Unofficial Portkey Archive

A Different Shade of Grey

By: Elban Fehl

Rated R

Ship: HHr

The (unlovely) procedure: previous plot and characters are JKR's, WB, etc, etc., blah blah blah.

Author's Note: A play on Fifty Shades of Grey written in a night. The thought came within numerous discussions about the "Fifty Shades phenomenon". Where I haven't read the book, I understand what happens what with being around women every day, all day. Haha.

A bit of humor! A bit of Ron/ Ginny bashing! A bit of love! Shagging! An affair! Dominate!Harry. Submissive!Hermione. Epilogue-friendly…if the epilogue wasn't 19 bloody years later. Comes off the heels of the War where Harry is lost and finds leverage with the only one who understands. May or may not end after this. I wanted to write something in a whole other tone. I'm not abandoning Life and Times. Life and Times will be my major fiction.

Love it? Hate it? Review it!

~~~

I stood outside in the snow freezing my arse off. I don't think, even if I wanted to, I could have kids anymore. The boys were frozen solid.

With a puff of my cigarette, I looked in our two bedroom cottage. We shared the cost, economical, the smart thing to do.

At first.

At first everything seems so bloody easy, so redefined. The War was over, Voldemort was dead and Kingsley had the thugs on the run. There wasn't much for Savior boy to do anymore, and leading a regular, wholesome life never fit my character. Frankly, I'd be better off put in a straight jacket and sent to the madhouse. I probably should have seen a psychiatrist. I probably would have killed the psychiatrist. My thoughts were a jumble, and upside-down. PTSD. Anger. Hate. Resentment. My injuries were more than those lacerations, the scars now littering my form.

They were deep.

Maybe that's why I did what I've done.

I think I thought I made excuses for my actions.

But, she was more than willing to do as I said, dotting her I's and crossing her T's with perfection. She was perfection, albeit a bossy, stick-up-the-arse. She always had something to say, and it truly pissed me off. Maybe that's why when I had her, honestly had her, she felt more mine than ever. This so-called straight-shooter, powerfully intelligent, independently free woman. She had everything, and yet…

I flicked the fag off my fingertips and snuffed the butt out with the heel of my boot. I had my hands in the depths of my coat and watched her through the nearby, lamp-lit window. How her grey beanie not-quite controlled her brown bushiness. How she wore the most ordinary of clothes, a burgundy jumper and a black skirt with socks. She wasn't coloured, no hint of tan; but, this extraordinary woman…

I saw Ron, and I saw her furrowed brow.

I heard him say something rather uppity, and I heard her lash out in retort.

Her forehead wrinkled by her dismay.

I hated that, really.

She had a cover copy of my Auror test, a written exam, a practice sheet for the big event soon.

She'd read mine first, and then Ron's; but, she asked to double-check mine.

When she turned from the Weasley-red, pursed lips, a slight frown, her sight resumed her vigilant read, each sentence, each word devoured.

Just like every time, ancient times, the good ol' days.

Maybe that's when I should have got her.

Taken her.

How Ron never noticed-he was a bloody git, anyway.

If they were shagging he probably never noticed something had been retrieved, mine.

I didn't care either, and Ginny…

Our relationship had more surface affiliation than intensity.

I think in the beginning I wanted everyone happy-one big happy Weasley family where the entire puzzle fit nicely together.

Everyone, of course, but me.

Usual.

And Hermione-she wasn't happy.

One more thing in common.

Why we took precautions…

False personalities, secrets.

One day our diary would be stolen and read, surely.

Then we could openly come from the closed closet, literally.

Damn, I thought. I need another fucking cig.

Pulling the box from my trouser's back pocket, I flipped the lighter and lit a fresh stick. Pressed between my lips I inhaled the flavor and kept my eyes on Hermione, and how she tickled the underside of her chin with the white plumage she held.

~~~

"It's fucking freezing out there!" I stomped my boots on the inside mat, heeding the trail of wet snow inside. I looked up and saw Ginevra on the sofa, her nose between some clothing magazine-garbage. Ron had gone to bed, leaving only my "beloved" and Hermione at the kitchen table.

When I passed by the opened entry, I took note at how slowly she swept the end of the soft quill along her pink lips. Her eyes went to mine, and then quickly left to my lengthy parchment.

"Harry!"

"What?" I wasn't in the mood to amuse Ginny, and my features grew foul when she demanded:

"Get me these shoes! These-the red heels! They're lovely!"

"No." I said flatly.

"No?!" She stood on her knees on the sofa looking out towards the back with her elbows propped up. She wriggled, and groaned. "Why not!?"

Sliding the scarf from my neck, I tossed it across the coffee table in the den and sat with a huff in my recliner. I didn't give Gin courtesy, her hand always stuck in my wallet. She'd never put an application for work down in her life, and now that she thought herself physically attached came her filthy fingers in my galleons.

My face towards the flickering flames from the hearth, I heard Gin's scoff, and then her tantrum. She threw a fit of cursing, demands just like every other night. At the start of our relationship I gave her everything; now, I whole-heartily regretted buying her anything.

"Fine!" Fucking arsehat…," she threw herself from the sofa and threw the magazine-garbage-at me. It landed in my lap, and I happily propelled it into the fireplace. I smiled as I watched it curl, burn, hearing Gin whine-and then her high-pitched scream.

"You fucking-stupid arse-fucking-fuck-!"

The "fuck's" decreased in volume the more she went upstairs, and then the BANG! Of "our door" when she stomped off inside. I could hear her banging around, making a fuss.

She'd tire herself out soon, just like a child.

I waited for that moment, my eyes refocusing towards the farthest room, towards the dining area and Hermione's sock-clad foot.

~~~

The cottage was quiet but a ticking of a clock above the hearth.

I sat, stone-cold, watching the fire trance-like.

I got up, and went to take my coat off, knowing as I walked I'd saunter passed the opened kitchen door. I unzipped the hoodie, and hung it carefully on the hook beside the door. I didn't make it a case. I stared in at her on purpose, never caring what she thought of me-knowing how she thought of me.

Taking wand by hand, I pointed the tip towards that parchment of mine still in her grasp. Gently, I saw it loosen, and I hid a smile when she actually leapt to grab it. She must've been enjoying those words she devoured.

She looked over at me from across the kitchen, her legs crossed, her foot bobbing impatiently.

"I cannot give you a full response if I can't read it."

"Excuse me?" The parchment was in my hands now, having floated the distance.

She folded her arms.

"Come here." I commanded.

Without question, Hermione stood straight up from her chair. She traipsed with ease in front of me, her socks padding the tiled floor. She stood with me where the tiles met the carpet, and I looked at her. I looked at her chaos of hair beneath her beanie. I looked her vividly animated cinnamon iris, large pools of mahogany eclipsed in the centre. I looked at her pink lips, her porcelain-carved skin, so pure, delicate…

"Remove that off your head-it's ugly."

She did, reaching up and letting her tangles drop to her shoulders.

Her eyes never left mine.

I took the beanie from her and dropped it on the floor at my feet, as well as the damn parchment.

I stepped forward, mere inches, our breaths matched.

I slid my hand over her abdomen, feeling it retract at first touch and as long as I lingered felt her stomach find comfort. I kept my forceful stare, her emboldened eyes unblinking. My hand brushed against her side, the curve, to her back where I traced that one line of her down the length of her spine.

I gave breath and grabbed a tuft of her hair, wrapping it within my strength. Her head immediately went backward, slightly, for I didn't pull to hurt her-only for that pain-the pain that would subside when I pushed her against the hallway wall and kissed her.

I drove my hips into her and found no rebuttal.

I heard her gasp again, like the hair-pull, her moan as I found her mouth and tongue.

My mouth settled anymore peaks of sound, softened groans from her throat, another pull of her hair, another push against the wall, against me.

I pried my lips from hers and held together our foreheads, staring, boring into her vision-all mine.

She was left breathless, her chest heaving.

Letting go of her hair, the very strands holding the shape of my grip, my hands bring her wrists together. As one, I tap them, atop and underneath, a flurry of rope unraveling and wrapping tightly around them. I kissed her again, with furry, pulling her with me, my hands clinched down on the knot the magic created.

I led her upstairs and to a closet door.

We watched each other, never ceasing, knowing what held behind the door. At first I turned the knob the correct way, to the right, and the door would have opened for it not me holding it in place. I turned it the wrong way, hearing a click, feeling the door now open without restriction.

With a tug, I pulled her in-not a closet-but a spacious bedroom. Various bits and oddities hung and were placed in accordance of my own fantasy, her fantasy. Translucent drapery cast from the corners and along the line above the four-poster bed, the carpet dark as the sheets, the wooden framework ever-darker. The black sheets hung down from the single mattress in the middle of the room, chains and the like readily waiting, wanting to be used.

I was careful with her, and kind.

I shut the door and took her with me to the bed, or the floor before it.

A white silk pillow lay in front.

She knelt.

She was patient as I undid the fly, not bothering with the button. She was at height, her eyes, nose, mouth aligned-we'd done this before, several times over, with each time better. Leaving her for spontaneity, she never knew exactly what I'd do-or how I'd start our night.

Tonight…

She saw me exposed, her eyes at me, needing approval to look at me-to look down-her bound hands in her lap.

I nodded, and her cinnamon brown peek fled to my trousers, the undone zipper, the semi-erect manhood.

She dipped just slightly to take me head first within her mouth; sliding down, her warm, unyielding lips encompassed my circumference. I let out a sigh when she took me in, her nose squashed against the flat above my shaft. I let my hands feel of her hair, acting as director as she wanted, aiding her mouth as I guided her movements.

When she needed breath, I gave it, letting her inhale deep before moving back down.

At a point I'd become too solid, a rock, and had to push my erection down to get it back between her anticipating lips.

She kept her beautiful sight on me, even when I ground into her, that wanton id of mine taking charge, going off ballistic, and I'd have to pull back. The cool air was welcoming, but the heat of her mouth was favored.

She inched from her knelt seat, her black, ribbed socks, her feet beneath her bum when I'd come from her. She nipped at the sack, my length rubbing against her cheek, her nose, her mouth when she'd kiss the base of my penis, moving topside about the cylindrical contour.

When I found her too hungry I took a step back, and she sat down.

Forever her eyes on me.

She knew she did something wrong.

That, she would be punished.

"Up," I announced.

Hermione came from her knees, my wand pointed off to one of our toys on the wall-a paddle with punctured holes would suffice.

The black, thin-yet wide-paddle shook off its nail at my beckon and fell into my open palm.

I gave her a look, into her eyes. "Knickers."

With no hesitation, Hermione lifted her pleated skirt of ebon colour, her knee-high black socks in lovely contrast to her alabaster skin, the thighs between the cotton and her tiny, lace feminine briefs.

She sat down on the bed to kick them off, and I ushered a huff.

She jumped back to her feet.

"Did I say you could get on my bed?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

I slapped the width of the paddle into my other palm, the wood coming down with a hard smack.

"Four: three for your persistence, one for your insolence."

I went to move, and she stepped out of the way.

On the edge, and comfortably back, bent at the knees, did I say, "Lie down."

Hermione did so, across my lap, her elbows at my thigh, her bound wrists at her chest. She went to look back at me, ever-so-slightly pushed from the bed to watch me lift her skirt up to reveal her taut, heart-shaped arse. In another life maybe I hadn't have hit her, punished her like this…

Her eyes widened when I struck her bum, the smack sharp.

And another, flinching, her body hopping.

I had to hold her down on my knee for the third, knowing she wanted to yelp-cry out the quick, fast spurts of pain-but knew that'd only get her more spankings.

A ripe red mark lay along the centre of both arsecheeks after the final blow, the small holes apparent, too.

She had looked away at the fourth, and when she looked back at me did I see her with tears swelled.

I set the paddle down on the bed and gently ran my hand across one buttock, into her lovely crease, and atop the other. I leaned to her, and she knew-I kissed her, my left hand affectionate of her bum whilst my other assisted the caress of her mouth.

I wiped a single tear that she shed from her cheek. I tasted the tear from my thumb, and kissed her again.

I picked her up in my arms, having turned her over. She curled easily into my shape, her head at my shoulder, our lips back together. Her hands grasped at my shirt, grasping as one with the rope.

Lightly, I lay her down on the bed, the very centre.

My body, my torso between her spread legs, did I lie down, too.

I crept my fingertips beneath her jumper and off it went, gently over her head and matched her knickers in the heap on the floor.

She arched her back when she found me relieving her of what was left above, her brassiere of black lace, and beautiful against the alabaster flawlessness.

Two small, dark nipples appeared when I shed her of it, throwing it behind me. With her back still arched, I kept her there, my hand beneath her. Running the extent between her breasts, I smashed my face, my nose, my mouth into the oh-so-smooth skin, her intoxicating vanilla scent.

She gasped, and gasped again when my wet mouth found her nipple.

My favorite dish, I took my time, lovingly flicking my tongue around the hard, little stub that peaked happily between my lips. I gave her a suckle, and just as she gasped smacked her breast before moving onto her other and doing just the same. I felt her squirm under me, a struggle, knowing, once more, that too much would lead to more punishment.

Not sex.

And I knew, her wetness seeping through my shirt, that she needed it-me.

I caressed down to her navel, down further where my fingers took hold of the brim of her skirt and relieved that, too; a picturesque of nude beauty before me.

I saw how she cleaned herself, the hygiene and care I had told her to take, the thin, brown line of hair from her mound down to her pink clitoris.

I smiled, knowing this was how much I had her-me, never leaving her mind, doing what was told of her to do and doing it so very well.

I plucked her legs from the mattress, from aside me and had her set them crossed behind my back.

My face set to her love, I pried her open with my thumbs and felt her moan, heard her moan.

I didn't want her to move, and noted the chain at the headboard.

I left her a moment, to take her hand, to tap the rope that bound her wrists with the chain above her head. Immediately, the chain slithered its way north-and-south, the rope east-and-west. Secured, I checked, and saw but a smidgen of mobility where her hands and arms could move upward an inch or two, but could only lay helplessly on the pillow.

I kissed her mouth on the way back down, heard her gasp.

I felt her legs tighten on my back, my fingers beginning their exploration, peeling her delicate flower backward so I could taste her nectar.

I let my mouth move only from her labia to say, to demand, "No moans-my ears are listening."

I had my tongue back between her fold, and I grinned as she fought against my limitation. She whimpered, panted. I heard the chain jingling, her arms, hands wanting to move. The headboard rocked.

I could feel her wanting to go, and I lifted again to state another want, "No allowance of orgasms until I say so."

She let out such a whimper that the animalistic sound left me tingly all over, the very hairs on my arms raising so much like the hard-on that grinded the bed.

I had two fingers inside, the thick of my tongue on her swollen, pink nub.

I felt the start of her shake, and I swore, "Don't do it! Don't you dare!"

Hermione's breath was heavy, and when she looked down at me did I see her gorgeous pupils dilated. "Please…!" she pleaded in an octave above whisper.

I gave my wand a swish, and the chains unraveled.

I got on my knees from between her and yanked the shirt I wore off my head.

My glasses came off in my haste, my hair even messier.

"Stand up," I charged with swiftness. "Stand up!"

Her whimpers went with her as she rolled to the side, pushed off the side of the bed and stood, waiting for the next order.

I made her put a rubber on me from the stash I had in the end table. My hands on my hips and my legs apart, shoulder-length, I watched her take me in her velvety touch. She had torn the metallic-covering of the condom open, and I observed as her hands molded to my organ. I held myself, balls and all, when she was incapable of stretching the clear latex over me without my penis bobbing.

I gave her a pat on the head for a job well done after she made sure the end bubbled to catch the semen.

I was swollen, no hiding it, and it felt great not to be cramped behind my boxers, my trousers. My member swung with me, shifting from the bed, eyes on the submitted Granger. My shoes went kindly with her socks, and as I walked her to the wall did I push her forward.

Her restriction, her restrained hands hit the cement for outward support. She flicked her head back towards me, and as I eased into her did she fight, again, not to moan. She tilted her head to my bare shoulder and gasped.

I had her hips at first, and as my thrusts became harder, faster, did I feel of her rounded back, her bouncing breasts, ending when I held her flat stomach. I pressed her backward against me, her arms, her hands leaving the wall to hold onto me wherever she could. I helped her not to fall-I wouldn't allow her to fall-her palms touching my face, the side of my neck, my shoulder.

One hand still at her contracting abdomen, I held her breast, propped sideways against her until I felt it.

It.

I whispered into her ear just before I let go, pummeling her with firm, abrupt assaults off her soft arse, "Come."

The whimpers turned speedily into screams.

Every bit of her tightened around me as I came, my warmth spreading, and with each shot found another moan from her. She rolled her head towards me, my jaw, my chin, and even I had trouble standing when I felt her legs jelly.

I pushed her back against the wall and continued my plunge until I had fully emptied my seed into the jacket, her figure squashed into the manmade stone, and mine into her backside.

I held my last thrust deep, to feel her go insane, the constricting, her heavy pants, the scream of my name that closed her insane climax.

My face was in her hair, her sweat collected at its ends.

I breathed deep her vanilla scent, taking her in as she settled down enough to walk.

I kissed her slick shoulder, her throat where she tilted from me to give me complete access.

I'd grown tired, and I knew she had to be that and more, her breath still fairly unsteady.

I laughed when she smiled, and I kissed her shoulder again.

I slipped from her when I found myself at rest.

I could go again in minutes, I felt; but wanted calmness before the storm.

Pulling the used rubber off, I chucked it into a rubbish bin. In the morning I'd discard it outside.

I didn't want to leave her, to let her come back to bed on her lonesome-her stance wavering.

I took her when I found my bearings in my arms and carried her to bed, leaving a kiss or two of her smiling mouth, her hands at my chest.

With my wand I retraced my enchantment, the Incarcerous, the rope that bound her wrist. The rope had left marks, I saw afterward where she had pulled and tugged, the magic banished. I kissed her after I had kissed her wrists.

She leaned in to kiss me, again, and I allowed it.

Gently, I pulled back the sheets. I pointed behind her when we released, stating in an affirmed tone, "Lay down."

She moved at my declaration, no objection, turning about to slip in the black silk sheets I left wide. I slipped in behind her, an arm around her middle, an arm underneath her brunette curls. I gave a clap to the atmosphere, her figure jostled slightly betwixt my elbows, in my arms.

The lamp lights went out, leaving only the sounds of laughter and a sharp gasp from Hermione.

~~~

Hermione was always an early-riser, this morning no different.

Between my thighs, all I could see was her wild bushy hair, shepherding the length she went. Fluidly, and wet, she went down a last time and I held her there. I felt my body squeeze. She didn't move, and when I delivered I could feel her moist tongue, her suction.

I let go of her head, her cinnamon eyes appearing behind that curtain of brown tassels.

Pushing from the mattress with a hand, I saw her wipe the corner of her mouth clean. I gave her a motion by curled finger. "Here," I said with authority.

She crawled her half naked body up mine, a pair of pink pyjama bottoms covering from her hips south.

She went to my level, in a straddle across my waist, and I merely tapped my mouth with the tip of my index finger. She lowered, and I caressed her with passion; her parted lips, I fed off her tender tongue.

Before she could react, even through human reflex, I had pushed her over atop the mattress, the strength of my force having her backside jump when she landed.

My hand went to her bare stomach, and further, shoved into her pyjama bottoms where I had her, my middle finger parallel against the opening of her warm vagina. Her new, tight little knickers vice-like atop my hand, against her sex.

She gasped when I grabbed her, inserting just enough of my finger to have her eyes close and reopen with a flutter.

I looked into her eyes from my position on my elbow and asserted with vigor, our eyes locked, "You are mine."

"I am yours." She replied in contented whisper, her back slightly arching to my action, her eyes quickly shutting, and then opening again when I'd slid my finger back out.

I went to my mouth with that one digit of mine and tasted Hermione as she watched me-she always was a morning person.

I shared with care, giving her a taste, too, as she allowed my finger to travel inside her hot mouth.

With that finger shiny with saliva, having plucked it out unwillingly from her mouth, I set my fingers to comb her hair. I tilted forward and gave her one kiss upon her warm forehead.

I gazed at her, and when looking said in control, "Dinner tonight, wear the dark red cocktail dress-the one with the black sash and ribbon-and those black stilettos from before."

Her eyes kept with mine as I said this, ending with a very affirmed, "Don't wear knickers. I'll want dessert afterwards."

I kissed her once more before she left me.

The clock did read eight o'clock and surely the ignorance had become restless, wandering around without heads awaiting his and her breakfasts.

After she went to a side-dresser to retrieve a matching pyjama top to her bottoms-we were always forms of preparedness-I saw her go for the pile of clothes cluttering the floor. I hissed. She stood from her bend with them in her hands. She instantly went to me with her eyes, brushing a loosened strand of her pretty hair from her beautiful face.

"Leave them."

Nothing short than prompt, she dropped the clothes back where she found them.

"I'll make sure they're in the laundry bin to be washed."

I thought I saw Hermione grin, but coyly turn for the door. There, I did see that grin, a bite of her bottom lip, looking back at me within our final intimate second.

I lay with my arms above me, my hands underneath my head, utterly satisfied. But, I knew when I left the confines of our fantasy were I to hit reality.

I went for pyjama trousers of my own from the dresser, gathered those bits of us from the floor, and left for the door when I was ready.

I hadn't even closed the returned-closet back, the magic vanished, when I heard first the whine of Ron in the kitchen and Hermione's annoyed response:

"Herrrrrmiiione, I've been hungry! What's kept you so long?!"

"You've two hands, two feet, and half a brain! Get it yourself!"

And then Ginevra's nasally-whine snuck up behind me:

"Haaarrrrrryyy… I want those shoes! Pleeease!"

I didn't give her time.

I need a smoke.

When I stepped outside, back in that snow-covered ground, did I watch Hermione through the kitchen window. She'd tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear as she lifted, setting plates on our dining table.

I gave her a smile, taking a long drag, the fag between my index and middle, and let the smoky-white remnants blow into the wind.

She smiled in smug response, leaving that smile only to scold Ronald again for being an idle git.

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