safer for us to go instead, but he is having none of it. I gave up halfway through breakfast, but Ron is insistent.

"Really mate, you've got to let me go again - it's not me they want. I keep saying it makes more sense if I do the reconnaissance work and you and Hermione work out the plan with the information I bring back."

"Alright then, I'm going." Harry says in an exacerbated tone, ignoring Ron's last attempt to dissuade him, as he unfolds the invisibility cloak. He drapes it over his shoulders and it settles over his body, creating the illusion that he is no more than a floating head. "I'll be back by three o'clock."

"No later, Harry," I warn.

"No later, I promise," he says and gives me a reassuring smile. He pulls the cloak over his head and vanishes. We see the front door open and then close with a hard thud. And then, silence.

Ron and I are all alone.

We stand next to each other, frozen. Nervousness is an icy blade suddenly plunged into my back, blitzing my body with shivers. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to make an escape, and my palms are slick with sweat. I don't want to look at him, but it feels like something is turning my head and forcing me to make eye contact. Our eyes meet, and I hold my breath. It doesn't seem like Ron is breathing either. We are encased in two blocks of ice. I would give anything for a hammer right now...

Pressure is building, my lungs are seizing from lack of oxygen, and our eyes remain locked. And then suddenly we both crack the silence at the same time:

"I'm going to the loo!"

"I need something from my room!"

We shout simultaneously and then take off, practically running from each other; Ron shoots down the hall to the tiny loo tucked away at the end of the corridor, and I bolt up the stairs.

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~o8o~

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I pace my room like a lion in a cage. My emotions consume the small space, straining at the bars of my self-inflicted prison. Anger, giddiness and desperation mix with nerves; I am overflowing with indecision.

Fury still makes me want to lash out at Ron with my fists, but I am also angry with myself for falling prey to his taunts. I pause in front of the full length mirror in my room. You should make him pay for what he did to you; seduce him! I think. I smirk and roll my eyes at myself. I'm good at a lot of things, but flirting and acting sexy are not two of them. I look myself up and down; no, not sexy at all. The realization is a thorn in my side. Besides, flirting or deliberately trying to seduce Ron would be playing into his game, I counter. I would never stoop to his level - he is being childish. I yank the thorn from my side and stand tall. I will remain stoic; I will show him that it is not affecting me the way he thinks it is. Rise above, Hermione, rise above, I tell myself. But deep down inside of me all I want to do is sink into him.

I linger in front of the mirror, looking myself over, playing with my mop of curls. I try to push away the nagging notion that I am trying to make myself look more desirable; I'm not, I'm just fixing my hair: I run my fingers through to get out some of the tangles, but my locks are as tightly coiled as I am. I huff and frown. As I part my hair into three thick strands and begin weaving them together in a plait everything begins to unravel in my head:

Stop thinking about Ron, stop thinking about that kiss, and get all the notions of what could happen today out of your head. But I have wanted this for so long, and it's so close; I can almost reach out and touch it. Keep your hands to yourself, Hermione! If you do something you will be giving into Ron; he said you couldn't follow your own rules - you would be proving him right! That is simply unacceptable. But if it's something that I want too then it's not giving in, it's getting what I want. No, if you give in you will not only be letting Ron win but you will be going back on your word to Harry and to yourself. Harry never has to find out, we could keep it a secret. That is extremely dishonest! You made a promise Hermione, you should stick to it. That was a piecrust promise, it was meant to be broken. But not here, not now. Now is the time to focus on finding the horcruxes, you can satisfy your cravings afterward. But what if we never find all the horcruxes..?

Unsatisfied and more confused than ever, I decide that I have plaited and replaited my hair more times than necessary, and I can't stay in my room forever. No matter what, I am going to have to face him. I will go downstairs, make some tea and read Beedle the Bard, all while trying to ignore a certain ginger-haired boy that just happens to be in the same house as me.

Simple.

But as I walk out of my bedroom door I can't help but feel like an injured doe, willingly limping into a lion's den.

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~o8o~

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I grab the cast-iron kettle, fill it with water and put in on the stove. I turn to the counter and pull down the tins of tea from the shelf. I can hear footfalls behind me, but don't turn around; I focus on selecting a teabag like it's the most important decision of my life.

"Making tea?" Ron asks. Without looking I can tell he stands about two feet behind me; entirely too close for my liking.

"Yes, would you like some?" I say, my voice cracking slightly. I wince at how awful it sounds. I feel him take a step closer, and I can smell him now; those warm, spiced linens I am desperate to be wrapped in. I feel like I have excess saliva in my mouth.

"Yeah, that would be brilliant... Thanks, Hermione."

His lips seem to hug each letter of my name. I hear the all too familiar sound of his deep inhale. Again he pulls at my soul, and what remains of it I can feel slipping out between my shoulder blades, right into his nostrils. The static crackles and sparks between our bodies that are now only inches apart. I have to put down the container and grip the counter's edge to try and steady myself. He continues to breathe me in, and I feel my legs deflating.

And here we are again, I think. But this time Harry is not here to save me. The injured doe trips and stumbles at the entrance of the lion's cave. No one is coming to rescue her.

"Ron, please…" I say, half warning and half begging him. I stare down at my knuckles; they have gone white from the strain. I am desperate to turn around and be consumed by him fully and completely. My whole body is vibrating as I deny its wishes. I will not repeat what happened yesterday. I will not, I order myself.

"Please what?" he asks in a raspy voice, his breath scorches my ear. My heart is pumping blood through my body so fast I swear my arteries are about to burst. I let out a gasp when I feel his nose nuzzling into my hair. No, not again… My self-control is a loose thread and Ron is teasing it, pulling gently, and I am slowly unraveling.

"Please…" I repeat, but I don't even know what I am asking for. The word stop is bitter on my tongue. But when coupled with don't the phrase tastes so sweet it hurts my teeth.

Now his hands are on my hips. Oh sweet Merlin... He squeezes me softly, as if fighting to keep his hands from traveling up further. I can hear his breath go ragged, and that reminds me I haven't taken one in years. I inhale so sharply it hurts my lungs. His fingers are now tracing circles over my hip bones and fumbling with my belt loops.

This needs to stop, I think in vain. Move away, Hermione, I command my body. But it doesn't seem to want to obey. All the blood in my veins is rushing to my core, and my muscles constrict from the sudden influx of heat. I feel Ron's breath trickle down my neck leaving a stream of gooseflesh in its wake.

I turn around so we are facing each other and lean back, putting my weight against the counter behind me. My plan was to push him away, but my fingers lock into a vice grip on the counter's edge again, as if I am dangling over a cliff. Wanton waters swirl and crash below me. My fingers begin to slip…

I open my mouth to say something, but Ron moves closer to me, placing one leg in between mine. The hint of pressure his leg puts on my groin sends ribbons of pleasure throughout my body, and I shudder. Whatever plan I had to flee this situation has been swallowed in the raging waters below, and I am in danger of drowning.

His hands reposition themselves delicately at my waist; I can feel one of his fingers touching bare skin above my jeans, branding me. Our faces are so close we are sharing the same breath; I feel faint as our panting drains every last bit of oxygen from the air. Ron's nose is now nestled beside mine, and our lips are centimetres apart.

I ache all over.

"Hermione…" he whispers. I can barely hear him over my heart drumming against the walls of my skull.

I swallow. "Ron."

I can't look him in the eye so I look at his mouth; his tongue darts out and moistens his lips. Somehow he seems to get closer still. His nose brushes against mine, and the movement seems to echo between my legs. I barely contain the lustful moan that is rolling over my tongue as I try to get words out of my mouth smoothly, but they trip and stumble in my throat:

"We can't…"

"Then you're going to have to stop me," he says.

My arms are growing weaker by the second as I cling to the counter. My legs stretch like dough as they meet the waves and get sucked down by the undertow; resistance is futile as my body is pulled into his sea.

Our lips brush against each other; lightening strikes.

His hands on my waist grip tighter, and the dragon roars, begging for release. Our lips graze again and I feel one of the shackles crack. Our mouths open and our lips clumsily tease each other.

The dragon fights and the chains tear at its flesh. I have never felt a more sweet form of torture in my life.

And then we both jump as the kettle begins to screech on the stove. Ron steps back and, with a reflex so ingrained within him, removes the kettle from the element, silencing it. Now the only thing screaming is my body. I release a long breath as I watch him extinguish the heat, while I remain aflame. He takes a step back from the stove and bows his head, looking defeated.

Sod it, I think, and make a quick grab for his arm. My fingers grip his sleeve, and I pull him towards me with all the strength I have left. The touch of his lips on mine pumps bliss throughout my entire body. I open my mouth and allow my lips to engulf his upper lip. His arms eagerly travel around to my back, and he pulls me flush against his frame.

We grasp each other tightly as our mouths fuse and our tongues reunite; like a lost key into a secret lock they intertwine, and the dragon's shackles clatter to the ground. Adrenaline sears us like fire and everything accelerates.

Hearts rampage.

Tongues probe.

Fingers pillage.

Breaths are taken hostage.

I give my hands free rein, and they waste no time touching Ron everywhere they can reach. I feel him hard, pressing against me, and my core is finally receiving the pressure it has been begging for. I can't help but cry out, and Ron eagerly gulps the sound. He lifts me up onto the counter, and my legs lace around his waist. He thrusts his hips against me; a shock wave travels up my spine, and sparks shoot out of every pore.

Ten fingers are frantic on my body, they slip under my shirt and explore my back while Ron's tongue leaves my lips and carves a path down my neck. I whimper and moan unabashedly as he continues to grind against me.

"Oh fuck..." His breathless curse gets painted across the skin behind my ear. And then he says my name just before taking my earlobe between his lips. My eyes roll back into my head, and I crane my neck. Ron takes advantage of the new angle, moving his lips and tongue down my chin to my neck, and then my collar bone.

I am burning up, the friction between my legs is so intense I want to combust. Both my shirt and t-shirt are trapping the heat against my body, and it's stifling; I am wearing too many clothes.

I desperately need to feel Ron's skin against mine. I untangle my arms from around his neck and push him away slightly. He has a look of confusion pushing through the heady fog of lust that is dominating his features, but when I reach for the hem of my shirts his eyes practically fall out of his head. In one swift motion I pull them over my head, and I am suddenly sitting on the counter in the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place in just my bra and jeans. Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione Granger? I think to myself.

My skin is scorching metal and Ron's lips are a magnet. He begins at my neck and trails hot kisses and licks down my torso. When his hands cup my breasts through my thin cotton bra we both groan.

I don't ever want him to stop touching me.

And then his mouth envelopes my nipple through the fabric and I die a thousand beautiful deaths in one second. While his mouth plays with my nipple his hand is delving under the bra and I can feel the pads of his fingers on my other breast. His free hand is reaching around my back fumbling with the clasp of my bra.

He brings his face back up to mine as my bra slips off my chest onto the floor. I cup his cheeks and pull him in to me. The kiss is so deep I can feel his lips on my spine. I lean back, wanting him to take me over but my head hits a pot that's hanging on the wall; it clatters against the other pots and a small saucier crashes to the counter. Without a thought Ron wraps his arms around my middle and hoists me off the counter. He turns and carries me to the end of the long wooden table that runs almost the length of the kitchen. He sits me down on the hard surface and wastes no time reconnecting his lips with mine.

But now I need to feel and taste his skin. Lips still firmly attached, I grab for his shirt and begin to hastily unbutton, but Ron has a better plan. He pulls away, reaches over his head, and with both hands tugs the shirt from his body. My eyes bask in chiseled muscles underneath milky skin dusted with cinnamon freckles. I'm so thirsty; I want to taste every inch of him.

We stare at eachother for a moment, panting, our lungs desperate for breath. I see Ron's eyes mirror the ocean of lust that is dripping from my own before they drift down my frame. He is drinking me in, and I quiver as his gaze laps up my bare torso. The sensation is exhilarating; I feel wild, carnal. But most importantly:

I feel wanted.

This novel state fuels my excitement like never before and I reach for him. He storms into me, lips crashing together, and I let myself to fall back against the hard wood grain. And then Ron is getting up on the table, straddling my silhouette, crawling up my body.

I pull him down on top of me and soak in the feeling of his skin against mine. My nipples graze his chest as his skin drifts and slides over mine. There is no room in my head for thought; my brain's sole purpose is to process millions of earthquakes as my nerve endings fire messages of ecstasy in rapid succession across my synapses. Ron props himself up on his elbow and runs his free hand up and down side, my stomach and over my breast. My poor brain has never worked so hard in its life.

The area between my legs is pulsing so rapidly my hips throb. I hook my leg over his waist and force his weight onto me, desperate for that sweet pressure on my core. Ron groans as his hips thrust against mine.

Then his tongue is on my breasts and I cry out and grab the edge of the table as he boldly sucks on my nipple. I arch my back into him but I feel his weight lift off me. I open my eyes to see him pull back slightly. Ron's face hovers above mine and it looks like his eyes are asking me a question. At first I am puzzled as to what it could be, but then I feel his hand at the button on my jeans.

"Yes…" I breathe as my eyes flutter shut again. I feel his fingers begin to work on my button and fly as his lips return to my chest; god, they have been missed.

His hand releases the button and pulls down the zipper; lightning cracks behind my eyes when I feel the faint trace of his fingers across my knickers.

And then I hear the sound of a door being shut in the distance and scuffling growing louder.
"What was that?" I ask as I break through a crack in the dense clouds of lust that has been accumulating over us, blocking out all reasonable thought. "Where is Kreacher?"

"I was hoping we could do this without him," Ron says breathlessly. I can feel his lips form a smile on my skin, but the joke is lost on me. He continues to kiss a path down my stomach and storm clouds in my head smother my thoughts once more. His lips travel lower and desperation begins to pool in my lower back.

We have to get someplace more private before this storm erupts and unbridled want consumes us completely.

The scuffling continues in the next room and I summon a huge amount of strength to push Ron off me. "Ron, stop," I plead. He looks at me with the expression of a child who has just had his favourite toy taken away. "We have to get out of here," I say, and I can't hide the bawdy smile that divulges the hidden meaning of the phrase. Ron seems to understand immediately and leaps off the table to search for our clothes.

We race to dress, frantically scooping up our shirts from the kitchen floor and haphazardly pull them on as we head for the door. I race up the stairs, Ron slightly behind me. My heart is hammering in my chest, and my legs feel like jelly, but I will them to continue on the trail that Ron and I are blazing.

This is completely uncharted territory.

Terror and curiosity are fighting raging hormones for dominance in my brain. Each step that I climb is bringing me closer to what I have been fantasizing about for years. I want to run faster, scared something will block our path when we are so close to the goal.