Day Fourteen
Two weeks.
It’s been two weeks.
The door creaks open.
“Harry love?” Hermione’s voice envelopes him. “Sweetheart, can you try to eat?”
“No,” he mumbles stubbornly, his voice muffled by the blanket pulled tight over his head. The bed dips behind him, and he smells oranges. Ron.
“We’re worried about you, mate,” Ron whispers, rubbing soothing circles on Harry’s back. “Can you talk to us?”
“No,” he says stubbornly again, almost instinctively. “I’m fine,”
“Harry,” Ron sighs.
“Ronald,” he huffs back. He hears a scoff, and he’s sure they’re having a silent conversation above his head.
“Do you want to be alone?”
“Yes,”
He can picture the surprised looks they’re giving each other.
“Okay, baby,” Ron murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, the only part sticking out of the covers. “If you need us, just- just call, okay?”
“Okay,”
The dip behind him is gone. The door creaks shut.
Why did he do that?
✦✦✦✦✦
“Is Master Harry alright?” Dizzy asks, standing at the bottom of the stairs, wringing her hands nervously.
Hermione sighs. She still feels conflicted about Harry having anotherhouse elf in his employ, but it's an issue for another day. She thinks of lying to Dizzy, assuring her everything is fine, but she can’t bring herself to. “No, he’s not Dizzy,” she murmurs, slumping down the stairs. “I don’t know what to do,”
“He’ll be okay,” Ron assures her, sitting beside her. “We knew this might happen,”
“He was doing so well!” Hermione sobs. It didn’t take much for her to start crying lately. She tucks herself into Ron’s chest, and he wraps his arm around her.
Then she hears footsteps, and she jumps, pulling away. Arthur walks by, looking at them concerned. “Alright, you two?”
“Fine, Dad,” Ron mumbles.
“Alright,” Arthur says hesitantly but continues on his way.
“No privacy,” Hermione mutters angrily. She can feel her emotions crashing around her, forcing themselves to be known. Usually, she can keep them at bay, managing one at a time until they are tucked away on shelves like a perfectly organized library. But today, the shelves are tumbling over, dumping emotions everywhere. She feels sad and angry and angry that she’s sad, and on top of it all is this great big ball of need in her chest.
She feels a small hand on her knee, which pulls her from her spiral. “Dizzy helps Wheezys wash their socks today. No one bothers Dizzy there,”
She feels a flash of indignation that Dizzy is helping with chores, but then she realizes what the elf is saying. She sniffs. “Really?”
The elf nods. “Dizzy helps in the garden now,”
And pop! She’s gone.
“What was that about?” Ron asks, confused. Hermione grabs his hand and drags him away, guiding him to the laundry room, her eyes landing on the spare closet. Perfect. She performs a small extension charm and a silencing charm before shoving him inside, squeezing in after him.
“Lumos,” she whispers, sending a small light above their heads. It’s tight even with the extension, but she sighs in relief, knowing no one is looking at her cry.
“I got you,” Ron murmurs, pulling her into his chest as she sobs again. “I got you,”
He lets her cry until she can’t anymore, her tears turning to heaving breaths until those turn to softer, slower breathing.
“You want to talk about it?”
“He was doing so well,” she sniffs. “I just- it gave me hope for a few days, and I feel like it’s been ripped out from under me,”
“Hey,” Ron says gently, cupping her face with his hands. “He’s alive, yeah? He’s ours, that’s hope enough,”
“I love you,” she says, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry I’ve been so weird,”
“What?” he laughs. “You’ve been fine,”
“You’re sure?”
“I promise,”
“You’re not mad that we- we haven’t had like sex or anything yet?”
“What?” he asks, looking shocked. “Of course not,”
She sighs, feeling a weight lift off her shoulder. “I thought because you and Harry had- that you would be upset, we haven't- haven’t done much,”
“No, love, of course not,” he assures her, tucking her back against his chest. “I know you’ve been struggling. You can’t relax when you're stressed,”
She feels silly. Of course, he would know that. Her boys know her better than she knows herself sometimes.
“I also know,” he murmurs in that low tone she’s only heard him use on Harry. “That you’re going a bit mad about it, huh? All worked up?”
“God, yes,” she groans. “It’s so frustrating. I’m all pent up, but at the same time, I can’t relax enough to enjoy it, and I just end up in this big cycle and-mmm!”
Ron cuts her rant off with a kiss, switching his weight so he’s pressing her into the wall, his body suddenly taking up much more space. She moans into his mouth, the surprise overtaking her brain.
“We just need to turn off that big beautiful brain of yours,” he says, their lips still close enough that she can feel them move against hers. “Do you want that ‘Mione? Do you want me to turn your brain off?”
“Please,” she whimpers.
“Are you going to be good for me?” he asks, his hand sneaking into her waistband.
She whimpers her approval, desperate for more, desperate to stop thinking just for once. He captures her mouth again, and she whines when he bites her bottom lip. He tugs her shorts and her underwear off, which is a bit of a struggle in the tight space.
“You feel so good,” he sighs into her mouth as his fingers find their target. “Could touch you for hours,”
“Really?” she squeaks.
“Yes,” he moans. “But I also…”
Her breathing intensifies as he grabs her hips firmly, pinning her against the wall before sinking to his knees.
“Oh,” she gasps. “Oh Ron, you don’t-”
He bites her leg just hard enough, making her hiss. “Brain off, remember? You just sit back,”
She can’t even argue, too engrossed with the way he attacks her flesh, biting and kissing at her legs, his hand cupping her ass. When his tongue flicks over her clit she bites back a scream, knowing her silencing charm can only do so much. She tangles her hands in his hair, not knowing what to do with her hands. His moan of approval sparks a flash of pride in her, like she just got high marks on a paper.
“Ron,” she begs when she feels like she’s about to go mad. “Ron, please,”
He pulls away, and for just a moment, she thinks he’ll leave her there, just on the brink of that fuzzy feeling she’s been chasing.
“Baby, please,” she begs again, rocking her hips.
“What do you want, baby? You gotta ask for it,”
“I wanna cum, please, oh Ron, please make me cum,” she begs. He grins at her admission before diving back between her legs, letting her tug him closer by his hair. She gasps when his fingers join the fray, firmly brushing across her clit. Then she feels one dip lower, and she panics, but then it’s pressing into her, and it feels so good she thinks she might cry.
“Fuck!” she sobs out as he tips her over the edge. He slows his touches down but works her through it until she has to push him off from the overstimulation.
“There’s my good girl,” he coos as he returns to his feet. He presses his warm body against her once more, and she wraps her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. “How was that?”
“So good,” she mutters, feeling floaty.
“Brain off?”
“Mhmmm,” she sighs happily, kissing at his neck. They stay there for a while, wrapped in each other’s embrace, until she slowly returns to reality. Suddenly, she’s very aware of the shorts at her feet and the sticky feeling between her legs. “Um, thanks,” she mutters, feeling embarrassed.
He laughs into her neck. “And the brains back on,”
“Yeah,” she giggles, feeling sheepish. “Sorry,”
“Don’t be,” he assures her with another kiss. “Feel better?”
“A little,” she blushes, pulling her shorts up and casting away her mess. “Still worried about him,”
“Well, let's go take care of him then,” Ron says simply. “Dunno why we let him kick us out,”
“He wanted to be alone,”
“He never wants to be alone,”