Chapter 2 – A Worm Can Once Opened
Hermione went out and down the stairs. She got off and walked to a secluded spot in a seldom used corridor where she found a place for them to sit.
By now Ron's second thoughts were full up and running. This talk, this outing of the secret was starting to feel less like a revelation and more like a person who was about to learn if he was receiving a death sentence.
Hermione cleared her throat as she tried to get out her first word. She was obviously still struggling with what she was about to say.
"Ron…" she finally said in an almost desperate voice as she tried to get her words working. He looked at her, suspended between anticipation and apprehension. "…I—uh—promise me you won't hate me. I would die if you—well—if you hate me,"
"Okay, I promise," he said, the apprehension side of his emotions starting to win the battle over anticipation. "Just take a deep breath. Try to relax. I promise to listen and not get mad."
"Okay," started Hermione, taking a breath and sitting up. "After everyone left I sat beside you. I held your hand and talked to you for a long time. Every once in a while, I would wipe your brow with a cool cloth. I wasn't really saying anything in particular, just soothing things like you'll be okay. I am here for you. You're going to get better. You know the kind of things I mean."
"Ron smiled as he looked into her face. "That's nice. Thanks for that." She was relaxing a bit, but he could still sense more to come. Something, a hidden demon, was waiting for its time to come forth.
The lights were quite dim and it was very quiet. We were the only ones in the room. Madam Pomfrey and the others had left. She said she would return in a few hours to check on you, but that you were going to be fine. All you needed was rest.
As time passed, you got a little restless as I held your hand and talked to you. You started moaning my name, again. It felt really good, almost like I was in a happy dream. Your breath got a little labored and I thought about sitting back. Perhaps I was disturbing you. Then I—well then I—uh—saw it.
It? Saw it?" What is it?" asked Ron, daring to be curious against his still active apprehensions.
"Your—uh—sheet. Your bed sheet down by your—uh—waist," she stammered. "It was kind of like a tent.
Ron pulled back. He knew exactly to what she was referring. His face got a little redder than his normal complexion.
"I knew what it meant," she continued. "I was kind of embarrassed, but at the same time intrigued. You were still moaning my name and breathing kind of hard. I let go of your hand and sat back, but I couldn't stop looking at the—uh—tent."
"It's okay. It is a normal thing. You don't need to be embarrassed about that," said Ron, leaning back forward, trying to assure her it was okay and no reason to be upset.
"Thanks," she said, "but there is more. As I stared at it, a voice in the back of my head kept trying to convince me to—uh—touch you—uh—there.
Ron pulled back, again. His apprehension was turning into a nervousness about what he might hear next.
"I sat there knowing it was wrong. Thankfully your breathing calmed as you stopped moaning. The—uh—tent disappeared and that urge in my head and my—uh—stomach went away, too."
Ron sighed a mental sigh. He thought for a moment she was going to admit to fondling him in his sleep. This was a bit embarrassing, but no big thing in the end.
He reached out and touched her hand to be supportive of her admission, but she recoiled. "There is still more," she said.
This sent Ron back to nervous high alert. The bullet he had just dodged was ricocheting back at him. What was she still withholding?
"After a while, I started rubbing your hand and wiping your brow, again. Everything was peaceful for a while as I spoke softly to you. Then you started to moan, again, and your breathing got stronger. I tried not to look down there, but I couldn't stop myself. I saw the tent rising, again."
"It's okay," he said, trying to reassure himself as much as he was trying to do the same to her. "It's normal. It's okay."
"No, it's not. I couldn't help myself. Maybe it was late, and I was too tired. I couldn't stop. Maybe I am just a bad person." She turned her head and looked downward. "I reached down and touched you there," she choked out in a muffled voice.
"What?" gasped Ron in a low voice.
"I put my hand on your—uh—your—uh—I can't say it," she said in a quivering voice as she started to cry. "You twitched like I had given you a shock. But I kept touching it as you kept repeating my name. I couldn't stop myself."
"Oh," was all Ron could manage to say as he reached out to her. But she stayed back. Her emotions were starting to steamroll her normally cool demeanor.
"It gets worse," she said, sobbing. "My mind was burning. I was getting feelings I had never experience in my—uh—personal areas. I started falling helplessly to my urges. It was like those feelings in my—uh—private areas—had me under the Imperious Curse. I couldn't control them or myself."
Ron was getting really uncomfortable but was trying to stay strong for her. He liked her a lot, and not just as a friend. He was always afraid to admit it, and now was not the time to search out the courage.
"I stood up and pulled down your sheets. Then I—oh—I—please don't hate me," she said tearfully. "I pulled up your gown so that I was looking at you—you naked from the waist down—in the dim light."
Ron was now squirming, wishing he had never pressed the issue. This was more than a furtive kiss or two, far more than he was ready for, and it was obviously tearing apart Hermione in front of him.
"Then I reached out and touched it," she said, looking away. "As I touched it, you squirmed, moaned and groaned, and your breathing kept getting harder and raspy. There was a fire between my legs I could not control. I touched my—uh—private area and it was soaking wet and so sensitive I nearly swooned. I had touched myself there, before, I think we are all guilty of that. But this was different. I couldn't contain it."
Ron said, "You can stop talking if you want. I know this is difficult for you. You don't have to go on." He was hoping, in a way, she would take him up on the offer.
"No," she sighed, still having trouble looking at him. "I have to finish this. It is eating me up from the inside. I need to finish. I won't be able to live with myself until I do."
"Okay," sighed Ron, wanting to reach out and comfort her, but instinctively knowing she was not ready for that.
"It was late, and I was too tired. I was not able to think straight. I know that is not an excuse, but it is true," said Hermione, ready to spill the whole story. "The fire inside me kept growing as I touched you and myself. Hearing you repeat my name over and over made the feelings even more intense. I'm so ashamed. I guess I lost control of myself."
Ron just looked at her, wondering how far this was going. He had demanded the can of worms be opened. He was now scared of the number of worms in it and the impossibility of getting them back inside of it.
"I couldn't stop. I pulled down my panties and stepped out of them. It was like I was hypnotized. I got onto the bed and straddled you. I started pushing down and it suddenly popped inside me. It hurt but also felt so good. I kept pressing downward taking it all in. Within seconds I was moving up and down on top of you. It felt so good, better than my finger or wand, like nothing had ever felt before."
Ron sat in stunned silence, his eyes wide opened. What had started with him half expecting to hear her tell him she had kissed him and not much more had evolved into her having sex with him as he lay unconscious in the bed.
"I bounced up and down on you with increasing vigor. Your breathing grew labored and raspier as you said my name over and over. The first real orgasm of my life electrified my body causing me to choke and gasp as I pushed down hard against you. Just as my feelings started to subside, your body stiffened and you started bucking up against me as you kind of choked. I could feel you throbbing inside me. This caused my orgasm to come back twice as strong as before. My whole body vibrated and shuddered until I thought I would pass out."
"I was still trembling as I cleaned us off and replaced your covers. Just as I laid down on the next bed to rest, Madam Pomfrey came in to check on you. I hadn't really thought about that. I would have died if she had caught me doing—uh—it."
Ron was now sitting with his mouth wide open. He could have never predicted what he had just heard. He was incapable of making a response.
Hermione looked at Ron for the first time since she started pouring out the intimate details of her moral failing. Her face was filled with fear mixed with a steady stream of tears. She had no idea how Ron was going to react now that all the details were out in the open. She was scared to even speculate on it.
A full minute passed before either of them could speak. "It's okay, Hermione," finally said Ron in a soft voice. It's okay. I guess it explains the weird little pieces of dreams I remember. I was dreaming about us.
"In your dream...did we..."
"...no. At least I don't think so. I can't remember everything. But I don't think we did that."
"You're not angry," Hermione squeezed out. "You don't hate me and think I am an awful person?"
"No, I don't hate you," said Ron, starting to get a little composure in his voice. I'm not happy, but I'm not angry, either. I guess it was a beautiful moment that I wish I could have enjoyed with you."
Hermione leaned forward and started hugging Ron. A wave of relief rolled through her.
"We can never speak of this," said Ron
"No, we should not," agreed Hermione. "I could never live with people knowing this happened.
"Me, neither," said Ron. "It will be dinnertime, soon. Let's go downstairs.
And so, they walked like two friends and nothing more, down the stairs and into the dining hall. Their secret was safe, and they were determined to keep it that way.