The Price of Angst

Island Girl

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 29/09/2005
Last Updated: 29/09/2005
Status: completed

Harry extracts payment for a past due bill for 'Angst Received'. The qustion is: how can he make good on the 'invoice' Hermione demands he 'make good' on??? Rain, angst and hard sex!

Chapters

1. Accounts Receivable

1. Accounts Receivable

Authors Note: This story is the result of a very special request from someone I truly recognize as a very talented writer. Also – I HAVE, HAVE, HAVE been working on Undeniable and Caught Off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts. I WILL have updates of both very soon!

PLEASE! If you read and you liked – or did not like – this story… Drop me a review/comment!

The Price of Angst

The red Fiat Spider accelerated. The speed of the car pushed more rain off the windshield than the slip slopping of the wiper blades. Mounted roadside streetlights became fractures of brightness.

Slumping down, she squared her body with the steering wheel. Not in a posture of apathy but one of aggression. If her body language were translated to the King’s English and broadcast over the Wizarding Wireless, there would have to be a ten second delay. Even with that safeguard, very few words would be put on the air.

Bringing her left hand to the top of the steering wheel, her right hand was busy clenching and releasing the gearshift. Tapping out the tempo of her aggravation with her fingernails, she jabbed at the FM band on the car radio before finding an Angry Young Woman clarifying a tale that kept a perfect pitch to the litany that echoed in her mind.

“What do you mean – that I have no idea what I am talking about?”

“GET OUT! Get out of my life – get out of my house – get out of my head. STOP TRYING TO ANALYZE ME!”

Stomping on the clutch as the gears were shifted with savage efficiency, the impulse to rev the engine was palatable. Picking up pieces of the transmission from the sports car’s undercarriage would suck. The thought of scrubbing motor grease from under her nails – that would suck. Knowing that her hands would be stained with the scent of oil would suck.

“WHO ARE YOU TO MAKE THAT KIND OF DECISION FOR ME OR ANYONE ELSE?”

“I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN! IT’S MY LIFE, HERMIONE!”

Second gear was quickly replaced with third as the whine of the pistons and dull red glow from RPM warning gauge picked up the deep chestnut glints in her long dark hair.

“MAYBE I’ll GO SEE WHAT GINNY IS UP TOO???”

“I’LL MAKE SURE VIKTOR HAS YOUR WARMEST REGARDS!”

Sidelong glances into the flanking mirrors did not reflect the countryside. The Fiat’s floorboards were the only barrier between the clutch and the packed-dirt road.

Pressing on the gas was a good thing. Focusing on compensating for the car beginning to fishtail was a very good thing. Adrenaline rising with the crescendo of the song was even better. Slipping the car into fifth gear and travelling at nearly 65 kilometres per hour on a dark, back road deep in the Scottish countryside bordered on the side of dangerous. Awareness of the tires digging into the sodden dirt as the car straightened out and intensely hum with the deeper drone of a harder working engine gave way to a feeling of lassoing, taming and controlling something volatile. The pouring rain barely even factored into the equation of dangerous over sexy.

“FINE!”

“FINE!”

The harsh sound of muddy water splattering against the car could not compete with the diatribe running through Hermione’s head. The path the headlamps cut through the rain would be nothing compared to the lashing the Man Who Fucked Up was going to receive.

S LA M! The car door crashed shut.

S LA M! The front door crunched the jamb.

Hermione Granger was NOT where she was supposed to be – which was as far away from him as possible. Not standing in front of him after he had hurled the cruellest words straight at her heart. Not looking like she had been driving in the pouring rain with her clothes clinging to every curve and hollow of her body.

“You. You are going to listen. To every word I have to say.”

Closing in on the gap between where Harry stood and where she dripped – just inside the threshold – involved wrenching her sodden jumper over her head and the same wet mess being thrown behind her.

“This is my life.” Fierceness rippled through every word.

“This is what I do.” Fierce honesty underscored every letter

“Don’t do this Hermione.” Harry could not keep the hint of quiver out of his voice.

“You are not going to stop me.” Taking another step towards the towering male, Hermione’s challenge reverberated around the room. “No one can stop me!”

The shocked of seeing Hermione standing in front him was traded for anger. Anger, which had laid its foundation in fear. The fear had its basis in loosing control. Control was the one trait Harry Potter had mastered but only had limited quantities in supply.

Wrenching his gaze back to her face, he squinted his eyes at the feral creature standing mere feet away. “Is that so?” The question was anything but – steel underscored each syllable of those three words.

“And precisely HOW do you plan on doing so?” Her accusation returned the gauntlet his flashing green eyes threw down.

Clenching jaw muscles were the only indications that the next words were not the first to fall on his tongue. “You have no idea what is going on in my head.”

His eyes were focused on a spot just to the left of Hermione. A hundred images burst – like rain drops breaking the surface of a puddle - against the white painted walls. Each memory played out as much as each depiction over lapped and built on one another to create a mental collage of emotion. Hermione as she lay in a hospital bed petrified. Hungry spiders chasing he and Ron through the Dark Forest; Hermione’s hair floating like a macabre halo during the Second Task of the Tri Wizard Tournament, Ginny and Hermione wearing a horrible shade of pink at Bill’s wedding, Fawkes dripping phoenix tears into a potion bottle the night after the Department of Mysteries as Madame Pomfrey drafted a note to the Grangers conveying her sympathies for the loss of their only child.

“Oh – I see. Some sense of displaced chivalry is going to keep me from harm?” Hearing herself scoff at Harry made her feel like she was switching up the gears in her car: powerful, sexy and on a collision course that could only be diverted by ditching the ‘safe’ word.

“You WILL stay safe – NO MATTER WHAT!” Harry’s quiet declaration roared across the room.

“You are -….”

A very powerful wizard grabbing her upper arms robbed her of whatever she was about to say. Ten large fingers grabbed the lapels of her shirt and pressed her back up against the wall.

“You don’t get it – do you Hermione?” Harry’s eyes danced with emotion. “There is more than one way to die. There is more than one-way for a heart to stop beating. There is more than one way to stop living!”

The sound of wet cotton ripping and the ‘pinging’ of buttons glancing off the hard wood floors was the encore for Harry’s heavy breathing and the squeak of anticipation that came from Hermione.

A wonky starburst purple scar in the centre of her chest stood out starkly against her creamy skin.

“You nearly died!” Harry, ruthlessly keeping his eyes on her face and his body bowed away from her bra-clad breasts, clapped his open palm against the plaster. “By the grace of a phoenix you survived! DO YOU KNOW THAT?” Tearing his eyes away and fixing his gaze on the wall once again, the words written on a piece of parchment more than a decade before were just as clear in his mind as the sound of the quill that scratched out the sentences in the small hours of the night when hope was surrendered.

Layers of realization crossed Hermione’s face. As well as outrage. “Since when have you cared about whether I lived or died? We’re ‘just friends’ – remember?” A dangerous glint was cast along side the accusation.

Livid green eyes skewered the beautiful woman who stood underneath his chin. “SINCE WHEN HAVEN’T I!”? The same ferocious honesty she unveiled was returned ten fold. “Don’t you get it? If you live – then I live.” Thrusting back muscles freed his arms from the wall, but there was not enough strength in his body look her in the eyes as he murmured, “Go home, Hermione.”

The air around Hermione crackled with passion. Never had she seen such vehemence in Harry. Never had she seen such honesty. Watching him walk away, never had she been so assaulted by selfishness. “You. Third. Rate. Self. Centred. PRAT!”

Her words imbedding themselves into his back was manageable. The impact of her stomping her feet against the floorboards paused his stride but did not justify stopping. The whisper of a wand being drawn from a back pocket had him spinning on his heels.

“If you were to die….” His voice trailed off as the force of his words increased. For the second time that night, Hermione was pressed against the wall – emotionally and physically – by Harry. “The longer you live, the more chances I have to show you the man that I have become!”

A haughty lift of her chin was a calculated move. The arching of her back was a deliberate provocation. The narrowing of her gaze was a premeditated challenge. “And what kind of man is that?”

Harry felt his fingernails trying to dig themselves into the wall to stop him from doing what was playing out in his mind. “Don’t. Do. This.”

Inching her head away from the wall, Hermione dropped fourth gear for fifth and answered the thrum of her inner goddess with a question. “Don’t do what, Harry James Potter?”

With his head tucked against his upper arms, all Hermione could see of Harry was the working of his jaw. She had no way of knowing that the last vestiges of his control were tapped.

That is – until he threw a hand in the direction of the door and the windows. “Iunctura Securus!” All the blinds shut and draperies swished closed before his fingers could capture her hair. The locking mechanism on the door slid into place as Harry seized her mouth with his own.

Tipping her face up and locking his eyes onto hers, Harry laid the ground rules. “This – right now – you and me – is going to be hard and fast. I will not hold back. Later – and for a very, very long time – we will play and explore. But for now – RIGHT NOW – I am going to extract payment. “ Harry ducked his head and bit – HARD – on her right nipple through her bra. “For every time you found satiation with someone else.” Her left nipple received its awaited bite. “For every time some other BOY made you laugh. “ Harry’s large hand dipped into her rain-soaked jeans. He heard her moan as he withdrew dewy fingers. “For every time I tossed off with your image in my head.” The slickened fingers traced the contours of Hermione’s brutally kissed mouth. “For every time I wanted to taste you for myself!”

With that being said, Harry swooped down. He licked her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth – giving her have a preview of what was promised to come. Later.

Coming up for air meant stripping Hermione of her rent shirt. Locking her legs around his waist and letting go of her hair was a means to drop his trousers and pants. The raking sensation of her sharp nails on his back - as well as the very real possibility that she drew blood - was a price he was glad to pay to feel her hard nipples press into his chest. Slamming her back against the wall, he called out, “Exuviae!”

Hermione’s jeans were gone. Her panties were still in place.

Yanking the silky scrap of fabric aside with one hand, there was no more time for such details; Harry used his other hand to splay one of her thighs high and wide. He smiled a wicked grin as he watched her try to grind her breasts, her crotch, and her body against him. “What do you want, Hermione?”

A lust-laden whimper came from the self-assured woman who filled his soul.

A needful, inarticulate plea emanated from the one person who he had denied himself for more than ten years.

A feral growl worthy of the power behind his thrust tore from her throat as he pushed through her internal constrictions and only stopped when he was fully imbedded.

“Or perhaps, this is what you want?” His devil-may-come smile took on a warrior’s hardened edge as he drove more deeply. Her sharply inhaled breath and the wetness flowing around him told him more than all the words in her exhaustive vocabulary could offer.

“Look at me Hermione.” Her lips were parted and her eyes had begun to drift shut. At his command, she opened her lids wide. “Focus. On. Me.” Each word was separated by a hard, pelvic jab. “Do you feel that?” Harry saw her nod in assent. “This is why you have to live.” He pushed himself all the way in and deeper than he had yet to go. Locking his pelvis to hers, he deliberately stopped moving and began to rock the base of his cock against her mons. “Your life is my life. When you are up – I share in your happiness. When you are down, I am torn between wanting to make your world right again and trouncing the bastard who set it off kilter.” Her look of, ‘even when that bastard is you’ was chased away by Harry using the satin of her bra to twist her nipples.

A fresh cry of passion flitted against his hair. Her teeth at his shoulder were exhilarating. The way she shifted so that his rocking motions applied more pressure on her clit and kittie was heady stuff. The clenching of her internal muscles around his cock was mind blowing.

Harry began thrusting again. “You had your chance, Hermione – to leave. Now. You. Are. MINE!”

Manic pumping surged up his legs out his cock. His hard, calloused hands scrabbled to brace themselves and found purchase on Hermione’s breasts. Sweat trickled down his back and her heels kicked at his arse as he pounded. He watched as her eyes rolled up and her mouth started to form words her voice never spoke.

Harder.

Faster.

Harry could feel Hermione meet him for every thrust and parry. The wet, slapping sounds of his cock driving into her kittie was drowned out by the cacophony of her cries against his guttural encouragement.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” The fleeting reminder to cast a healing charm on his ears followed her calves straining against his hips in a vise-like grip.

“Say my name Hermione!”

“OH-HOLY-MERLIN-HARRY!!!!!” Hermione tapped her head against the wall to the rhythm of her words.

“HERMIONEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The sound like a tiger being grabbed by its tail wrenched itself from Hermione’s lungs as she exploded in front of Harry.

The amount of exertion required to swing a tiger tore out of Harry as he pumped emotions and a fraction of the ten years of pent up sexual frustrations into Hermione’s body.

Harry wasn’t the only one who could ‘put a price’ on angst.

Sliding her heels from Harry’s arse to the backs of his legs, Hermione collapsed his buckling knees. Striking the floor with him still hard and fully imbedded caused her to cry out – his cock had bounced off cervix.

Her tightness, her wetness, the hot folds around his newly spent cock – added to that, the intimate awareness of her inner muscles clamping around him as he recoiled against her final barrier, had Harry thrashing his head. He was on ‘sensation overload’ even as his cock re-swelled within its velvety confines.

Reaching forward, it was her turn to take control. Hermione grabbed a handful of Harry’s hair and pulled his mouth to her breast. Sinking down on his cock, a great purr bubbled up from within her most sacred places. Popping her nipple free of his obliging lips, she shifted her grip to the crown of his head. The way his black hair contrasted with her pale fingers sent a fresh wave of undulations to her hips. “You, Potter, do not have the cornerstone on soul baring declarations.”

Releasing his hair and hiking her hips until Harry was almost free of her kittie, Hermione led a game of cat and mouse. Just when he thought she was going to sit down for a nice hard canter, she would pull herself almost free of his cock. At one point, when he was convinced that she was going to dismount and switch positions, he almost had the wind driven from his body by her hungry, downward swinging kittie. There was no apology in her voice as she saw Harry struggle for breath after a particularly deep plunge. Especially since she reapplied an iron grip on his head and had flattened her breast against his face. “The is no forcing the willing, Potter! Didn’t you just teach me that?”

Her thighs burned. Constantly driving Harry in and out of her kittie bordered on the cusp of pain/pleasure. Her nipple was so sore from his fierce gnawing that even when he only rasped her areola with his tongue, her toes curled. She was so close! Just a little more…

He knew that she would not be able to walk tomorrow without wishing she had an ice pack nestled between her legs. Hell – he was beyond the point of friction burn!

His need was overpowering. Drawing up his knees and elbows, Harry shifted his body so that his back was propped up off the floor by Seeker trained muscles. The image of her – with her head thrown back – riding him for all she was worth - as she pressed her tit into his mouth was one that deserved its own special pensieve. The way Hermione looked now – half-reclined/half-braced against his dappled thighs, her hair cascading over knees crooked to support her lower back, his face implanted against her chest and the sound of her teeth rattling as he slammed his ass-driven cock into her kittie in direct conflict with the rhythm of her pounding pussy…

“I… I… lllllooovvveee youuuuu, HARRRRRYYYYYY!!!!” Her words barely got past her passion-wracked body.

But he did hear her.

Harry Potter loved Hermione Granger. By her own admission, Hermione loved him back.

Their eyes met – green eyes drowning in brown - and for one glorious minute – Harry was somewhere else. Someplace he had never been but not completely foreign. Warm and comforting and crowded with images and memories that had never been spoken but existed nonetheless.

For one glorious minute, the world fell away from Hermione. People whose faces she had never met were waving jauntily in her direction - the sound of pounding feet and the sensation of her feet off the ground filled her mind.

Not her mind – Harry’s mind.

The memories Harry witnessed belonged to Hermione.

The deepest of all magics exploded in a burst of golden, star-splitting, soul fracturing conflagration. The power of their mingled cries rocked the very foundations of the Shrieking Shack.

Letting his heavy head fall against the cool floorboards, he did not withdraw his dick from her body. Instead, Harry let his heaving chest find its rhythm in Hermione’s slowing heart rate.

Cool fingers felt good against his hot scalp. Quiet giggles tickled his paps. Lengths of hair were lifted and toyed with as he floated back to his body. Long confined exhales escaped – the ones he never thought he would expel – the ones that had been part of his most secret desire, his most furtive prayer.

It was the breath that followed making love to and laying claim Hermione Granger. He could only claim what he surrendered in turn.

Harry’s most furtive prayer was also answered – that Hermione loved him as much as he loved her.