All the Kings… Siblings
(All of Harry Potter and anything related to it are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.)
Part 2. Hermione Granger-Weasley (September, 2003)
Bringing three-month-old Rosemary (Rose) Cedrella Granger-Weasley to the Ministry wasn't my usual routine, but as I was still on maternity leave, I made an exception. I never miss my fortnightly lunches with Percy, and today, Molly was unavailable to watch Rose. Occasionally, Harry would join us, but more often than not, he grabbed a quick lunch at his desk between assignments.
"Here you go, Uncle Perce. Take this little 'Rosebud' for a cuddle," I said, thrusting her into his reluctant arms with a playful smirk. Percy was such a sweetie really, but he was incredibly uncomfortable around the baby girl.
"Her scent bore no hint of rosebud the previous occasion I had the responsibility of holding her," he commented with a grimace, yet he held her with a protective closeness, as if the mere thought of mishandling her was unbearable. I laughed at his words. "Are you eager to return to your occupational duties next week?" he inquired, pausing to take a sip of his tea.
"You have no idea," I said with a hint of eagerness, spearing a strawberry and placing it in my mouth. The juice burst over my tongue, eliciting a hum of pleasure from me. Percy cleared his throat awkwardly, and realising what I had done, I flushed.
My life was utterly mortifying. I rarely left the house for fear of the 'needing' consuming me. I really had become alarmingly akin to that of a Succubus, and though it's a secret closely guarded within the family, I could potentially become a danger to the men around me if I were to go an extended period without being 'fed.' Let's not even start on the agony I'd have to bear if it struck, and I was left in solitude for too long. Now, I always have a portkey in the form of a bracelet with me, crafted specifically to whisk me away to my husband at a moment's notice. Thank goodness that, up until now, I haven't had the need to use it.
"Mother is quite eager to assume care of this little one upon your return to employment," Percy told me, easing past the awkward moment.
"I know, and I couldn't be more grateful," I confided in him. "Not only will I be here at the Ministry for a short time every other week; I'll also spend one day each week at the twins' shop, meticulously reviewing their products. They have me overlooking any safety issues or potential marketing strategies to begin with. Despite my doubts about their need for my assistance, I'm truly thankful for the opportunity," I explained.
"Shall you be able to maintain the schedule of our fortnightly luncheons?" he inquired.
"Absolutely. I have expressly arranged my commitments to ensure Thursdays remain reserved for that very purpose," I responded with certainty. A smile flickered across his face at my words.
"You'll do splendidly," Percy assured me, and I returned his smile, grateful for his unwavering confidence. He had changed so much since our Hogwarts days and the war. "How does Ron regard his employment under the twins' direction?"
"He seems to genuinely appreciate the work, and given that Fred and George are expanding their enterprise with a second location, they were in dire need of an additional pair of hands," I answered earnestly. "How about you? Are you finding satisfaction in your new department?" I questioned him. He let out a deep sigh, his hand automatically smoothing over the soft hair of his niece's head in a gentle, absent-minded gesture.
"Admittedly, I had not envisioned myself in the Department of Magical Transport; however, in light of all that transpired, I find myself profoundly thankful to retain any position within the Ministry," Percy confided with a blend of humility and gratitude. I reached out, gently placing my hand atop his, where it lay near his teacup. He had been shunted from one department to another for years now, but he had finally been assured that this would no longer be the case. For his sake, I sincerely hoped this was true.
"Percy, in the pursuit of what you believed to be just, you adhered strictly to the Ministry's line. It was a path chosen with the best of intentions and without the knowledge of the deceit and manipulation that lay beneath," I said, acknowledging the complexity of his situation during the war with a tone of solemnity. "The revelation that your superior had been supplanted was beyond your foresight. And subsequently, the fact remains that numerous individuals were subjected to the Imperius Curse, compelling them to act against their will," I reminded him.
"There were those who were able to fight off the compulsion, while I remained oblivious to it," he admitted, the shadow of past shame still evident in his tone.
"They exploited your insecurities and desires, making you believe that you were acting on your own volition. No one faults you for that," I assured him with a gentle firmness.
"I do," he replied, delicately extricating his hand from beneath mine.
"Yet, even under the influence of the 'Imperius', you chose to be there for your family when it mattered most," I pointed out gently. He acknowledged this with a small nod, though the shadows of his past actions still seemed to weigh heavily on him. With a somewhat absent gesture, he reached for a sandwich triangle and bit into it.
I proceeded to eat more of my fruit salad, consciously ensuring that no sounds of pleasure slipped out. Far too many of the Weasley family have inadvertently overheard my pleasure sounds for my comfort as it stands. Yet, if there was any silver lining to this curse, it was that it had somewhat improved Ron's and my sex life. Reflecting on that gave rise to my next line of inquiry.
"Have you given any further consideration to the idea of asking your secretary out? She is very pretty," I observed. He stilled in the dining chair, his eyes meeting mine with an unreadable expression. Whatever he was thinking passed quickly, and he looked down at Rose with a blush tinging his cheeks.
"She possesses a certain aesthetic charm, yet she does not align with my personal preferences," he remarked neutrally.
"Would it be so dreadful to simply explore the possibility?" I inquired, a little confused by his reluctance.
Of all his brothers, his romantic endeavours have been the most infrequent in recent years, and it isn't for a lack of interest from the witches. Percy may err on the side of studiousness, but unattractiveness is unheard of in the Weasley lineage. In fact, in order of attractiveness, I would place him second behind Bill.
I certainly wouldn't admit it aloud, but if I were to rank them all purely on aesthetics, Ron was a solid third in place. Then Charlie, and lastly, the twins. The twins didn't require their older brothers' obvious good looks to attract dates; they oozed confidence in abundance. Even on their own, each twin had a presence. I imagine having both of them focus on a single witch would be diabolical.
"Hermione, I…" he began, his eyes momentarily locking with mine. As Rose stretched in his arms and made a small, contented sound, he seemed to reconsider his words. "It would be a disservice to her, given that I'm in love with somebody else," he said softly, still gazing down at Rose.
"Oh," I said, a little surprised. He looked up at me then to gauge my reaction, and I gave him an encouraging smile. "That's wonderful. Why don't you ask her out?"
At that, Percy let out a laugh, one that seemed to carry a note of self-deprecation, and I found myself baffled by his reaction. "Well, it's rather complicated. The lady in question is already wed," he confessed, his cheeks colouring with a deepening shade of embarrassment.
"Oh," I said once more, my smile soft with empathy. "That's quite unfortunate. I'm certain if she had known of your feelings, things would have unfolded differently. After all, who wouldn't love you? You are a good man, Percy. You possess both courage and remarkable intellect. Perhaps, once you've moved past these emotions, you'll find yourself ready to explore new possibilities."
"Perhaps," Percy conceded, his brow furrowing as he surveyed the 'Atrium Eatery' with a discernible unease. "However, the present circumstances are not conducive to such endeavours on my part, and I foresee no alteration in this stance in the foreseeable future."
"That's quite alright. Each of us progresses at our own pace. Yet, do not forget, Percy, that you are deserving of love," I assured him. He acknowledged that with a nod, though his eyes never quite met mine, which led me to worry that he doubted my words. After that, our conversation shifted to more mundane topics such as work and mutual acquaintances until it was time for him to return to his office, and for me to take Rose home.
Part 2. Percy Weasley
"You, Percy Ignatius Weasley, are a man of deplorable character," I berated myself under my breath, hastening to the seclusion of my office. Engaging in fantasies about your brother's wife hardly made me a good man nor particularly intelligent. Yet, for years now, he'd been in-love with Hermione, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to switch off that emotion.
He endeavoured to convince himself that, even if she had been aware of his affections before her marriage to that unappreciative, self-centred oaf, the chances of her choosing him as a suitor were slim. It was an undeniable truth that he stood out starkly from his family, and even now, he found it challenging to be amidst the raucous din that inevitably filled their family gatherings.
Percy preferred quiet evenings by the fireside, lost in the pages of a well-worn book or completing a report—the latter may not garner appreciation for its meticulousness, yet he couldn't resist the endeavour. While others found work stressful, he found it to be relaxing. It gave his mind something structured to focus on, and when life was organised and structured, it felt right to him. It felt like he had control. There were a vast quantity of things in life that a person had no dominion over, and so Percy clung to the small victories he could orchestrate, even if only within the confines of his own mind.
He often got the impression that Hermione, more so than any other, understood the methodical nature of his being. And it was his profound admiration for her intellect and their shared sensibilities that guided him, quite unexpectedly, to the realisation that he had fallen in love with her.
His longing for her was of such an intense nature, so utterly consuming, that it surpassed the bounds of his rational comprehension. He was acutely aware that initiating the routine of tea, which had evolved into shared luncheons since her appointment at the Ministry, was certainly imprudent. Yet he had assured himself that, through the lens of her being his brother's spouse, this infatuation would surely wane.
Regrettably, the endeavour to dispel these feelings was unsuccessful. It had been somewhat manageable to overlook until the grievous day Ronald inflicted such profound distress upon her. In a moment of egregious selfishness, I wished for Hermione to sever ties with Ronald, for her to withhold forgiveness indefinitely.
Yet, when the curse took hold, our collective realisation dawned that she felt bound by circumstance, particularly with little Rose already on the way. On that day, my disdain for my sibling reached an apex I had never anticipated. The awareness that he was engaged in sex with another witch the day after he got his wife pregnant was truly repugnant.
I desired to inflict some form of retribution upon my brother even now, more than a year after the event, yet I feared causing Hermione any distress in the process. Nevertheless, each instance I observe Ronald's eyes glaze over during her discourse or witness his casual disregard for her words, a most uncharacteristic urge to strike him arose within me.
The sudden urge to act with force was foreign to me, for I had always eschewed violence. Even amidst the final battle of Hogwarts, I'd endeavoured to defend without causing bodily harm, only employing such measures when left with no alternative. Regrettably, the necessity of such actions occurred with greater frequency than I cared to recall that day.
Returning to my desk, I was greeted by the familiar sight of towering paperwork—a prospect that filled me with a blend of satisfaction and eagerness. However, my attention was arrested by the presence of three voluminous glass jars, seemingly filled with Polyjuice Potion, standing imposingly upon my desk.
"Miss Valentino," I beckoned, addressing my secretary. The young witch, adorned with golden locks and perky breasts, promptly entered and hastened to my side. For a fleeting moment, I wished I was attracted to her. "What are these?" I inquired, gesturing towards the jars.
"Oh my gosh, like, you won't believe what I heard! This totally sketchy wizard was, like, trying to sneak a whole bunch of Polyjuice down to the Amazon or something. And get this, he had all these, like, super weird artifacts with him too! Can you even imagine?" She giggled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I mean, who even does that?"
"That, I'm certain, is quite riveting, but why is it occupying space on my desk?" I queried.
"The Head of the Department told the Aurors who nabbed the wizard that, like, you're totally the best person to write up the report and have the Polyjuice tested for weird stuff. They're all curious if it's, like, pure or if it's got some funky properties going on. And, like, apparently, there's been some super cool advances recently and it can last longer or something… well, who knows what else…" she said, her voice trailing off as she twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. "Isn't that just the craziest thing?"
And that there truly cemented my inability to be attracted to the witch. Her proficiency in administrative tasks was undeniable; she was adept at drafting documents and adhering to my stringent organisational standards. However, her foremost skill seemed to lie in the realm of disseminating gossip, a proclivity that, coupled with her less than stellar intellectual acumen, decidedly dimmed her appeal.
"I assume I have a directive here somewhere, detailing exactly what the Department Head and the Aurors require."
"For sure, sir," she said, her manicured hand deftly navigating the assortment of documents upon my desk. "Oh, here we go!" she exclaimed, and with a flourish, retrieved a purple file. The stamp upon it, a fusion of departmental emblems, signified the requisite procedure for distributing a copy of the completed report to the pertinent divisions.
"Thank you, Miss Valentino; that shall suffice for the present," I told her. She nodded and exited, shutting the door in her wake. I settled into my chair, perusing the dossier that detailed what transpired and the directive outlining the expectations of my superior and the other department. What I found peculiar, however, was the absence of any instruction to dispose of the Polyjuice Potion post-testing. They likely presumed I would act appropriately. After all, I was known for my unwavering adherence to the rules. As I regarded the substance, a wicked thought crossed my mind.
"No, Percy, you simply cannot masquerade as your sibling. Not even for an instant," I admonished myself. The issue, however, was that I found my own conviction wavering.
The following day was Friday, and I received an owl from Hermione extending an invitation to dine with her and Ron that evening. Incapable of refusing her a request, I promptly accepted. It was only after the owl had embarked on its return journey to her that I thought perhaps it was ill-advised.
Not because I wouldn't relish the opportunity to spend time with her; Merlin knows I would. But because when the Polyjuice analysis came back as ordinary and my superior had directed me to dispose of it, I had instead secreted all three jars back to my dwelling. I had even decanted the ghastly potion into phials, as though I had intentions of utilising it. And when I contemplated its use, only one face surfaced in my mind.
"You are an ill and reprehensible man, Percy Weasley," I reproached myself in the mirror, adjusting my attire meticulously, preparing to depart for dinner. Still, I allowed myself the small indulgence of placing one of the exorbitantly priced, magically unbreakable glass phials into my robe pocket. It's not as though I could utilise it. Ron was going to be in attendance as well, after all.
Arriving at the cosy cottage that Hermione and Ron resided in, Hermione was the epitome of loveliness and casual grace in her Muggle attire. A rare sight that she reserved for the privacy of her home. These clothes, I knew were a subtle homage to her parents, who were tragically estranged from her life. I also knew she missed them terribly. I remembered a visit after Rose's arrival; Ron was at work, and Hermione was overwhelmed with grief, lamenting that her parents would never embrace their grandchild. The sight of her tears had hurt me deeply, and I found myself instinctively holding her close as she cried.
The dinner was thoroughly enjoyable, though I suspected it had actually been ordered in. Hermione, bless her, has many talents, but her culinary skills do not quite ascend to the heights of my mother's. It's not for lack of ability, rather a lack of enjoyment in the process. Ron, on the other hand, had proven himself quite capable in the kitchen, yet if he did cook, it wasn't often.
Gathered around their modest dining table, we shared in laughter and conversation. I savoured my wine, allowing each sip to linger just so, while Ron seemed to indulge with gusto, and Hermione contentedly sipped on cranberry juice. The evening really was enjoyable, yet I couldn't help but notice Ronald's pointed glances whenever I elicited laughter from Hermione or she from me.
But truly, the fault was not mine if Ronald's grasp of the more esoteric applications of Knarl quills eluded him. The humorous attempts at deception my department encounters are, in fact, quite amusing. Moreover, given the myriad of uses the twins find for such ingredients, one might assume Ron would be more acquainted with their properties.
The night had grown late, quite without my notice, so I rose to take my leave.
"My sincerest thanks for the evening meal, Hermione, Ronald," I said, offering a nod of acknowledgment to each in their turn.
"Your leaving?" Hermione's voice carried a note of dismay, and her brow was furrowed. I found a certain satisfaction in her evident disappointment.
"It's getting late, 'Mione. Let him head off," Ron said, rising from his seat as well.
"But I completely forgot to bring out dessert," she disclosed, her tone laced with a hint of regret as her gaze briefly flitted between Ron and myself before settling on me. "I asked your mum to make her strawberry buttermilk ice cream, but I just got so caught up in our conversation."
The fact that she had gone to the lengths of requesting my mother to make my most favoured dessert once again ignited that familiar, comforting warmth in my chest.
"Please stay," she implored, her fingers gently grasping my arm. "We should all enjoy some dessert and then play a game of cards. Our accommodations are modest, I admit, but you're absolutely welcome to the sofa—it'll be quite comfortable, I assure you." I glanced towards Ronald, who wore a rather pronounced scowl. Yet he acquiesced with a nod when her gaze sought his affirmation.
"Sure, hang about if you like," Ron stated, but his tone was hardly welcoming. I was on the cusp of declining, as was sensible, but then my gaze fell upon Hermione, and I found myself unable to refuse her.
"That would be lovely," I accepted with a nod. Her smile broadened instantly, and she whirled around, heading straight for the kitchen. Ron, too, pivoted on his heel, making his way to the modest lounge room. I proceeded to follow him.
He proceeded directly to the bookshelf and deftly retrieved a deck of playing cards. Yet, as he turned back to face me, his face was implacable. "I see the way you look at my wife, Perce," intoned Ron in a hushed tone, yet there was an unmistakable steel edge to his soft words. "You need to knock it off, before I knock your block off." To my own astonishment, I found myself quite incensed with Ronald in an instant.
"And I've not failed to notice the manner in which you regard her. It is abundantly clear that she is deserving of a partner far superior to what you're capable of offering," I hissed with a rare intensity.
"And what? You reckon that's you?" he scoffed, condescendingly.
"She possesses a brilliance that is truly unparalleled, yet you appear to find some perverse satisfaction in diminishing her. She was supposed to be enhancing our world, to make it a haven for all magical beings, and yet, you behave as if her dreams should be confined to the home," I told him hotly.
"Obviously, that's rubbish. It's all in the hands of fate what we're s'pose to do. But it's pretty clear she's meant to be a wife and mum," Ron retorted, a hint of smug satisfaction flickering in his gaze. I was aware that my youngest brother harboured a desire for a life akin to our parents', yet I never anticipated he could harbour such traditionalist views regarding witches.
"Here we are," announced Hermione, entering the room with three bowls levitating in front of her, accompanied by more wine and our glasses. Ron and I engaged in our games with a level of competitiveness that was, to Hermione, a source of great amusement. However, after another two hours, Hermione's frequent yawns became impossible to ignore, leading us all to conclude the evening's activities.
"I'll just fetch you some blankets," Hermione informed me, her voice laced with fatigue.
"Ron is perfectly capable, I'm certain. You're exhausted," I suggested to her.
"You check on, Rose, Mi. I'll get this git his blankets," Ron told her, his words a drunken slur. Hermione exchanged a knowing smile with me as Ron's insult slurred out. She saw it as an affectionate jest, but I knew better. It was evident to me that his sentiments were genuine.
"See you in the morning," she said warmly and with a gentle touch to my bicep before she turned away. My gaze lingered on her as she departed the room, the echo of her footsteps gradually fading. When I finally tore my eyes away, it was to find Ron pointing his wand at me. I merely arched an unconcerned eyebrow at him.
"You're a sick bastard, Perce," Ron slurred at me.
"Is that so?" I inquired, my tone remarkably nonchalant.
"I ought to hex your cock off. Don't think I'm clueless about what you imagine when you gawk at her," he seethed. I found myself unable to disagree with him, nor could I fault him for his palpable ire.
"Should I sever my ties with her, then? How, in your estimation, would our family react if I were to abruptly reinstate a distance?" I inquired earnestly, a trace of shame for past choices tinting my voice. "As would inevitably have to be the case, if I were no longer welcome in her company."
Ronald fixed me with a gaze that lingered but a moment before his wand arm fell to his side, and he uttered the coarse exclamation, "Bloody hell."
"Yes," I agreed, an echo of his resignation in my tone.
"Mum would be gutted," Ron whispered, nearly toppling sideways as he attempted to settle on the sofa once more.
"Yes," I concurred once more and proceeded to reclaim my seat on the sofa as well.
"It never would have been you," Ron asserted, prompting me to regard him quizzically. "She loved me for ages, and after all these years, she's still mad about me. Blimey, she wouldn't have given you a second glance!"
"I never claimed she would have," I responded, yet I couldn't help but feel a twinge of deflation at the thought. "Nevertheless, I assure you, I would have accorded her far greater respect than you have demonstrated. I would have been fully committed to nurturing her aspirations."
"She got her dream! Me!" Ron seethed again.
"Are you truly so self-absorbed?" I inquired, my voice tinged with a note of incredulity.
"I. AM. WHAT. SHE. WANTED!" he articulated with a hiss, the words slipping out louder than intended.
"You are a worthless sod," I said, leaning towards him with fury. "To suggest that one could replace you with ease would be an understatement of considerable magnitude. I could replace you at this very moment, and I wager she wouldn't notice the slightest discrepancy. How often has inebriation become a regular part of your routine of late? How often do you find yourself conversing with her about anything significant? Assuming your identity would be pitifully easy, Ronald Weasley," I remarked.
"And how do you reckon you'll prove that?" He inquired with his own seething fury.
"Polyjuice," I whispered, my voice low and deliberate. The word lingered in the air, an implicit threat. His eyes grew round with alarm, a trace of apprehension flitted across his features before he dismissed it with a derisive scoff and a dismissive shake of his head.
"As if goody two shoes, Percy, would ever stoop to something like that. Even if you got your mitts on some, I reckon you don't have the bollocks to actually pull something like that off," Ron jeered, and at that provocation, something fierce and indignant within me awoke, ready to prove him wrong.
In the next moment, my wand was in my hand, and Ronald was rendered immobile where he sat. His countenance the perfect study in surprise. All that betrayed his current state was his eyes. From my robe, I produced the phial of Polyjuice Potion, deftly extracted a strand of his hair, and consumed the concoction before second thoughts could take hold. As I did so, Ronald's eyes widened in astonishment, each of my actions amplifying his disbelief.
Removing my spectacles and placing them with care on the coffee table, I said with insinuation, "I can surpass you any night of the week."
I could see the resistance in Ron's eyes—the urge to fight back and halt my actions. However, I was resolute in my decision to impart a valuable lesson upon him. Exiting the lounge, I was acutely aware of the assumptions he harboured regarding my intentions towards Hermione. However, I would not subject her to such duplicity. Regardless of the depth of my desire for her, I could never exploit her in such a manner.
Instead, I proceeded to the nursery, where young Rose slumbered. It was my intention to keep the infant company for a brief spell, just long enough to give Ron the wrong impression. It was with a clear understanding of the moral transgression that I contemplated the impropriety of meddling in my brother's life, yet he was due for a bit of retribution. I held the conviction that I would not have been compelled to this course of action had he never been unfaithful to her.
Upon gently pushing the door ajar, I was rendered motionless at the sight of Hermione, gently swaying with the infant in her arms. Her smile, warm and inviting, was directed at me, and for an ephemeral moment, I lost myself in the illusion of being Ron.
"She was a little fussy, so I fed her. She'll be asleep again in a moment," she murmured in a hushed tone. I could only manage a mute nod, uncertain of my next course of action. "Did you come to give her a goodnight kiss?" she queried, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
"Caught me," I whispered back, echoing the colloquialisms I'd often heard spill from my brother's lips. She gave me a smile, and I found myself moving towards them. She handed Rose over to me, already swaddled in her little blanket, sound asleep. I bestowed a gentle kiss upon her crown before gingerly placing her in her cot, silently entreating that my actions were correct. Rising again, I watched as Hermione stepped in, expertly adjusting the baby further down the mattress and smoothing an additional blanket over her, tucking it snugly at the sides.
I made to withdraw, but Hermione's hand found mine. I glanced down with a start as the warmth from her palm infused mine. "I'm sorry," she uttered in a hushed tone. I found myself regarding her with a sense of bewilderment, taken aback by her sudden expression of contrition.
"What for?" I murmured in return, with a careful purpose of speaking in a less refined way.
"For the way things have changed between us. I…" she trailed off, shaking her head. Her eyes met mine, and they were filled with sorrow.
"I hurt you," I murmured in response, presuming that was the direction of her implication.
"Yes, but you've been striving so diligently to maintain a facade of normalcy. And with Rose, you're amazing," she articulated, her gaze tenderly descending upon the infant girl, accompanied by a gentle smile.
"I am?" I queried, my voice tinged with a note of disbelief. Upon this, she afforded me another smile.
"Yes. And you've been very…" she trailed off for a second time, searching for a word for a moment, and then settled on, "accommodating about my problem."
"And why, should I not?" I replied, the element of surprise evident in my tone, a slip that might just reveal the cracks in my Polyjuice-induced disguise. As her eyes met mine, I was struck by the possibility that I had given myself away. It was clear from her expression that my reply was not the one she had expected.
"We should retire for the night," she commented, a slight shake of her head punctuating her words. Her hand was still entwined with mine, leaving me with no option but to accompany her out of the room. However, when she reached for the door handle across the hallway, I came to a sudden halt, the realisation hitting me that I couldn't possibly enter that room. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. Her hand fell away from the door handle, and she began to rub her abdomen with a furrowed brow.
"Yes, but I, er," I stammered, the articulation of my thoughts faltering, and realised almost at once I had sounded like Ron, effortlessly. It was quite the revelation to discover when caught in a compromising position, I would devolve into an inarticulate simpleton. I was poised to inquire after her well-being, yet she pre-empted my query.
"It's quite late, Ron, and I'm well aware that you've had more than your fair share of wine. I will be fine tonight. We don't have to make love," she said.
"Oh," I articulated, a note of revelation colouring my tone. It seemed 'surprise' was a recurring theme for me tonight. She proceeded to unlatch the door and, taking my hand once more, drew me inside before I could muster any semblance of an objection. Then, the door closed with a definitive click, sealing us within.
My heart began to race, a sudden thunderous pounding in my chest as I fully comprehended the position I was in. This was a moment I had often dreamed of—a circumstance so thrilling and enticing yet so far-fetched and beyond the realm of possibility. She undressed with her back to me, yet I still saw her naked backside bathed in the gentle moonlight filtering through the lace drapes adorning the window. I averted my gaze with haste as she pivoted to ensconce herself in the bed. I never imagined that she slept naked, yet, in hindsight, it seemed quite logical.
"Ron, it's late. Come to bed," she intoned with a hint of exasperation. Closing my eyes, I disencumbered myself of my attire, inwardly vowing to remain only until slumber claimed her, and I resolved to remain at the utmost edge of the bed. I climbed in gingerly, feeling akin to the most reprehensible of predator; the only barrier between us was my undergarments. She nestled closer to me, her petite form now claiming the majority of the bed space, had me inhale shapely to feel her naked breast pressed into my side.
'This is wrong and entirely inappropriate,' I chided myself internally, yet my penis strongly disagreed.
"Good night," she uttered, elevating slightly to bestow a kiss upon me. Her aim was for my cheek, yet it landed upon the border of my mouth, and in that instance, an unparalleled sense of bliss suffused my being.
"Good night," I murmured, having turned my head to find myself captivated by her dark eyes in the moonlit room. Then, leaning in, I gently brushed my lips against hers, intending nothing more than a brief peck. I couldn't help but utter a soft groan at the contact, and she made a content humming sound before drawing me closer to her warmth by encircling my shoulders with her arms.
My mind interpreted her firm grip on me as consent to deepen the kiss, and I easily complied, sweeping my tongue inside her mouth, sampling the nuanced flavours of the ice cream and cranberry juice. I moaned at the taste and the feeling of her under my chest.
"Not quite as fatigued as I presumed," Hermione remarked, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in a playful smirk, only for it to be abruptly replaced by a sharp hiss of pain.
"What was that?" I asked, concern evident in my tone.
"I can manage for another day," she answered, and it dawned on me all at once that she was experiencing symptoms of her curse.
"Let me just…" I began, shifting back onto my knees, fully intending to go and fetch Ron.
"Yes," she concurred at once, and pulled my underwear down my legs before I had the slightest inkling of her intended course of action. My penis sprang forth, unshackled and fully hard, into the moonlit room. She hummed with appreciation to witness it. "Why were you still wearing them?" she queried as she stroked my penis back and forth. I found myself quite incapable of coherent thought with the warmth of her hand enveloping me, and I found myself unable to avert my gaze from the spectacle.
"I, er," was all I managed to utter, my gaze remaining steadfastly on her hand, moving softly over the expanse of a particular region I had not truly anticipated to ever experience her touch upon me. And it felt precisely as if she was touching me and not my self-serving, insufferable brother.
"Is there something else you're in need of tonight? Is that the reason for your peculiar behaviour?" she probed. I met her gaze then, my face undeniably filled with apprehension, fearful that she might discern the truth of my disguise. "Hadn't we agreed to always communicate our desires, to avoid reverting to old habits?" She questioned, a hint of disappointment flickering in her eyes. I was rendered speechless, merely returning her gaze. Then, with a gentle softening of her features, she leant in and whispered, "Would you like me to suck it?"
"Merlin, yes!" I exclaimed, the words escaping my lips before I could even process the reality of what I was agreeing to. She let out a light-hearted laugh, then adjusted her posture to gently nudged me back onto the pillow. My eyes were insistently riveted to her bobbing breasts.
"Ah, Hermione," I uttered, snapping back to reality as I watched her lick her lips. However, before I could articulate anything further, she delicately took the tip of my penis between those moist lips. I became acutely aware of her tongue brushing over me, and I groaned in pleasured pain. The pain was borne of guilt, and I found myself yearning to stab myself with it like a sharp dagger. This was, unequivocally, the most extraordinary occurrence of my existence, one which, by all accounts of morality, should not be within my grasp.
With a firm grip, I clenched the sheets in my hands. She hastened her pace over me, and I emitted a moan of a volume most unseemly. I was possessed of an unassailable certainty that Ronald, from his position in the lounge, would have been privy to my vocal expressions. Curiously enough, the awareness of that fact sent a thrill of satisfaction through me, and any guilt that had taken hold promptly evaporated.
I was nearing completion, but Hermione groaned, and it was devoid of any trace of pleasure. I gently but firmly eased her away from my penis and drew her nearer, capturing her lips with mine once more. She returned my kiss with an air of gratitude, which only served to intensify my disdain for my brother.
I followed her body with my own as she reclined on her pillow, positioning myself and lying within the confines of her split thighs. The wetness of her vagina was akin to a scorching heat against my already hot and throbbing penis. She was so thoroughly soaked for me that both her thighs were coated in slickness.
"Please," she implored with a quiver in her voice when I paused to admire her loveliness below me. She ought not to have been reduced to pleading. Such a circumstance, where she was compelled to endure even a fleeting moment of such acute pain, should have never come to pass.
Without a word, I proceeded to guide my penis into her delicious heat and moaned an audible expression of delight. So transcendent was the experience that I felt as though I had been ushered into the very halls of heaven. I claimed her mouth in another kiss as I began to move in precise and controlled strokes.
She hummed enthusiastically in a sound of pure pleasure that I recognised. It affirmed the very assumption I had always had whilst she enjoyed strawberries into a reality that impelled me forward with steadfast determination, desiring to hear more of that particular sound from her. Every moan she elicited, I took as encouragement.
Unlike my brothers, I had scant sexual partners. Two was the entirety of what I had experienced and all I had felt was necessary. I had thought those particular witches felt incredible, yet being with Hermione illuminated the extent of my inexperience with true bliss.
This witch was heaven, and the manner in which she met my gentle strokes with equal measures had my eyes rolling into the back of my head like nothing had ever managed to before. Hermione was the embodiment of my most cherished dreams and so much more. She was true perfection in my arms.
I hastened my pace as I neared my orgasm, and her moaning escalated. Then the most incredible pleasure erupted over me as she orgasmed, and I experienced the firm pressure of her grasp and release of my penis in strong pulses, drawing my own euphoric completion from me. Never before had I cum so intensely, and I was certain the effects would be everlasting in my memory.
"I love you," I dared to confess. She regarded me with a momentary surprise, which soon gave way to a pleased smile.
"I was under the impression you had forgotten how to say those words," she responded, and her words served as a jarring reminder of the illusion at hand—that in her eyes, I was naught but her husband, my brother Ron.
"I'm sorry," I uttered, my voice laden with the weight of genuine remorse. I made an attempt to rise, acutely aware of my egregious lapse in judgement, yet she further tightened her embrace around me.
"Don't move just yet please. I truly believe this has been the best… the best," her voice trailing off. Amidst the soft luminescence of the moonlight, her cheeks were suffused with a delicate flush, and upon taking a measured breath, she confessed, "I loved how you made love to me tonight. I believe this is exactly how things are meant to be."
"Really?" I inquired, the sentiment of astonishment evident in my tone. I was acutely aware that I did not possess any extraordinary talent in this area. I made love gently. I kissed her again, recognising that, for this fleeting moment, it was I, she was loving being with, even if she remained oblivious to the fact. "I love you," I found myself declaring once more, unable to help myself.
"I love you, too," she replied, and within my heart, I permitted myself to accept this as truth.
I cradled her to me until her breaths softened into slumber. Then, with care not to disturb her, I rose from the bed and donned my attire. As I cast my gaze downwards upon her, ensconced in the warmth and security of her bed, appearing well-loved even amidst the dimness of the room, a profound sense of shame engulfed me.
It was with a heavy heart that I acknowledged the inevitable consequence of my actions; should the truth of my actions towards her come to light, her fondness for me would surely transform into the most vehement abhorrence. I comprehended the extent to which I had taken advantage of her, and still, my greatest desire was to climb back into that bed and experience it all over again.
I tenderly brushed her cheek, swallowing a lump in my throat, then quietly exited the room. I proceeded down the hallway and into the small lounge room, only to find Ron glaring at me with such intense animosity that, if glares could be lethal, this one certainly would have been.
"It was never my intention to escalate matters to such a degree," I avowed to him, my voice laden with remorse, fully aware that my true visage had reverted to its original form, even before my exit from his bedroom. Mercifully, Hermione succumbed to slumber with such expediency that she remained blissfully unaware of that fact.
Gazing down at my immobilised brother, I was struck by the realisation that I couldn't let things remain as they were. The thought of him directing his wrath towards Hermione was a risk I couldn't take. Drawing my wand, I cast 'Stupefy' to ensure his temporary incapacitation, followed by 'Obliviate' to erase the events of the past few hours from his memory. I then used the 'Levitation Charm' to move him to his bed, not bothering to take the time to undress him. Before departing, I penned a note with a brief explanation stating my inability to stay.
I found myself utterly incapable of maintaining any distance once I had a taste of her, and at every conceivable opportunity, I ensured that I was within her. Any semblance of guilt I might have harboured dissipated swiftly. Ronald demonstrated, with a disheartening frequency, that he was a fool who was undeserving of her. Each instance in which she expressed gratitude for the relief of her suffering or exhibited surprise at the tender sentiments I bestowed upon her served only to intensify my growing animosity towards my sibling.
I couldn't bring myself to regret taking these moments from him when they clearly meant so little to him. My only remorse lay in deceiving Hermione, for the last thing I ever wished was to cause her any distress through my actions.
Upon arriving at the Ministry's 'Atrium Eatery,' I spotted Hermione already seated, awaiting my arrival. A familiar thrill coursed through me, as it always did, knowing she genuinely enjoyed our time together.
"You've arrived earlier than expected," I remarked as I took my seat opposite her. She bestowed upon me a restrained smile that failed to reach her eyes. "Is all in order?" I inquired with genuine concern, reaching across the table to gently touch her hand. She promptly turned her hand over and clasped mine firmly.
"I'm pregnant again," Hermione whispered, a small sob escaping her lips. "I had hoped for more time," she added, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
"I apologise," I murmured, extending a handkerchief from my pocket. She accepted it and dabbed at her eyes, which had begun to well with tears. "Will this have any repercussions on your work?" I asked softly, fully aware that this was a matter of great concern to her.
"No, thank goodness. The research I'm currently engaged in should be concluded before the baby arrives. Mr. Croaker, of course, understands my circumstances and has assured me that I'll be assigned a new project once I've completed my maternity leave requirements," she explained, even as tears persistently carved silent trails down her cheeks. I was cognisant of her lack of desire for this circumstance. I empathised. Amongst all my siblings, it appeared that I alone was appalled at the prospect of replicating the existence of our parents.
"Is there any assistance I might render?" I inquired, feeling a sense of ineffectuality. She dismissed the offer with a shake of her head yet managed to smile at me, making a commendable effort to compose her visage.
"Continue to be my friend," she voiced gently, and I felt a stab of guilt strike me, wishing once more that it was sharp enough to draw blood. I was deserving of it.
"I shall be whatever you require of me," I assured her earnestly.
"Thank you," she uttered before succumbing to her tears, her emotions getting the better of her. I rose swiftly, aware of the curious glances being cast our way, but I took a seat next to her and drew her into a comforting embrace. "Rose won't even be a year old when this one is born," she managed to say amidst her sobs.
"I apologise," I repeated.
"It's not your fault," she sobbed, though a part of me couldn't help but wonder. The likelihood of this child being mine was as great as it being my brother's. I winced at the realisation, yet if this were indeed my child, I could not bring myself to regret it. I could not envision a better mother for my child. I knew I had to quell such thoughts, for even if they bore any truth, my role would remain that of an uncle, nothing more.
"I give you my word; I will be there for you, regardless of the situation. Should Ron be unable to accompany you to a Healer's appointment, you need only summon me, and I shall attend in his stead," I vowed. She gazed up at me, her face brightening with a delighted smile.
"I got extremely lucky, didn't I? I'm part of the best family in the world, and you are possibly the sweetest of them all," she said to me. I felt a flush of warmth spread across my cheeks at her words. I doubted anyone else in my family would describe me in such a manner.
Over the months, I was steadfast in my support for her, accompanying her every step of the way. So much so that Ron's involvement in her pregnancy seemed to dwindle, and his glares became a common greeting upon his return from work, finding me already present at the cottage.
However, in all seriousness, it was unreasonable to expect her to manage cooking and cleaning in her heavily pregnant state. Despite this, he displayed discontent when circumstances did not align with his preferences, and I could see his tone increasingly disheartening her spirits with each passing day. His sole redeeming quality was his genuine affection for Rose and the considerable amount of time he devoted to her.
When Hermione went into labour on the 17th of June, just a week before Rose's first birthday, all but Fleur made their way to the hospital. Fleur had remained in France with her and Bill's daughters. We were all engulfed in waves of anxiety as we awaited news. I had presumed that Ronald would be at her side, but he chose instead to let Ginny and our mother accompany her while he attended to Rose. I harboured a wish that I could have been present in the room, to offer her the solace of my hand to hold and to provide comfort.
Several hours later, approaching the cusp of midnight, Ginny and our mother emerged. Our mother was tenderly holding a minuscule infant, enveloped in a blanket of pink. Ronald promptly advanced to receive the child. Rose, meanwhile, was ensconced in peaceful slumber within her pram.
"I think I want one," Ginny quipped to Harry ironically as he enveloped her in his arms, prompting a chorus of laughter from everyone present. The humour lay in the fact that Ginny was already heavily pregnant, with her due date a little over a month away.
I found myself observing Ronald and our mother with the newborn. My desire to behold the infant mirrored Ronald's, causing me to inadvertently tune out the light-hearted exchanges and jovial teasing that Harry was enduring from my siblings.
When our mother elevated her gaze and perceived my presence, she expressed with a radiant smile, "She looks just like you did when you were a tiny baby."
"Truly?" I queried, a sensation of warmth radiating within my chest as I admired the beautiful infant cradled in Ronald's arms. As I elevated my gaze to meet my brother's, I was met with a scowl. Our mother, however, remained oblivious to this exchange.
"I mentioned the same to Hermione," she said softly, her happiness evident as she gently touched the little face once more.
"Yes, she did," Ginny confirmed, making her way over with a distinctive waddle, pulling Harry along in her wake. In an instant, the entire Weasley clan was converging, each eager to catch a glimpse of the latest addition to our family. "Hermione named her Persis," Ginny disclosed, her voice filled with warmth.
"She did what?!" Ron erupted, his outburst drawing the attention of everyone present. Thankfully, neither of the babies awoke, though the one cradled in his arms did startle slightly.
"Oh, calm down, Ron. You know you get to pick her second name," Ginny voiced, her words tinged with a clear note of exasperation. Ronald directed another scowl in my direction, as though the entire situation was a direct result of my actions.
Despite his glare, a grin spread across my face, my joy likely surpassing his comprehension. As I peered down at the newborn, I was uncertain of whether she was of my lineage, yet she bore a feminine variant of my first name, and that fact alone held immeasurable significance to me. Ron bestowed upon her our grandmother Guinevere's moniker, a decision to which I harboured no objections to either.