A Different Shade of Grey

Elban Fehl

Rating: R
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 12/09/2012
Last Updated: 24/09/2012
Status: in_progress

A war-afflicted Harry Potter is lost after living through the horrors of his youth. He finds leverage with the only person who understands.

Chapters

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

1. Chapter One

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.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

-->

2. Chapter Two

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. A response to the erotic novel series, Fifty Shades of Grey.

Author's Note: A fleshing out of the plot, the interaction of outside characters (Ginny, and the argument that she never “knew” Harry like Hermione did, but was paired with him…?), and especially Adult!Harry and why he is how he is. I hoped to show that HHr within this universe is more than “mere pleasure buddies”.

Nevertheless, a smothering of sexy smut and love! Sexually-driven humor! More Gin/ Ron bashing! More from Dominate!Harry! and Submissive!Hermione! In a couple days' time I had over 800+ hits for the first chapter; so, I only hope it gets better!

Love it? Hate it? Review it!

~~~

As I went inside from the cold, shrugging winter's snow from my shoulders, I relieved the scarf from about my neck and threw my pack of cigarettes on the counter. I stared at Hermione working over a hot stove, my hands on my hips.

“The Hell do you think you're doing?” I spoke with that authority, the same sort that instantly made her look up at me.

Her hand had gone to the stove's knob, heating one of the eyes. “Ron wanted oatmeal, and the bacon—“

“Hermione!”

Both her and my head went to Ron's shout.

He had lifted his mug and shook it, meaning for a refill.

I went from distressed to furious, but Hermione began first:

“Ron! I am not your mother!”

“Ronald!” I barked above Hermione. I held back wanting to stomp a hole in Mr. Freckles.

Gin never minded, her hand stuck in a Magical-O's box with two buds of music in her ears.

“The fuck, mate? Get off your lazy arse and pick up the damn pot!” I ended.

“Fuck! All right…,” Ron went to get up, in a fit, pushing the chair he sat in and the table back an inch.

Ginny, her knees propped against the table didn't move when her they went forward that inch. She was too caught up in her sugary cereal, and another clothing magazine.

“…You don't have to fucking yell, mate…,” I heard Ron mutter under his breath, pouring his own coffee. “For fuck's sake…”

“Stop—“ I pushed Hermione away, forcing myself not to go back outside for a smoke. I suddenly grew the urge. I tipped one out, but never lit it; letting the taste of tobacco develop in my mouth as I prodded her back. “Stop. Let me do it.”

I took hold of the fucking oatmeal bubbling in the pot, the fried bacon.

“Ron!” I yelled from my side.

I saw him jump in my peripheral. “The fuck now?”

“Come get your damn breakfast.”

“Let me do it…,” I heard Hermione at me in whisper.

I looked down at her, the short distance of my height with the cigarette wagging at the corner of my mouth. “I'm fixing your breakfast, love. Something healthy—brain food for your big presentation this morning at the Ministry. How about pumpkin pancakes and fruit?”

She shied away from smiling, being interrupted when Ron barged in and dipped out his brown oatmeal, the fatty bacon lying in oil.

She turned back to me when he'd gotten done acting up in front of us to prove a point.

“At least allow me to make yours…,” She gave me one of those puppy-dog faces, big eyes, and pouty lips. “Pretty please?”

Her warm hand went to my arm.

I didn't care if it was seen or not.

I leaned in, cradled Hermione's head in the palm of my hand, and led my lips to her forehead. I scratched the back of her head affectionately, softly, saying, “Some eggs and toast is all. I don't want to see you standing here any longer than that.”

When my hand left the confines of her bushy hair, I lowered to give her bum a firm pat. “I mean it.”

I smiled as I saw her going about cracking the eggs and finding the loaf of bread to toast aside me, never straying too far. Our hips an inch or two apart, I went to pour the pumpkin batter into the heated pan and looked over at the busied Gin, and her brother watching the telly, completely unconcerned and unaware.

Careless.

The definition of our relationships.

Hermione's lovely voice awoke me from the stare.

“Will you be at the meeting after your trip to Diagon Alley?”

I flipped the underside of the pancake, a lightly tan top now above as it sizzled.

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

She smiled, biting her bottom lip.

“I'll be making you some eggs, too.”

With my right hand occupied by the spatula, I rested my left on the slope of her back, the beginnings of her left buttock.

Owned.

She looked at my curiously; curious of my words, comfortable of my actions.

“You're going to need all the protein you can get today.”

~~~

“Where the Ministry is putting a lean on the shop selling things like,” George and I traveled about Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Headquarters in Diagon Alley. We'd been discussing his jump from the wizarding world to that of the Muggle version, and all that of which could include. His hand reaching from his tweed jacket, George plucked a small pink bottle from an ever-flowing red waterfall. “'Love potions,' the products that have taken the Muggle kiddies have been things like our Ten-second Pimple Vanisher, the Aviatomobiles—“

One flew over our heads in the like of the Ford Anglia.

“—Annnd, of course our more novelty items like fake vomit! Muggles eat it up—well, you know.”

I had my hands deep in my business coat pockets, looking around at the Joke shop and its many customers bustling in and out of the revolving door.

The place was packed, standing-room only.

“That's great to hear, really great to hear,” I patted George on the back.

“Yeah—well,” We were on the second floor, looking over a balcony at the giddy patrons enthralled within the happy environment of whirling and twirling, blasting and flashing. George gripped the balcony's rail. “I only wish Fred were here to see this—to see the shop branching out to the Muggle world! He'd have a ball, indeed.”

I smiled and gave George's shoulder a friendly pat, showing that I understood. “He knows.”

George turned to me with a smirk. “We're not going to hug now, Harry, are we? Because you know I don't swing that way, mate.”

I laughed louder than the Weasley Wonderous Wand that popped in a shine of slivered lights.

“I'd like to invest.”

“Harry Potter—a businessman?” George scoffed with the smirk. “And here I thought you'd lost your marbles!”

“Well, my galleons aren't getting any younger; and besides, I'd like to help. That is, if you want. I could very well take it back—“

“Oh, no! We'd—I'd appreciate the extra bit of gold in our coffers! We need better foundation in the Muggle world, if some mishap happens.”

“I'll take the risk.”

“And, if it utterly, terribly fails and all the gold is flushed down the hole?”

“I really wouldn't care,” I shrugged. “A friend to a friend. Are you expecting to fail?”

George chuckled. “Touche, Harry. Touche.”

“And if profits skyrocket?” George asked.

“I'd like a percent.”

George laughed. “What happened to a `friend of a friend'?”

I smiled. “I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid. I trust you. It'd be nice to have a little change between now and Aurorship.”

~~~

I took a casual stroll towards the left, underneath the old, crooked sign half-hung on the side of some trashy pole at the end of the main road.

Knockturn Alley.

Being “Harry Potter”, I caught a few odd glances from my fellow wizards and witches.

What would I tell them?

I'd smile, and tell them all to, “Go to Hell”.

The glances got more interesting the more I paced through the seedier parts of the Alley, turning into a shop with more…unseemly objects displayed in its windows.

The Buzzing Broomstick.

I was instantly greeted by an old witch that wore fashion straight from the 1960's.

“Mister Potter!” she wheezed, hands outstretched behind the immaculate glass counter. What lacked outside, the store had: unsullied and sparkling clean, and big, bright lights everywhere. “My favourite customer! Come to try one of our brand new toys! A shipment of Witch Parfait products came in this morning!”

“No thank you, Sia,” I talked from an aisle of adult magazines, gorgeous girls prancing robeless, using their wands as…

I smirked at one rather original place a blonde girl had found to put her wand in.

“I'm just browsing.”

My ears picked up on the bell jingle, a man coming in under thick robes, sunglasses on.

I chuckled quietly.

If you were going to go through all that trouble to—

My eyes landed on something interesting.

I reached out and shimmied the plastic case from the rack and examined the contents.

The Magic Wand:

A little magic that no one will ever see!

Rated 10/10 from couples who want that special spark!

My grin grew quite large at the picture of a witch…providing example of how to use the small, three inch black circular solid object with threads and tiny bumps. The rather interesting part lay with a remote, the “magic no one would ever see”.

I wandered up to the counter and placed the petite number on the counter.

“Ah! Always the eye, Mister Potter! The Misses will be happy indeed!”

I laughed through my nose. Sia was evidently talking about Ginny, just like the newspaper reported and every bloody fool thought.

Hogwarts sweethearts.

I reached into my dress trousers and laid down four galleons and eight sickles from my wallet. I laughed again at the joke inside my head. “Sure.”

I looked behind me briefly while Sia rung me up for change and noticed Mister Trench Coat in line.

I gave him a salute, turning back around to accept a sickle and a few knuts.

“Thanks Sia. I'll see you soon I'm sure.”

“Come again, Mister Potter! You keep the lights on!”

Walking by the man trying to be so abstruse, I laughed again and said to him when I saw the pile of video tapes in his arms, “Best of luck tonight, mate.”

I had the biggest smartarse smile on my face as I backed out of the door.

~~~

“Excuse me, sir—sir!”

With a foot hitched on the wall, I leaned back against it.

A lit cigarette betwixt my lips, I took a drag and let the smoke escape from the corner of my mouth away from the man accosting me. Plucking the fag out, I glanced over at Arthur and those Ministry higher-ups filing into the conference room where Hermione would be presenting her House Elf Welfare argument.

“Well, I'll be—Harry!”

He put his hand out.

“Hello Mister Weasley,” I tapped the cig with the flat of my index finger, letting the ashes fall on the Ministry floor.

I shook his hand firm.

“When in blazes did you pick up smoking?”

“I think it was between my death and resurrection. I always was on that precarious ledge, eh, Arthur?”

I smirked.

Arthur laughed. “Well, don't let the officials see you. It'll surely make a dark mark on your record if they catch you.”

“But I'm the Harry Potter,” I laughed, putting the cig back in the corner of my lips. Flicking back my wrist, my business coat's sleeve rose to allow the exposure of my silver watch. “Where's Hermione?”

When I looked at Arthur, I saw her walking in behind him.

She glanced, tucking a piece of her straightened brunette locks behind her ear. She looked with nerves in her teal-coloured pencil skirt and peplum-back jacket. Then she saw me, her sight returning from her glance with a smile, a bite down of her lip.

“Harry!” She gave a bit of a run in her black heels, arms out, alit with happiness.

She set her paperwork under her arm, the bow which had her hair swaying to and fro behind her.

I squashed the cig out after letting it drop to the floor with my boot, kicked from the wall and leaned into her elated embrace.

I kissed her forehead, felt of her softened curls.

“I told you I would be here.”

She smelled so sweet.

I found the irony, as she lay against me those few seconds, how she lay against the little something in my pocket…for later.

~~~

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” I hushed her when I turned her around and hiked up her skirt. Some sunlight that could have been beautiful shone from a dust-clouded window. Obviously, these Ministry uniforms hadn't seen daylight in many a century.

I half pushed her up on this wobbly desk contraption, something.

I didn't care.

“Harry—I think it'll fall if—“

I'd had enough.

Maybe it was because we were somewhere other than the Black Room, so she thought she could speak.

I grunted, feverishly unraveling my leather belt.

The metal hook and latch clinked together, and I ripped the slender strip from my waist band.

I used it as a tool, the leather snapping against her exposed knickers.

A sharp cry was heard, and in the semi-darkness did I see Hermione look back at me from her perilous position, one leg hoisted so her knee set atop the rickety, chalk-ridden surface.

“Next time I'll be swifter.” I said this through gritted teeth.

My hand rummaged around in my dress trouser pocket, the front right one and felt of my wallet, completely bypassing the certain toy next to it.

Her glowing skin looked magical in the shifting sunrays, sepia-tone in the robes cupboard. Her eyes were vivid, pools of glittering, metallic bronze. Her naturally pink lips slightly parted from her shriek, her heavy breath afterwards.

She saw me find the aluminum square intermixed between plastic cards and galleons.

She saw how I tore into the square with my canines, being aware, careful not to actually tear the rubber inside. Talk about defeating the purpose…

I let my trousers drop to the ground, and I heard her speak however softly. She knew she shouldn't, but the moment felt right.

She asked, in anticipation, seeing my push forward in the shadows:

“Did I at least do well?”

She tilted her head back, allowing her curls to dance along her back as she moved with my entrance, her hand against the wall with my first thrust.

I grabbed her waist, pulled her with me, and had her arch her back so her ear went level with my mouth:

“You did marvelously.”

I slid out, and pushed in, harder, a subtle pop against her split, white, hip-hugging knickers.

A sharp gasp came with her feel of my cheek, the back of her head on my shoulder, a moan.

The gasp made my hairs stand on end, and her extra-feminine cries, her whimpers…it drove me to the madness of an eager schoolboy.

For a moment I held her on me by the bunched up skirt at her hips, like reins; holding her sitting arse on my lap. The smacks of our bodies echoed the quicker I found myself, the pace increasing at each of her little moans, her grasps of my neck and face, her nails securing themselves in my business coat sleeve.

She hung on with all her might, her strength waning, and I felt it.

Her.

Tight.

Lovely, wet contractions.

She loosened from me, her hands back on the wall, our rocking producing high-pitched squeaks from the desk.

She let out an incredible howl, a herald of pleasure.

I grabbed onto her shoulders and came in my final pump, holding her with me those seconds until I let her go.

She ended up on the table, on her elbows, hands, and I ended up fallen over, too. After every muscle tensed, I had nowhere to go but atop her, my hands catching my fall on either side of her trembling form.

I lay my cheek in the concave of her back, going to my elbows

I lay there just hearing her settle, hearing the transformation of rapid swells flitter to accustomed inhales and exhales.

She remained stationary even when I rose in standing.

I gave her left arsecheek a firm slap, shaking from thought, leaving behind a red mark on her pale skin.

She looked back at me on her elbows, and I lowered again.

I pushed in as I did and held myself deep, giving her reason to close her eyes and utter a groan. When she had reopened, she felt of my hand as I petted her head, patting it.

“You've been such a good girl.”

I smiled.

And she did, too.

“I've a surprise for you—something that you might like.”

Slowly I stood back up, and as I did pulled out from the moistness between her and my pelvis. I watched her vagina pull with me, her tiny hole, its vibrantly pink walls straining to keep hold.

Beautiful, I thought. Always.

I heard another uttered gasp escape from Hermione.

An ever-so-slight suction sound reverberated in the air when she had completely let go, and I watched her body retract, a masterpiece to behold.

I yanked off the rubber and tossed it towards the musty robes.

Centuries old, it'd take a whole new century before anyone would come in here and find it.

I bent down and pulled up my trousers, began buttoning and zipping closed my fly, readjusting what was left of the erection unwilling to rest at the sight of Hermione's heart-shaped arse still in view.

My hand in my pocket, I kept my eyes on Hermione—and hers—and saw them look between me and that little something now between my fingers.

“You'll need a bit more lubrication, love.”

I set a definitive hand on Hermione's bum, leaning forward, the crotch of my trousers pressing again against her.

I reached around and set The Magic Wand at her lips.

“Ah…,” My brows rose and I smiled when I saw her lips open and closed around the rounded end, the swirls of ridges, and the bumps. She looked at me as I worked it around in her mouth. “Such a good girl.”

I let that hand on her arse up and quickly smacked her buttock again in showing utmost appreciation, following instructions.

She jolted a bit, her eyes closed, a blink, and I pried away the small cylinder from her mouth.

I pushed up and left her view.

I lowered to kneel, that hand pulling her crease open as did my other.

I could smell her sweet scent as much as I saw it, how wet she still was, even a bit of white foam still around her warm hole.

I pulled her open further, spreading her pink to hear her utter breath.

I went to her, smelling the thick vanilla, and then tasting it, a lick from the beginnings of her button to her teeny, puckered pink arsehole.

I could feel her thigh muscles tense and relax, her whole body moving a centimetre at my lapping.

I licked my lips of the remaining taste and kept open her heat with one hand and inserted slowly the bit with my other. I watched as the toy was gently taken, consumed.

If not for this action, I'd have fucked her again.

I'd become harder than rock as the educator and observer.

I pushed The Wand as far inside Hermione as possible, to the base which flattened out in a circle.

I gave her arse a pat first, and then another slap as I stood back up. My hand rubbed her, feeling the rigid plastic from the softness of her pussy to the softness of her arsehole, direct along the crease.

Hermione looked at me, her eyes a-flutter, her hands, fingers white as she gripped the table.

I had turned the remote on, dialed the vibration to just the first slot of five: LOW, MEDIUM, HIGH, ULTRA, and MAGICAL.

I felt the toy move within her, my hand on her posterior.

I grinned when I saw how she couldn't stand it, but loved it, wanted it—needed it now as it grew into control, like me.

I flipped the dial so the movement went off, and her eyes immediately went straight to me.

I placed my hand atop her head and petted, combing her gorgeous dark brown strands between my fingers.

“Until tonight at dinner, it stays.”

She didn't say anything.

She knew she shouldn't, and continued her complacent stare.

“Are you hungry?”

She nodded, those strands falling from her shoulders in that ninety-degree angle she was left in.

I stood back up and pulled the crotch of her white knickers back so it covered the held trinket.

I could still see the rounded base and gave it a tap, tapping her arse, too.

Her eyes closed and opened slowly.

“Get up and hide your decency,” I muttered, slipping my belt back in its loops. “Let's go to lunch.”

She stood and shimmied down her skirt.

Just after leaving the old uniform room, just as we stepped into the hallways of the Ministry with all its patrons wandering about did I find the remote in my pocket and flip it on low. Hermione, always at my side, halted a step at first, but I had her keep walking.

In the lift down she held onto me with a grip, and if one could hear beneath all the noise of chatter and radio, one could hear the slight buzzing of the on-going vibrator never quite letting up by my hand.

~~~

I walked casually into their lavatory.

“Ron's and Hermione's” lavatory inside “their” bedroom, the door open.

She was doing something to her eyes with a pencil, leaned over the sink and close to the mirror. She never withdrew from her look; though, knew quite well I was there, especially when my hand led from her back, down the ruffled satin of the red cocktail dress, running a finger along the black ribbon about her waist, and ending at her arse.

“Has he stopped bitching?” she asked, and then a gasp, a shut of her eyes.

I had felt if she had worn knickers, dragging a digit where I knew lined her crease and took the gap between her thighs in a firm grip.

I felt of the round base of the toy still stuck in her.

I smiled, but grew serious when she decided to lift up.

I pushed her back down further in her bend and yanked her skirt up. Her delectable heart-shaped arse, the soft, white flesh of her taut buttocks was held between two lovely lace garters. She knew I loved them, reminiscent since I'd first broken her in and took her virginity. This moment, however, I didn't have to painstakingly pry her tiny black knickers aside for entry. This time I could see her stark, trimmed pussy lips on either side still holding the naughty bit.

Close, I methodically examined my Hermione, spreading the crease, spreading what little of the pink I could whilst seeing her pretty arsehole.

I glanced up when I felt her move slightly first, and then saw her, her arms aligned with the counter, her hands grasping the sink at the spread.

I removed my hands and instantly watched her tight bum retract. I rubbed one arsecheek, and then its twin, asking in-between, “How many times did you orgasm?”

She waited until I said, “You may speak.”

She turned her head towards me, her beautiful brown crown, and her tassels swaying as one from a hairclip. “Four.”

I gave her right arsecheek a pat. “I saw your last one on the sofa. I believe Ron actually thought you were asleep with your face in the pillow and a sheet covering you. I think the moan did it.”

“And, you showered and shaved?”

She nodded, the fringe of her hair bouncing lightly above her eyes.

“Kept it in?” With my palm flat on her right arsecheek, I gently pressed the circular base with the pad of my thumb.

I heard the softened groan from her lips, the lower of her head in the dry sink, and I saw the nod.

I stood up and gave her bum a slap. “Stand.”

She did immediately, the skirt of the cocktail dress dropping back to her knees.

She turned towards me so we faced each other, my left hip and her right hip touched the counter's edge.

I tapped the white-marbled countertop, and motioned with my head. “Sit.”

She turned again in a swirl, her hands taking the edge and hoisted herself up. I stepped only one step away and told her to, “Lean back and spread.

Straight-faced, I watched my beauty do as I demanded, the cocktail dress falling from her knees, her thighs, exposing her slightly hidden privates. As she sat back on her bum, shifting her arms back on the counter in tilt, she watched me as I crept back in and laid my hand upon the base.

Even that slightest of touch gave her reason to blink her eyes, draw a breath.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” she sighed with a nod.

Wiggling my fingers between her vagina and the toy, I felt instantly wetness from suction, moist. I grinned at her excitement, her anticipation, another drawn breath and a flutter of her eyes.

Just as she were about to settle did I come in and kiss her.

She opened her mouth and I dived in, lovingly licking her, teasing her tongue.

With the slowest of tugs, I gently allowed the toy to come forth. The caress suppressed her moans, but I could feel her body tense, shake, and I knew if she could she'd try and buck back into my hand.

As we left from the kiss did she go to lean her head back, to gasp, but I made her watch with me that inch to go before complete release. With her own eyes directed, she looked as her pussy shaped with the trinket, and then pop back to its tightness.

My hand went to her sex, and I kissed her again with heat. A stilted erection, I couldn't resist pushing against her opened thigh as I rubbed her hot hole in the palm of my hand.

She was wet, and when our lips parted did I show her the toy and what she had done.

A shine shimmered from Hermione, glistening in the lavatory lighting.

“Open,” I instructed, opening my mouth as pattern for what I wanted her to do.

She followed, her juice-slathered toy atop her tongue.

She kept her eyes with mine, working the bit in her mouth as she suckled. Her eyes left me but for a second, and in that second found my free hand back at her sex, my middle finger as replacement while Hermione cleaned the ridged plastic.

Her tight vagina drew in that finger, clasped, and secured me within.

Stating with a morsel of anger in my tone, my penis suffocating in my trousers, “I'd ravage you with every inch if not for the time.”

Plucking the toy from her lips did I remove a hand from the counter and placed her atop the grown, visible snake wanting peace from my ever-tightening shorts.

A fleeting thought of Hermione blowing me passed through my mind, my eyes going to my watch where the time ticked closer to our reserved seating at the restaurant.

I looked back at her, into her eyes as I left her rubbing my stiff penis.

“This is going back in if not for my amusement, but as you like it.” I waved the hard, ribbed cylinder in my grasp, catching her attention from that of my manhood.

I leaned into her, and had her leave me. “Hold onto me,” I said, reaching around to hold her as well.

I felt her arms about my back, her hands in my hair.

At first penetration I heard her sharp gasp, a moan, her fingernails clawing the dress coat. She gripped my hair, her breasts against my chest, her body arched. I let a drop of my spit fall and land atop the toy, giving another layer of lubrication as I observed her tiny hole re-accept invitation. I thumbed at her clitoris, feeling the pull from a contraction. I let me fingers from the base and watched the plastic snap against her bald pussy lips, ever-so-slightly hiding the pinkness beneath.

Hermione had nearly crawled up on me, her arms in an embrace as she clung onto me.

She drew another long breath, her chest heaving when I gave rub between her thighs. I had her remove her grip, remove herself from me as I declared, “Down.”

Her bum wriggling, she hopped down and stood still a moment to regain her balance with that extra something inside her.

I reached back as I went and told her to, “Come.”

She took my hand as I led her form the lavatory, the hallway, the rooms between there and the exit door. The lights went out by my wand on our way outside. They'd gone to the car, tired of waiting. I could see Ronald up front and Ginny waiting for Hermione in the backseat.

They were discussing something.

Something I didn't care a rat's arse about.

I saw them look at us coming, and I let Hermione go.

I placed my dress coat along her bare shoulders, the cocktail dress strapless, to keep still her shivering form from the cold night air.

I waited for the moment when Ron had turned to look to his side, Ginny look down, and gave Hermione's taut arse a celebratory slap for being such a good girl on her way in front of me.

I hoped it left another mark.

I watched her at the driver's door come around.

She glanced at me before stepping in, and then I did, our bodies, their movements jostling the vehicle.

I heard Ronald say something of me, but tuned it out with the start-up of the Benz.

Ginny's whine bypassed defenses, and I heard her cry about how we going to a “Muggle restaurant” and that she, “Didn't understand why we couldn't have Floo-ed to Violet Hill for dinner”.

My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and I saw Ginny boring her eyes at me, her arms folded, and her nose scrunched up — looking so much like her mother.

Taking the mirror, I changed the scenario, not wanting to see her, but…

Hermione, after buckling herself in, glanced up, and then noticed the change.

Our eyes had locked as one until Ron bumped me from the bothered moment, a tent propped in my trousers, smelling the sweet scent of vanilla. Ron had taken it upon himself to start the night off with a lovely degradation, unamusingly stating as he looked at Hermione in the backseat:

“You know how I hate red.”

Hermione crossed her arms, too.

“Well, you're not wearing it, are you?”

The foulness in my features turned to a smirk as I caught the white of Hermione's gorgeous eyes.

I revved the engine and burned the tread, taking off and making sure I went over the curb on Ron's side.

~~~

“Your name, sir?”

“Potter.”

“Table for four?”

“Yes.”

“This way, please.”

The hostess began her ascent, and we followed upstairs.

The crimson carpet cushioned against our shoes.

Ron and Gin stormed off, racing up the stairs to see who got to the top first, leaving me with Hermione. I had a handful of her bum, and we got looks, or I did, at how brazen my feel of the lovely brunette was all the way upstairs.

“This is what I want you to eat tonight,” rummaging in my pocket I pulled out a bit of folded parchment and handed it to her.

“Healthy, and all the essential nutrients and vitamins you'll need.”

She glanced at me and nodded, the corner of her lip twitching in a subtle smirk.

“I'll take care of you,” my hand left Hermione's supple arsecheek, to hold her head, to feel of her hair as I drew her into my lips.

I kissed her, and she responded with a not-so-subtle moan, catching a few passerbies' cock-eyed attention.

She put the bit of parchment in her purse after having read its contents; and as she did, my hand went from cradling her head, to her shoulder, the slope of her back, and back to her lovely arse were I held.

I heard Ginny squeal and Ron's boisterous laughter shake the guest's quiet atmosphere.

I shook my head and shouted, “Kids!”

Both gingers turned to me with scowls.

“Enough.” I pointed at them. “Act polite and use your inside voices.”

~~~

“And, for the Misses?”

We were arranged with Ron on my right and Gin on my left.

Hermione sat opposite and centre.

I'd let her off the hook while she spoke with the other two, and me, going about as if just another night of trials and tribulations. Though, I did flip the vibrator on medium setting while she spoke with Ron. When she was asked a question her eyes closed. I knew I had her.

She didn't even look at me when I shut it off, resuming as if she only had a spell.

Now, the perfect opportunity lay in front of me

She glanced from the menu at her nose at the waiter. The soft candlelight aglow on her porcelain-carved face would have brought someone else to smile, think of adoration. My mind, however, went to the toy between her legs, the remote in my pocket.

She went to say something, tell the waiter exactly what I wanted her to eat from the choices when she sucked in a breath, a peep, and closed-shut her eyes. Hey eyelids were gentle; it wasn't as if she blinked, a slow close, her pink lips parting to let escape a quick breath.

I could see her hands slowly gripping the edges of the menu, and I knew if she could get passed embarrassment she would have moaned. Instead, she kept the mannered Hermione, even if the wild, animalistic version of her wanted longingly to be let out, or at least from her bottled throat where she held tight the needed moan.

I sat back in my chair, that hand still in the pocket and enjoyed the scene showing before me.

Seconds passed, a lengthy pause between the waiter's question and Hermione's hushed form.

I saw her want to turn, to turn her heads towards me, but feared she couldn't—any move setting “it” off.

Only until Ronald called for her, saying in his wonderful Weasley way, “Well, out with it! We haven't all day! I'm hungry!”

“She'll have the shrimp and chicken linguini with an extra serving of fresh, steamed vegetables on the side,” all three, Ginny, Ron, and the waiter looked at me. Far from another short breath escaping Hermione's slightly parted lips. I told the waiter, “Hold the cream sauce. She doesn't like it.”

I turned the dial down, and then off, and watched Hermione's shoulders slump and readjust herself, utterly halted and rigid that last minute or two.

Her head went down and she hid within her curtain of brown curls.

She put the menu down, and I watched her curiously as she straightened and gripped, straightened and gripped her fingers with her palm flat on the white-cloth table.

I smirked.

“The meals should be out shortly,” the waiter bowed and left us.

My eyes went to Ron when he asked curtly, his face back towards Hermione and her stilled body, “What in the blazes is wrong with you tonight?”

My smirked widened so much I had to hide myself with a hand for promise of being found out for knowing something others didn't.

From behind my hand I looked concerned.

Hermione gently eased up her head, and those deep, gorgeous pools of cinnamon were placed directly on me.

I could see her pink lips still parted, and the slightest heave of her chest.

I took up my wine glass and held it, toasting in silence.

~~~

She ate too damn slow, or maybe it was because she'd come.

Nevertheless, a moment with her fork, a shrimp, some broccoli, and what looked like a piece of carrot in its prongs did she stop once more. She closed her eyes, the fork so close to her mouth.

Now it parted by my hand.

I felt her foot with mine under the table, how she moved, her body telling her to writhe, that stiletto heel running up the height of my trouser-clad calf.

It must be hard to keep those legs crossed, I joked to myself, bored and insanely horny as I continued to watch her plead with my actions.

Gin and Ron continued to talk about something.

Some shopping trip of Gin's on my galleon.

Stupid shit I didn't have time for.

I released her, setting the dial back from medium, to low, and then to off.

She finally bit down on the combination on her fork, her eyes still closed until they opened back on me—always on me—as she chewed carefully.

I took up my glass of wine and finished the contents in one gulp, my hand beneath the table adjusting what was an ever-growing circus tent.

I mouthed to her, “Three minutes.”

She cocked her brow, not understanding.

I held up three fingers, and motioned off to my right with a shrug off the shoulder.

I took my napkin, wiped my mouth off and threw it in my plate.

I stood up and announced, creating instantly an audience, “I'm going to the loo. If the waiter comes asking for dessert tell him I'll be back shortly.”

“Hurry up, mate—they've chocolate cake!” Ron slurped down his spaghetti string and belched. “Excuse me.”

I left off towards my right and waited around the corner at the men and women's bathroom doors. I had to step a few times in that wait to let people go by as they came in and went out, and I smiled when I saw Hermione walking this way.

I put out my hand and she took it, leading her through the men's lavatory door.

As we went in I caught sight of some git at the sink washing his hands.

He saw us—he saw Hermione—and then he didn't see us anymore.

I'd chosen a stall and closed the door, locked it behind.

I pointed off towards the toilet, the wall behind Hermione. “Get up on the toilet and stick your arse out.”

I watched her turn and climb up on the shut toilet seat on her knees. One hand went atop the toilet's tank, her other on the wall. She looked back at me a second, to see my attention elsewhere. I'd unzipped my fly and let loose my struggling erection, having reached in, too, and pulled out the balls underneath.

She waited for me, her head dropping back in front of her, seeing the beginnings of me applying the see-through condom.

I stepped forward and watched her jerk up, almost as if her own anticipation wavered, knowing I'd soon join her with that first second of penetration.

I chuckled, making brief note of some guy in the next stall and another on my other side, the sinks turning on and off.

I'm sure Hermione noted the men entering and exiting the restroom as well.

I took my tie off, wanting less of her senses informed, wanting only her mind to unravel of what might or might not be happening in the presence of public.

I placed it around her eyes from behind and tied it in a knot behind her head.

I pulled up her cocktail dress and saw her beautiful bum, the gap between her closed thighs, and that toy stuck in. I lowered and planted a kiss on her left buttock, gently running my fingers down her crease until I felt the hard base of The Magic Wand.

I heard her sigh as I watched myself begin to pull it from her, my sight going to how wet she still was, her vagina looking very soft and very swollen. I watched how it pulled her, Hermione so wanting to keep what had been inside. My ears perked when I heard her want to gasp, to moan, a whimper instead.

I wished to hear her moan, for me, for all the men in the room to know I had her…

The last little bit I pulled from her in haste, and she did what I so wanted.

She moaned, the toilet tank cover shaking as she tried her best to stabilize.

My dick leapt, and I had had enough.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I took her in my hands, a pull of her hair to yank her back.

I put the vibrator near her opened, panting mouth and had her hold it between her lips.

I slid my erection along the slit of her vagina, gathering Hermione's natural liquid as perfect lube, and then slid myself in. Gradually I pushed, wanting her to feel every inch of me spreading her out further than those three inches of plastic she grew accustomed to these last hours.

At the base, my balls against her little nub, I reached out and grabbed the start of her strapless dress. I knew she'd worn no bra, and when I worked the front of her dress down did I feel her splendidly perky breasts jiggle out. I squeezed them on the onset, my hips drawn back, slipping a few inches out. My first thrust smacked against her taut bum.

She tilted her head back and wanted to cry out; but, found it difficult, and muffled, against the toy.

Between a slap of her arse and that of the toilet tank shifting by my pound, the one thing she could control was the latter. The hand on the toilet found refuge with her other, both now on the wall as she hung onto the solid surface. I found I cared not, letting another slap be heard by the restroom attendees.

I think she wanted to crawl to the ceiling when I lost myself, the restriction of my circumference and the beauty of Hermione, of the fuck, my hormones coursing through my veins. One hand, and then her other crept up the faux-wood wall until she could go no more.

Her little whimpers, her little pants, how when I pulled out to push right back in did I hear a wet suction between her arse and my thighs. It drove me mad.

I felt her go, her climax, how her stifled moan made any noise in the lavatory quiet.

I lifted her from the wall and set her down on wobbly legs, standing in heels a chore.

I switched places, unbuttoning my trousers and let them fall. I sat on the closed toilet seat and had her straddle me, taking her arse in my hands, directing her as she remained sightless. I kept her dress up in front so I could see her vagina split on my cream-slathered dick. She set right down, and I had her pull her feet up above my knees, had her hold onto the points of her stilettos as she rode me and rode me hard.

I kept her steady, and balanced, my hands firm around her sides, feeling the soft satin material just above her perfect stomach.

She rocked herself on me one last time before I took control, stretching her deep with hammering pumps until the first spurt struck the inside of the condom, and then a second, subsequent shots completely filling the tip.

She tilted her head back, and I knew she had felt the loaded heat I'd given her depths.

With a hand, I ran a hand down the length of her body, from her neck, between her breasts, her contracting abdomen and ended with a rub of her lovely, exposed clitoris. I heard her sigh, and try and straighten back up. I eased her from the grip of the black heels and onto me. I took the vibrator from her lips and led her blindly to my lips where I tasted her, lapping at her eager tongue. My hands from her back, to her rounded breasts, I massaged them, my thumb and forefingers pinching down upon her perky, cooled nipples.

She gasped behind my tie.

I sat up in our kiss and heard her heels, her feet hit the bathroom floor.

I released from her, saying in an affirmed tone to, “Stand.”

Slowly she did, and I watched myself unveil from its rendezvous inside Hermione.

I sat the toy on the toilet tank and went about disposing of the spent rubber. I saw Hermione's dress drop back in its orderly fashion in front of her as I stood up, too, and opened the seat. There, I dropped the used condom and hiked up my trousers which had lain around my ankles. I zipped, buttoned, and buckled myself up—looking presentable as I reached back to flush.

Taking the trinket from the tank, I slipped it into my pocket where the remote sat and went about unleashing the tie blinding my dazzling brunette.

Her eyes were closed at first, and slowly they adjusted to the lights until she looked up at me, rose in her cheeks.

I loved how her perky breasts stood at attention, like two diving rods pointing to where she received her pleasure. I leaned in and kissed her, taking her hands, moving them as I helped her recover above her sash.

“We're leaving,” I stated plainly, unlatching the metal lock of our stall and taking Hermione's hand after knowing her dress had been fixed.

She stepped out first, being in front, and then me.

In silence, I saw a few eyes of men utterly taken by the things they had heard, and the sight of my one traipsing shyly from the loo. I led her to the sink where I had her wash her hands with me, squirting soap into her palms and seeing in my peripheral the man washing his hand on her right side in shock.

I gave her a paper towel to dry her hands off with, took her used one with mine and tossed it in the rubbish bin on the way out.

In my grasp, her fingers interlaced with mine, I led her out to a sight of more men coming in, and mouths gaped at a woman being in the men's room.

At least I was courteous enough to clean up after myself, I thought.

~~~

In the stroboscopic lights of the telly, I could tell Hermione's sight was on me even if she were with Ron on the sofa.

I sat in my chair, my bare feet up on the coffee table. Shirtless, I nursed a glass of liquor and ice, the bottle sitting near my crossed feet.

My sight was on her, too, how she was all curled under a sheet, nestled aside the ginger who so fondly laughed at an incoherently loud and vulgar comedian. The fire crackled in the hearth to take the chill off.

We had gotten home.

I ended up here with my bottle.

They ended up there on the sofa.

And Gin, after a rousing verbal explosion went to bed.

When we didn't fight, we slept.

Ignoring was a better choice,

I was into my sixth glass when the comedy show went off, and off clicked the telly. Ron threw the control on the coffee table and chuckled, “Muggle things—can't get enough of them!”

I never did quit staring at Hermione, and how she looked at Ron in-stretch, rising from the sofa cushions and leaving her behind.

He scratched his naked belly, patting the weight he had gained after leaving Quidditch behind for food. He still admired the sport, but bitched about how he, “could never be like them”.

So much for the mirror and its aspirations of future conclusions.

Now he pouted all day about how he missed the “good ol' days of Hogwarts”.

I spat on them, and never gave Ron ear when he'd begin to mope.

“I'm going to bed,” he turned to see Hermione, still patting that weight in the front, that bit of Weasley-red from the underside of his navel. “You comin'?”

She looked at me and how I had my lips to my drink.

I saw life in a hallway, the liquor getting to me.

She shrugged, and sighed, standing up and letting the sheet fall from her flannel pyjamas. She wore enough clothes for two winters and a blizzard, long-sleeves and collar included.

I watched her leave me, following Ron upstairs.

She stopped at my side, and I heard the footsteps of Ron continue without her.

She rested her hand on my shoulder.

I didn't say anything, didn't move, never looked up.

“Will you be all right here?” she asked in the softest of sweet tones.

I raised my glass and had the ice clink against each other inside with a shake.

Her hand left my shoulder, found my hair where she sifted her fingers through my messy crow's nest in stride.

I heard her footsteps, and then the door shut upstairs.

I looked between my glass, the bottle, and the fire in the hearth.

The Firewhiskey had always been opened, the cork placed beside it. Removing my feet, I set them on the cold floor and poured myself another glass. I put my back against the chair again and drank myself into the night, never once shutting closed my eyes.

~~~

“Come to bed.”

I didn't look at Gin.

Though, she had purposefully blocked my view of the fire.

I set my lips back to the refilled glass and took another long sip.

I saw her go to pick up the bottle of Firewhiskey, and that's what finally broke my silence. My eyes shot to hers like daggers, the bottle in her hands. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

“I'm dumping it out,” she went to leave me, but jumped when I shouted.

I had sat up in my chair, my finger pointed at her and then down on the coffee table, “Put it back—NOW! NOW! THIS INSTANT! RIGHT NOW!”

“Take your fucking bottle back—you fucking arseface!” she slammed the bottle back down, and I seethed when I looked up at her.

I took the bottle from the table and set it on the ground at my feet.

“Is this about your mummy and daddy again? Or, is this about Dumbledore—maybe Severus—how about my dead brother—“

I threw the whiskey glass across the room and had it shatter to pieces.

Gin immediately shut up.

I displayed my teeth and growled, my eyes dark to her, “…Don't you ever—EVER!—show disrespect to them again. Do you hear me?”

“Quit acting like my father! I'm your girl—!”

“Then quit acting like the fucking child you are!” I shot to my feet and yelled her down.

She looked as if to cower in that moment, her hands at her chest, her eyes wide.

“I don't give a fucking rat's arse how fucking disrespectful you are to me—I don't fucking care—but,” I pointed at her, an inch away. “You fucking talk like that about my family again and I'll—“

“Do what?” She got right up in my face. She looked ever-more like her mother, and just the dash of brazenness. “What are you going to do? Hm? Hit me, Harry?”

I stared her down.

She stared back until finally a smirk crossed her lips.

She went about as if she won, her nose in the air. “You're pathetic—just pathetic.”

She pranced off towards the staircase, but stopped, holding the banister to say back at me, “Stay down here—stay. Get fucking drunk like every fucking night. I don't fucking care anymore. You're not the guy I met back in—“

“You never knew me!”

Gin quieted, to say again, “Maybe you're right. You're just like all the rest. A pathetic excuse for a man, a piss poor drunkard starting young. You'll be dead by the time you're thirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“No—fuck you, Harry. Fuck you!” and she stormed off upstairs.

I fell back in the chair, grabbed the damn bottle and drank forth from it.

Fuck the glass.

I heard footsteps minutes after, and I had thought she had come back down. I flicked around to curse her again, to tell her to get in bed, to see Hermione at the foot of the stairs.

My world wavered with the alcohol in me, my sight zooming in and zooming out.

It didn't help that I had turned myself so quickly.

I turned back around to resume my stare into the fire and found a few seconds in-between the silence and more footsteps.

A shadow cast before me, and then a figure.

Hermione knelt down in front of me and placed her hands on my knees. She looked up at me in that way, her way; the way which drove me from my grieving state of mind like so many other times. I never quite got over my past, and the present struggles weren't all that easy. But, she was there.

Her eyes never went to the emptied bottle, only staying with mine as I reached for her.

I placed my hand atop her head and petted her, stroking her beautiful face with the pads of my fingers, following the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. My fingers sifted back through her fringe, the front of her not-so-bushy, fine brown hair fell forward in tufts, landing gently back along her forehead.

She continued to look up at me, her eyes like saucers, her mouth in a concerned, sad line, her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“Climb up here,” I said in slur.

She didn't hesitate, pushing from her knees, and then back on them as she went to straddle my waist. I looked up at her, our faces centimetres apart, and the hate—all of it—ceased to exist. I took her face in my hands and carried her down to meet me, my mouth, where I kissed her hard. My hands left her cheeks, to her throat, to her sides where I squeezed.

I pulled her forward, standing on her knees, and caressed down from her lips, to her neck, clavicle, between her breasts. I held her to me in an embrace, and Hermione, reaching around and in my blackened hair, hugged me to her warm bosom.

I picked her up easily when I stood, walked her over as her legs locked around me, and laid her down as I did on the sofa cushions. My head stayed with her breasts even when I stopped caressing them, loving her.

“Do you regret anything?” I asked her in my whisper, looking at her from that level, feeling her hands comb my hair.

She shook her head and simply stated, “Nothing.”

“You deserve the world.”

She smiled.

I laid my cheek on her right breast and closed my eyes, a hand clasped around her left.

Hermione kept to him, her eyes never straying from his sleeping face. Harry looked happier when he slept. After all those years of pain and torture, of the hate, the deaths…the cynicism, the feeling of being left alone time and time again…even in the darkest times…

She could smell the heavy odor of whiskey on him.

The clock above the hearth struck twice, calling two in the morning.

She'd been watching him now more than an hour.

She thought it better to be in bed, more comfortable for him than cramped on the tiny sofa seats. Not to mention the armrest digging into her back, her neck craned at an angle of soreness over time. She moved to get up, carrying him in her arms.

He murmured something, and all she could understand was her name in the sentence.

“I have you…,” she said, standing him up, an arm about him for support.

With one gentle step after another she made it with him upstairs.

She took hold of the doorknob to the closet, turned once and back again for the magical click. The Black Room opened and in she went. She closed the door behind and carried him to bed. Hermione sat him down on the edge and he fell backward. She sighed, her hands on her hips before having to maneuver him, rolling him over in a better, less wake-up-to-ache position.

She clapped as she walked around the bed to her side, leaving a tucked-in Harry and the sheets wide for her entry. She slipped in within the darkness and pushed into Harry.

She could barely see him while he slept.

And still, he looked serene.

She closed her eyes with an arm about his broad back and fell asleep, too.

~~~

I woke from my not-so-blissful sleep with a deathly hangover.

My body was telling me, “Good for you, dumbarse!”

That I had achieved my goal.

And, what did I do?

I smiled in irony.

My first breath caught the sensual aroma of vanilla, and hair.

As I rose from the bed, pushing off it with my hands as if I were about to do a push-up, I felt a form slither from me. I looked over in the darkness, and between my lack of vision with both my sight and the alcohol, I didn't know how I had gotten into the Black Room. Until, I caught the low murmur of Hermione, and the slight pull of the black silk sheet when she rolled over.

She must've been lying atop my back, and as I got up was made to fall to her side.

Still drunk, and intoxicated both from drink and the softness I found in my hands… I found myself becoming increasingly aware of my surroundings, of Hermione's figure, my hands on her contours.

I clapped and the ambient light flickered on.

On her back with an arm over her head she lay looking extremely cozy and at ease. Appealingly sexy, I dropped my hand so I hovered over her side and lowered myself. Undoing the first button from the bottom, I opened her flannel shirt, moving north. I let just the beginnings of my lips graze her stomach, and up between her beautiful breasts where I caressed, moving again to the hollow of her throat, her lips where I kissed her there.

Her mouth responded as if she were awake, opening to retrieve my waiting tongue, and hers.

I felt her body waken, and her first movements, wriggling beneath me against the cool sheets.

She wasn't fully awake when I lurched over her, my arm outreached to take hold of the handle of the bedside table. She continued to squirm, rubbing her face, her eyes, her hair, and breathe deep. My fingers had found the box of condoms, and I didn't delay getting a handful, rummaging around haphazardly and tossing everything but one on the floor.

I lowered my pyjama trousers as I watched her body shift aside me, still coming from twilight sleep, her eyes opening once but shutting again.

She was tired, but I had nothing more on my mind than her.

I went quickly about it, bestial, sliding the rubber around my width and dropping the wrapper somewhere outside my peripheral.

I took her, lifted Hermione with my strength, and turned her over, twisted her around, ending with her arse in the air.

She was awake now, of course she was, and she looked at me just as I pulled her pyjama bottoms down, her knickers the same. My nose to her crease, I gave her vagina a lick, instant wetness. I heard her gasp, saw her hands sink into the bed. She looked back at me in her sleepy state when I entered her, letting draw out this wondrous groan fall from the tip of her tongue.

I pushed her back down when she went to get on her hands, pushing her face back into the pillow.

I heard her cry my name, plunging deeper, harder, picking up my pace when I heard my name again in her screams.

My hands holding her thin waist, above her lovely hips, did I grind one last time in, my length hidden. To the base, I grunted, felt it—my climax—and let go the needed want.

Standing on my knees, I gazed down at the arched back of Hermione, her body jostling with her heavy breaths, her face covered in her hair. I gave her arse a pat, a rub, before rolling to the left and rolling her with me. She turned as I did, falling on my side along the bed with a slight bounce. She curved with me, connected still, in spoon.

I sifted away the loosened curls about her face and took her to my mouth, directing her head in my hand. She found my kiss, and I devoured her, hearing her moan. Gently, I thrust, just to see her angle back and moan. I smiled, and pulled her again to my punishing lips.

My right arm, my hand went around her form like a belt about her waist. I felt her flat abdomen, the tiny strip of pubic hair of her mound. I smiled when she did a small jump, my finger playing with her love button.

I pulled from her to alleviate the rubber, and fell back with her, my left arm still holding her. I took with me the sheets to cover us, her. I reached around to cradle her head in my arms, and said after clapping the lights off, “Sleep, baby.”

I smelled of her hair as I, too, drifted off.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

-->

3. Chapter Three

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. A response to the erotic novel series, Fifty Shades of Grey.

Author's Note: A few short scenes that describe our list of characters and how they think, act, react, and hold themselves.

Love it? Hate it? Review it!

~~~

“Is it hot enough for you?”

She nodded.

A very naked and wet Hermione Granger lay against me. I had my legs parted for her to lie in. With my height, and in the antique bathtub, a leg had to be propped up outside on the curved edge. Hermione adorably did the same, her smooth skin parallel to my manly, hair-covered, double-in-size version. I blamed all the hair on genes; maybe dad was hairy, too. I'd never know.

Her wet hair became one long, beautiful line of dark brown sticking to my chest. She had her head back, her crown at my clavicle, my shoulder. She had her eyes closed as I washed her without a cloth or one of those girly foam things I began to see advertised everywhere. My hands, and my hands only, I rubbed the pure white soap together and began my massage of her exquisite—more than exquisite—form.

I started in the middle, and went to her waist, her sides.

The water was clear, a bit of soap suds splotched at random.

I could see her stunning body, how comfortable she was, straight down to the negative shapes of the black with gold-trim surface. I loved how her body stood out, accentuating the already beautiful Hermione.

I could tell she was still tired.

I didn't remember a lot of what was said or done last night, but at least the hangover was gone. Nothing a little potion couldn't do—and thankfully I had a stock however expensive it was.

I thought she had drifted off to sleep.

I smiled, sliding up and along the round of her breasts.

That got her to move about, her eyes closed, replying in smile and a curl of her toes.

“You didn't have to wake for me this time. You're positively spent from yesterday. You'll need all the rest you can get.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I'm fine, really.”

With her head tilted towards me, and her peek between her smile, I held her soapy breasts and only gave her the lightest of squeezes when our tongues met. I kissed her, rubbing her breasts, molding them to my hands, fingers, and finding hers suddenly atop.

“Where were you sore again?”

She giggled, knowing I knew quite well where she had told me. Hell, I had to pick her up out of bed because of it.

“Take my hands and lead me.”

She did, moving them from her breasts and down.

She broke the water's surface, colliding with the heat intermixed with her suppleness. Along her flattened abs, and down further until I felt her mound—felt her—and then a subtle gasp. I had cupped her in my hands, her sore legs, her core, her vagina sensitive.

I took my hands from her and massaged first the outside of her thighs and gradually moving inward. My fingers sunk into her skin. Hermione stretched herself out, her dainty figure easily mobile in the tub. I felt her moist forehead go to my cheek where it lay, and heard her sighs grow heavy the farther I went towards her centre.

My fingers slid down the line of her opening, across her dark pubic hair and gently into her pink slit. Gently, I teased her hole, merely slipping in and going out before I could penetrate.

She went to my hands, her arms pushing her breasts together as she set them back atop. I maneuvered her, leading her as my hand traced the soft contour of her outer labia, and then back down inside with the tease. Her thighs took hold of my hands. I didn't think she did it on purpose, but laughed through my nose all the same.

“Look at me.”

Her eyelids pried from their contented stay and I was instantly mirrored through her happily dilated pupils.

“Feel any better?”

I'd stopped, the flat of my hand resting around her.

“A little,” she snickered. I didn't know if she was lying to me, but I didn't care.

I left her but only for seconds, to lather back up and push back into the water.

I found her again, and she found a jolt.

With more friction, and speed, I ran my hand along her pussy, my fingers pushing into her lines, any opening.

The only way to get clean, I mused in thought.

I conducted her movement with my hand, her body writhing with sighs, a whimper, when I'd hit her sweet spot. She opened her eyes once and looked at me; but, that's all it took. In the second I kissed her, leaving one hand down below whilst my other wrapped around her in embrace.

I gripped her breasts, hearing the water splash along the sides and over onto the floor.

I loved how I could do this.

I loved it.

It didn't take long from her to go, to come, her privates hypersensitive to my working from then to now.

She broke with me to giggle as she climbed down from the immediate sexual high, smiling at me, to respond back with a hard kiss. I pinched her nipple, and then rubbed around it in circle with my thumb to elongate the pleasurable pain.

~~~

I watched her intensely from the opened door of the Black Room lavatory. With an arm on the doorframe, my eyes set to her curves, how her majestic form literally couldn't be more pulchritudinous. Effeminate, she treated every movement like a pirouette, soft and tender. The slope of her back, the indent of her spine, her lovely bum naked to me; her dark curls slightly moist at their tips swayed when she acted. She had in her hands a mesh babydoll, ebon, and see-through enough so when she slipped it on her pale contours were just seen.

I wandered to her as she stepped into her matching g-string and lifted her up in my arms. At the sink where she'd been brushing her hair, brushing her teeth, her reaction was of surprise and glee. She squealed, giggled, when I picked her up so sudden and with strength. Caught in the moment of hygiene, she wasn't expecting I'd come so soon.

I smiled, and snogged her adorableness.

Her feet wriggled and her toes curled, mingling together.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and held on wherever she could between our walk from the lavatory.

I set her down in the black sheets, the outline of her white form eager. I went to stand up, but she wanted more, guiding my lips, my body down with her by her hands on my face. In my hair she grabbed, giggling when I knelt on the bed and lay on her.

I was at her breasts, at the little white bow between them, when I asked, her hands still atop my head, “Are you still tired?”

She looked away from me.

Her confession would lead only to what she knew would come.

Regardless, I could feel her even when we played.

I crawled my way back to her throat and caressed her hollow.

I could feel her fingers glide down my back, running them parallel, feeling of my traps when they'd push outward and lower.

I left her after laying a while, caressing her mouth as I rose to my knees. I put my hands on my thighs and watched her between me on the bed. She knew what was coming, having played this game. My hands left for her hips, the gorgeous bit of her knickers shown, the babydoll having rolled in our tease.

“Sleep,” I demanded. “Breakfast will be ready shortly.”

She laid the top of her hand on her forehead and sighed.

She knew not to rebuttal.

“I know,” I smacked her thigh giving her reason to look at me with a smirk from her withdrawn sight. “I'm horrible.”

I shifted from the bed to my feet.

I drug the silk sheets, helping her get comfortable, along her body. She eased with me, allowing my access above and below her, atop her where I laid the palm of my hand on her flat stomach and left her with a kiss.

“The best things come to those who wait.”

She flipped to her side to watch my leave.

I turned back around in time for her to smile back at me, her arms about her soft, black silk pillow, her darkened curls strewn in abstract behind her back.

***

“Where'd Hermione run off to this time?”

My bed.

I had an unlit cigarette betwixt my lips when I answered, giving Ron only verbal cues. I didn't feel like hearing him this morning, or ever, really. “She went shopping for some odds and ends with her mum.”

I had the spatula in my hands, frying up some hash browns and onions.

The tea kettle piped, and I leaned over the oven to catch the knob.

“Women, eh?”

“What about them?”

I heard Ron putting his shoes on one at a time in the chair he always sat in.

With the spatula, I flipped over the sausage to let it brown on its other side.

“They're only good for two things.”

“Oh?” My brows rose. I'd gone to find the strawberry-flavored almond milk Hermione was quite fond over in the fridge. When I had taken the carton out, I lifted back up and went rummaging in the cupboards for a glass. I asked, “Do enlighten me of those two things, mate. I must've missed them sometime in my youth.”

“They both start with the letter `S'.”

“Somersaults and surfing?”

Ron bellowed an obnoxious laugh. “No, stupid! Shopping and sex!”

“I can see how you've gotten all the ladies, mate.” I had a tray, making up the plate for Hermione, a Full Monty including tomatoes and mushrooms. I'd taken a lot from her yesterday, and she'd need that energy back.

And how I popped Hermione's cherry, I thought as he continued rambling.

“Look at my sister, mate. She's always gone with your money.”

“True.”

“What's she gone for now? Shoes? You let her have those shoes?”

“I'm such a softy.” Actually, I wanted the girl out of my hair. Her bitching and last night's little shouting match… I just didn't want to see her. I let her go with Cho and the girls out to spend more of my money. I was sure that'd stop in the near future…

“Ha! Pussy! Should have held out. She'd crack eventually.”

“Yeah, well,” I arranged the breakfast in sections so that not one piece combined with another. I even added a flower in a tiny crystal vase, setting it atop the tray. “I don't like her very much. Got her away from me.”

I smiled at the truth of the matter.

“And the sex—baby-making.”

“'Baby-making'.” I reiterated. “I tell you what, mate. Write a book. I bet it'll sell—`book of the millennium'—gold.”

“Their tits are for sucking and fucking.”

“You certainly like pairing things in twos.”

“And nothing says `Good morning!' better than a nice, long blow.”

“That's strange,” I finally turned to look at him and his perverted sneer. “I've never heard Hermione say she's had sex with you.”

“Why would she say so, anyway?” Ron's voice went an octave. A gingered brow rose.

“We've always been close. She tells me everything. When haven't you noticed this fact of life?”

“Our private lives are secret.”

“Your fuck must be pretty useless. She's always depressed around you and your genius.”

“The fuck, mate?” Ron stood straight up. “What are you going on about? Want to say something?”

“That you're an enormous twat. Better?”

He pointed at me and yelled. “You better stay the fuck away from her! Do you hear me?”

“The whole bloody neighbourhood hears you,” I rolled my eyes, the cig at the corner of my mouth bobbing. Shirtless, when I reached over to turn the oven off I could feel the residual warmth of the eyes off my clean-shaven torso. I went back on my feet, looked back at him, “Doesn't mean it's correct. She'll do as she damn well pleases. And if she wants to confide in me, I'll damn well let her do it.”

“You fucking heard me!” Ron barked, walking behind me. “You fucking lay a finger on her, mate…”

“Oooh, Ron—you've got me shaking! Oh, please!” I chuckled, giving an eye roll. I shooed him with my hand. He was at the door. “Go ogle and charm the trousers off of Madam Rosmerta. That's where you're going, right?”

“Fuck you, mate.”

He opened and slammed the door shut.

He gave me the finger in the window.

I waved cutely at him, puckered my lips, batted my eyelashes, and gave him a kiss.

I was sincerely flattered he thought of me before leaving!

~~~

So intensely, I watched her absorb her breakfast.

I never knew one's mouth could be so sensual, so fantastic.

I only wish I'd given her more than three strawberries because by the third…

When I first came in she lay silent. I saw her deliciously sexy form molded by the sheets, the lights of the room shining against the folds of her beautifully long legs, her tiny waist, and the concaved slope of her back. I could see only her hair, the darkened strands against the black silk, her head subtly secretive in the pillow.

Approaching the bed from the foot, I could see her stilled form in sleep. She had a smile on her pink lips, so happy, something that I gave her unequivocally.

I caressed her temple and smelled of her hair as she drank her tea. She'd raised from bed at my call, stretching like a lovable feline, her smile never ceasing.

I placed my hand on her cheek, her jaw, and led her to my waiting lips.

I kissed her with strength, looked into her eyes and said:

“My care for this world is nothing but you.”

She smiled, the tip of her nose grazing mine, and she kissed me.

My fingers bunched her loose tassels where I scratched her head, making her purr after such a comforting meal and intermixed love.

My steady gaze never left hers.

“I want nothing more than to be with you, and you alone. Come with me and escape this drivel.”

“I'll be wherever you go.”

“Let's leave the country.”

She nodded and grinned.

She peck-kissed my mouth.

I took her tray away, setting it on the bedside table.

She waited for me, and I took her by lips, and mine, down into the soft sheets. I held her, an arm wrapped around her back, to me. I wouldn't let her go, and she squeaked when I snuck a tickle or two beneath, her form jumping on me. I laughed, rolled her so she was beneath me and hovered over her.

Her arm, her hand lay above her head, her pale skin so immaculate, so pure against the darkness.

Her large pool of cinnamon, the white lights in her eyes dazzled as she looked up at me with that never leaving smile.

“I apologize that it's taken me time to say this…”

I pushed my hips along her, and at the beckon Hermione's legs wrapped around me.

I lowered an inch or two in height above her face.

I grazed the side of my fingers in her hair, down along her beautiful cheek.

“You're the only one who will ever understand my past.”

Hermione's gaze went about my features, her hand reaching atop my head where she soothingly combed my hair.

“You're the only one who will ever understand me.”

“I wish to be with you forever.”

I smiled. “By this time tomorrow we'll be gone.”

I leaned down to kiss her, to lie upon her, to love her.

Her arms went around my neck and hugged me tight.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

-->