Okay, I'm taking a mini-break from my Trust Me series to write a brief oneshot in defense of poor Ron, who loses Hermione to Snape, Blaise or Malfoy in coutless Marriage Law scenarios. I can't stand it anymore, and I must write a nice juicy bit of smut for Ron and Hermione, who I love deeply.
Hermione had thought that Scringmour would be more intelligent than Fudge, but this was ridiculous. Obscene, really. A marriage law. How in Merlin's name had the Wizengamot let it happen.
The headline in the Daily Prophet said it all:
All to Marry by Nineteen! Repopulation the Highest Priority! Purebloods to Become Extinct
After the horrible losses in the war, it had been determined that the best course of action was to produce as many children as possible in order to replenish the wizarding world. Some idiot, following in the footsteps of Percy Weasley (may he rest in peace), decided that the best way to accomplish this was to force everyone to be married by the age of nineteen, and to produce a child by twenty. On top of this, no pureblood wizards were allowed to marry each other, in order to reduce prejudice and the rate of Squibs. Muggleborns were suddenly the most wanted, the most attractive mate to have.
Within three days of the final announcement, and after the desperate protests of the elite who had escaped indictment as Death Eaters, the owls had begun to flock desperately across the skies.
Hermione supposed she should be flattered. Thirty owls had arrived that morning, and her mother was at wits end about the mess of feathers and droppings. A Scourgify and her mother stopped complaining, but began to moan about the barbarity of such a law. Hermione had shut herself in her room and read through the proposals. No sign of the one she wanted.
Viktor? Sweet of him, but no.
Ernie Macmillion? No.
Draco Malfoy? That was unexpected, and unsettling. The git might have turned to their side, but she'd always thought he'd hated her. She had the disturbing vision of him fondling himself to the picture that the Prophet had posted of her in her bathing suit six months ago on vacation. Fame could be a terrible thing.
Snape! Goodness. That was….well…interesting, but rather frightening too. He wasn't even a pureblood, didn't need to worry. She wondered if it was a forgery. She cast a revealing charm, and lo and behold, the signature changed to that of George Weasley. The prat.
She sucked in a breath. Weasley. She should be at the Burrow, Molly had invited her. But she'd wanted to spend a few weeks with her mother before starting her Transfiguration apprenticeship. And…she couldn't face him, not as the debate for this damned law had raged on the Wireless. She didn't want to know what he thought.
They'd never quite managed to make their feelings known to each other, with the War ranging. It'd been almost a year since the defeat of Tom Riddle, but much of the first months, Ron had spent in St. Mungo's, in rehabilitation. He'd been scarred, and he hadn't wanted to see her. She'd left, gone to France with her parents, applied for this apprenticeship, while she found out he'd entered Auror training.
They hadn't seen each other in months, though they had news through Harry. One of the owl's had held a postcard from Harry and Ginny, off in America on their honeymoon. They'd been married almost as soon as Harry had woken from his coma after the final battle. They were so very happy.
A tear streaked down her cheek, and she threw herself on the bed, and wept.
She didn't hear the pop of Apparition, but she stiffened slightly as she felt long arms wrap around her, comforting her. But that smell, the smell of warm bread and fresh air and the slightest trace of musk. Ron.
"Shush, 'Mione. Everything will be all right."
Maybe she was dreaming, maybe she was crazy. She didn't care anymore. He was here. She turned her face up to his, and brought her lips to his, seeking solace in a single stolen kiss.
He gasped, and she thought he would back away, leaving her more lonely than ever. But he crushed her to him, devouring her mouth with his, opening her mouth with a questing tongue.
He tasted salty and uttering delicious, addictive. Her hands threaded in his hair, and his hands stroked her back, stopping when they encountered the bare flesh at the base of her spine where her shirt gaped from her jeans. She whimpered, desperate for his touch.
He drew back, as though she had scared him away. He hopped off the bed.
"Merlin, I'm a prat. I'm sorry, I'm doing this all wrong."
She blinked at him. Clueless as ever. He had been doing it exactly right. She brought a finger up to touch her lips. They had kissed once before, at Dumbledore's funeral, but never after. That had been chaste, compared to what had just transpired.
"Hermione, I…I'm been meaning to talk to you, to see you." He looked increasingly uncomfortable, and she was sure that if she could see them, the tips of his ears were red. His hair was long, to partly cover the livid scar that ran across his cheek and down his neck. It fell like fire to past his shoulders. His hands hovered nervously around his waist, and she realized that he was trying to cover evidence of an erection under his robes.
She gave a small smile and muttered. "Took you long enough. I haven't seen you for months."
His hackles raised, and he grew defensive, as he always did. She could always make him mad. "You haven't made much of an effort to see me either. Mum keeps asking after you."
"Tell your mother I'm sorry."
"You should tell her yourself."
She got up off the bed, and stood, her hands on her hips. "Just what are you here for anyway? Got a break from your Auror training, and thought you'd drop in on an old friend for a bit of a snog, since it would be too much trouble to talk up any new girls? Come to complain about the marriage law?"
"I'm exempt, at least while I'm an Auror."
"Oh." Her stomach dropped, as she realized that her last hope was gone. It wasn't like a Hogwarts Ball, where he'd ask her out of desperation. He didn't have to dance.
Her pain must have been evident on her face, and he spoke. "But you're not."
"No, I'm not."
"Hermione, would you like…I mean…I could, we could…"
Anger flared in her eyes. She flicked out her wand, tempted to hex him, but she cast a silencing charm on the door. "Don't you dare take pity on me, Ronald Weasley. I'll have you know I've had thirty proposals in the last three hours. I'll do just fine, thank you very much."
He stepped closer, and she realized how very tall he was now that he towered over her. "With who! I'll hex the whole lot, and Apparate them to Antarctica." He was very angry, his blue eyes flaring with jealousy. Merlin, she had missed their rows. He was dead sexy when he was angry.
She hissed her rage at him, her nipples hardening almost against her will. "And leave me with what options to marry? Mundungus Fletcher?"
"Me, dammit!" He gripped her arms and yanked her up against him, crushing her mouth with his. The passion of their anger flared to a bonfire as they locked together, tongues dueling.
He fell to his knees and brought her with him, his lips moving to her cheeks, her jaw. Her hands found his hair again and she clutched him to her as his hands roamed over her torso, skimming over her waist, brushing the sides of her breasts. This time, when she whimpered, he understood, and he brought a palm up to her nipple as he kissed her neck. She pushed against his chest, and he hissed in frustration, letting her go.
She whipped the shirt over her head, and his eyes widened in appreciation. She reached behind her back for the clasp of her bra, praying she wouldn't regret her Gryffindor bravery, and as the scrap of fabric fell in front of her she found herself lifted from the floor by strong arms and placed on the bed.
She felt his eyes on her, almost reverent, and she growled, desperate to feel his touch. He bent forward and captured a nipple in his mouth, licking tentatively, as though unsure if his actions met with her desires. She arched up from the bed, shocked at the tremendous pleasure that coursed through her. She had read of this in books, imagined it many times in the privacy of her bed and her dreams, but this was incredible.
Encouraged by her obvious approval, he sucked gently, then harder as her hands returned to tangle in his hair. Fingertips moved up to stroke the opposite breast, and she purred. Unconsciously, he moved his long torso on top of her, and she could feel his erection poking at her thigh through his pants and robes.
Her hands moved from his hair and pulled at his robes, and they caught on his chin; he was reluctant to give up his position at her breast.
"Off!" she commanded, and for once he obeyed, and the black Auror's robes came off over his head with some fumbling and a few giggles. His undershirt followed, and he gasped as she pressed a hand against the prominent bulge in his pants.
She looked into his eyes, and saw desire equal to her own. She tugged at the buttons of his pants, and he swatted her away, fumbling with them as she undid her own, wiggling beneath him to get out of her jeans as best she could. He groaned at the sight she made, her breast jiggling enticingly. He reared up and stepped off the bed, hopping to get out of the damned pants. She gasped as the boxers came away with the pants, and an impressive erection sprang free from a nest of red curls.
He was huge, his cock matching the size of his 6' 4" frame. She could not connect her book knowledge with the reality of all of that pulsing red flesh inside of her. Still, she felt herself grow wet and swollen, the thought of him inside her stimulating her arousal.
She looked up at his face, and he was blushing furiously, unable to meet her eyes. She knelt on the bed, clad in only her white cotton panties. She reached out a hand, tentatively.
"Can…can I touch it?"
"Yes!" his voice cracked, and she giggled. She touched the smooth skin, the veins pulsing under the skin. She almost drew back her hand, he was so hot she thought he would burn her. He hissed at her touch, and she wrapped her small hand around him. He thrust against her grip, and her breathing quickened in response. She stroked her hand up and down, and gasped as his foreskin retracted slightly in response. She pulled back more, and revealed the glistening tip, a drop of pre-cum forming from her ministrations. Her instinct was to lick it off, and she bent forward, but he pushed her back.
"No, I…I'll just…I won't be able to hold back…"
She grunted in response, and reached for him, but his hand brushed her abdomen, and slipped into the waistband of her panties. She stopped breathing. His finger traced down slowly through her curls and touched her labia, damp and swollen from wanting him.
"Gods, Hermione, you are so wet." His fingers left her, and she moaned in distress. He pulled the garment down, baring her to his hungry eyes. He knelt on the floor, and his finger returned, pushing through her slick folds in exploration. She leaned forward, unable to remain upright with him driving her crazy, gripping his shoulders to steady herself, her knees far apart on the bed.
"Is this for me, 'Mione? You want me?" He whispered, as though unable to believe it.
His finger brushed her clit, and she let out a little scream. "Yes!"
He repeated the action, and she bit her bottom lip and whimpered, her hips involuntarily thrusting against his hand. He sped up and she began to pant with the sharp pleasure of it. His fingered slipped in her increasing wetness, a happy accident as he found her vagina and she gasped. "Inside, please…"
He slowly pushed a finger into her and her nails bit into the pale freckled skin of his shoulders. She watched his face as his eyes were riveted to his hand against her mound, an intense look of concentration on his face. His index finger embedded within her completely, and she sighed, clenching against it in welcome. "You are so tight." He panted.
"Am I hurting you?" Suddenly, his face came up, and blue eyes met brown. She shook her head, ecstasy naked on her face, and her hips jerked against his hand. Their eyes remained locked as his thumb found her nub again, and he brushed it lightly. She rocked against his hand with increasing speed, and another finger thrust into her. His eyes glazed in passion, his lips open in concentration as he stared openly into her face, devouring her reaction to the movement of his hand.
The wave building in her broke, and the force of her orgasm drenched his fingers with her essence. She fell back, unable to remain upright any longer, and he followed her, kissing her flushed skin, taking a nipple into his mouth. "So, beautiful" he whispered against her skin. "I've dreamed of you since third year, love, I've wanted to give you pleasure. You are so beautiful."
She closed her eyes, praying this wasn't a dream. She felt his hardness against her thigh, and she had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted him inside of her. Now.
"Now, Ron. Please." She wrapped her legs around his calves, urging him toward her. He lifted his head, looking into her eyes once again, looking for something. He pushed upward again, and knelt between her thighs, positioning his cock at the entrance his fingers had been in moments before.
Excitement flooded her as she felt the naked tip of him slide into her, but he held back, his hands moving to grip her hips, to keep her from moving.
"Marry me." It was more a statement than a question, but there was only one answer.
"Yes." She whispered. "Only you."
He eased into her slowly, until he encountered the resistance of her hymen. He seemed lost for a moment, tension evident on his face. She bent her knees and tried to move, and his will broke, and he thrust into her to the hilt, and she screamed.
"I'm sorry…sorry." He held himself rigid and still, and she adjusted to the size of him within her, the invasion of her core. He whispered in her ear, "I love you." The slight pain was nothing to the joy that flooded her heart with those words, and he began to move slowly, then faster and faster.
She raised her hips to meet him, the unbearable fullness driving her mad. Each thrust changed pain for intense pleasure, and they worked together to find fulfillment. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he groaned at the shift in angle, which increased both their pleasure tenfold.
His pace increased, and what had been gentle was now frantic, a pounding and slapping of sweat slick flesh accompanied by a symphony of grunts and moans. "Come for me, 'Mione. I can't hold on any more."
And she did. Stars burst behind clenched eyelids as she spasmed with climax, shaking as he hit her cervix and exploded, his seed filling her. Her muscles clenched tight around him, drawing him deeper and milking the last of the essence she had so craved, and he roared with the last of his orgasm, collapsing against her, spent.
His weight was welcome; the press of his body, wide shoulders and hard stomach against hers a balm to her soul, fulfilling a need she had carried with her for more than six years. "I love you," she whispered into his hair, sending another prayer to whatever powers that be that she was not dreaming.
He gripped her to him and rolled onto his side, still embedded within her. He kissed the tip of her pert nose, and smiled. "I think we waited much to long to do that. Thank you for not making me wait 'til our wedding night."
She punched him lightly in the shoulder. "You great prat. You could have had me anytime if you'd only gotten up the nerve to ask me out."
His eyebrow arched in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that if I had had the nerve to ask you to the Yule Ball in fourth year, that we could have been doing this four years ago?"
She nodded, and he groaned. "I am the stupidest bugger on the face of the earth. Are you sure you want to marry me?"
"Quite sure. Now, shut up and kiss me."
And he did.