Other Wizard's Dragons

When dealing with a new dragon, or one handled by another for a period of time, they tend to be more volatile than in their natural state. Use extreme caution, since their agitation tends to be exponential.Handling Other Wizard's Dragons

Grimmauld Place was quite hectic with all the bustle. Harry and Ginny's anniversary party was always gigantic, always fully attended, and the talk of the wizards' dailies. Although the party took place on Hogwarts grounds proper, Ginny had all the close family and friends stay with them and the children.

To say that Ginny had become the new Matriarch of the Weasley clan was an understatement.

Upon the birth of the first grandchild, Molly had drawn her beautiful, sweaty and tired daughter into her arms and whispered, "Now you are the mum."

And Ginny knew just what to do on the first day of taking the reigns for hosting her first official gala. Owls were sent, menus were devised, seating arranged, the proverbial works. And that was years ago.

Her events become not only coveted, but enjoyed to the very highest degree.

Except for one couple.


Ron stormed around the guest bedroom of his brother-in-law's home angrily, going from one trunk to another, "Where are my socks, Hermione?"

"Seriously? You packed your own trunk. I haven't a clue." She charmed her hair up in a chignon and added drop earrings quickly without consulting the mirror.

Hermione walked over to her own trunk and pulled out a set of black pumps to wear, using the corner of it for balance as she slipped them on. "If you need a pair, call on Harry and borrow them."

Although she knew he would never ask anyone to borrow a pair (and why he didn't transfigure a pair, she assumed, was only due to his laziness), she added it knowing that this was the most they've spoken to each other in days. Correction, months, she thought to herself. Filling in the void of conversation she added. "That, or you could add removing everything from the trunk folding each piece as you put it back, and you'll end up finding it, I am most certain."

"You are such a bitch." Ron whispered, supposing he was quiet enough to get away with it.

That is when she turned on him.

Obviously, he had never really, truly seen bitch. Until now.


It was official. They were no longer.

The house was quiet, since the clock showed it was way past the time at which they were expected for the party. He had left as soon as she explained that his childish ways were no longer tolerable, and if she wanted a child with him, she would have bore one already.

She added, well before she could stop her uncustomary stream-of-conscious, that she was quite through with mothering a man-child who obviously wanted a provider instead of a lover.

And something tugged inside her. All her rage constricted and like a fire cut off from oxygen and a fuel source, and burned itself out quickly. Was her subconscious that intertwined with her daily life that she chose those paths?

They could have had common interests.

They could have had more equal roles (perhaps it was too easy for him to stay).

They could have had passion.

They could have….

Hermione reminded herself it could have been worse.

They could have been magically bound.

They could have had kids.

They could have needed to sell a house together and divide assets.

And with that, Hermione strolled out of the room and closed the door, seeking the one place where she could gain some serenity.

Hermione swooped into the Library silently and leaned her forehead against the door as it barely made the clicking latch noise. Silence. Peace.

Her head quickly slid through her shared history with Ron. They had still not gotten married. They still didn't have children—not that order was specifically required as Molly was concerned. Their fights were always so epic and in her naivety had she translated that as desire? Passion?

"Hello, Hermione." The baritone voice stroked up her spine as she turned toward it; her back and shoulder blades scraping the fancy woodwork of the door.

His eyes, the color of an angry sea caressed her as he moved in her direction. "You look beautiful." When they met hers, they burned with emotion.

"Charlie-" Hermione started, but stopped as his arms caged her to the door. His breath smelled faintly of firewhiskey, and his hair was mussed but he smelled so good and clean even so.

"Good evening, Charlie."

"Mmmmm. I love how you say my name." Charlie looked down at her as she brought up her face to peer at him quizzically. "It is so arousing, hearing you say my name. I wish I could hear you scream it."

Hermione blushed as she heard him, wondering where this was coming from. "Charlie… What on earth has gotten into you?"

"The walls." His reply was immediate.

"What?" Hermione whispered. "That makes no sense-"

"We share a common wall here, Hermione. I heard everything last night. Everything this morning…well…the slow and laborious springs squeaks dutifully creaking fifteen, or what, maybe twenty times under you last night. His grunts and snoring or his grunt and complaints about breakfast? I came here when I heard your argument about socks beginning. I couldn't take it any more…." Charlie closed the gap between them, hovering just far enough from her so as not to touch her. "You deserve better."

Hermione, speechless, turned her head to the side, her chin to her shoulder. Gods, how many times had she guiltily confessed this to herself, only to punish herself by being more attentive to Ron. Being more giving.

It was strange to hear it coming from another person's mouth. She wasn't going to argue, and she was not in a mood to be contrary.

"I want to give you better, Hermoine. Look at me." Charlie breathed the words quietly over her exposed neck. She made no move to look him in the eye again.

His breath made her body shiver from the heat of it, "But I know you are too good for me too." His hands slid down the door, lower, "Please look at me." This time, Hermione's eyes met with his and were riveted . "Please let me show you what I mean."

And before she could even begin the process of protestation, Charlie's hand had found the hem of her skirt, hiked it and was cupping her sex, and his middle finger skimming her cleft though the silk material. Hermione's knees buckled slightly at the soft, promising strokes.

Hermione registered the wrongness of what he was doing, but at the same time, she was so aroused that she was unable to move. Just as she thought she would groan, Charlie had removed his hand, jerked an embroidered sitting chair close and grabbed Hermione' knee, positioning her foot to perch on the cushion. He jerked her skirt up over her knee to expose her satiny knickers to him.

His growl was exquisite. Hermione watched his eyes dialate at the view, knowing he saw the wetness of them. And within seconds, his fingers found themselves against her stomach and under the elastic.

Charlie's fingers were so strong, and yet so nimble. Hermione whimpered as he stroked her. It was impossible for Hermione to hold back her heightening pleasure as he rubbed her skillfully.

Legs shaking, she felt herself on the edge, and Hermione whispered, "Yes." To which his fingers all stepped up the pace, four fingers pressing firmly against her mound, his hand jittering back and forth, only his middle finger still slick with her wetness flittering over her clit, making her burst loudly into her first orgasm by another Weasley's hand. But before she could even begin to come down enough to compare, the man dropped down to the floor.

Charlie was on his knees, the burly, strong man had buried his face between her legs, hoisting up her support leg over his shoulder, his hand holding her upright as he lapped at her entrance. His moans echoed as he worked his tongue quickly against her sex.

He shouldered her other leg at that moment, both legs on either side of his head as he, she realized, suckled on her. And his fingers sought her entrance, slow at first, but as they became slick, pistoning within her, not allowing her come down from the initial shockwave.

Hermione grabbed a handful of hair, partially for balance, partially to direct his head on an angle, feeling his tongue slither, and hearing him whispering to her in between licks, "You deserve this, Hermione…you should be made to come over, and over, and over…You taste so good….Fuck, you are so fucking wet for me…." And with that, he pressed up and forward as his tongue flattened right against her nub, jerking at it still and Hermione was unable to hold back her second orgasm.

She bucked and twisted against him as he wrestled her through it, speeding up his fevered pitch and she was lost to her primal reaction, she tugged at his hair hard and pressed his head dominantly to her entrance, pressing herself as hard to his mouth as she could.

Another Hermione would be ashamed, but this one rode his face for all he was worth. This Hermione took her pleasure greedily. "I want you, Charlie." She hitched breathily as her contractions wrung her insides.

He quickly begin fumbling with his zipper, not wanting to remove his mouth from her, and found a position where he could straighten his leg behind him enough to slide his zipper all the way down. Hermione tugged his head as she put her feet down, savoring his half-lidded eyes, and his tongue still searching contact with her pussy. "Do you want to fuck me?" Hermione's voice sounded so alien to herself, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, Hermione… Here." He spun her onto the floor, the plush rug cushioning her luxuriously. "I want you to show yourself to me." His voice had no trace of question as he stood, tugging his waistband down.

She gazed at the man towering above her, now completely naked. His shoulders were wide, but his waist tapered with steel-cut precision. His muscled body taut with anticipation, good lords, shivered as he gripped his cock slowly and stroked himself drinking in her state of wantonness.

So she did as he asked. Her knees dropped wide and she exposed herself to him. It was so arousing, that Hermione couldn't help but to touch herself in response, grinding her fingers slowly over her throbbing core, smearing her wetness, teasing herself as well as him with her slick womanhood.

"Charlie, I need you. Please fuck-" And before she could finish her sentence, he was lining himself up to her waiting core. Her heels clasped and yanked him toward her, and their voices both exclaimed in pleasure as he pushed himself deep inside.

Hermione felt him fill her. A pain so keen, splendid and unknown disappeared when he began moving in a slow tempo. Her wetness helped him glide easier and easier until she was losing her control yet again.

Charlie could see her eyes glazing, and instead of letting her drift off during her orgasm, he did what he knew would pinpoint her focus. His hands found the span between her belly button and her mound, and pressed and pushed up gently but firmly, seeing her nub peek out above where he joined inside her.

His other hand's fingers began to flitter at the spot where they joined, and began jerking her off with his fingertips as his cock slid rapidly in and out of her. He wanted her to scream as she came apart.

He needed it. He needed to hear her scream.

Hermione's eyes shot wide open, feeling him fuck and frig her and she looked down. Charlie's knees were wide and he used all his leg muscles in order to keep him upright and still fuck her deeply.

She looked him straight in the eye as she felt her insides constrict around him, and as his fingertips worked her clit, her whole body began to convulse with pleasure. Her mouth opened and she let those overwhelming screams escape as her orgasm milked at his thick cock.

His fingers were relentless as he drew out deep, prolonged shivers deep inside her until he asked, "Inside you, or out?"

"Inside me, Charlie…Yes!" She hissed through clenched teeth, panting and watching him pound into her. And she felt as he stiffened, finding his release deep in her.

"You are mine… Mine…" His body and voice trembled as his pleasure played out, "He can't keep you from me anymore."

Hermione reached her fingers behind his neck and drew his mouth to hers. Their lips completed their bodies' circuit, and their magics mingled within their joining.

Fiercely, she teased his tongue with hers, drawing his body to press down onto her, needing his weight to keep her pinned to the floor, and with a tug to the side, she rolled him onto his back.

"I was never his. Not truly. Not like this, and never again." And without hesitation she began to move again.

Her fingertips skimmed his chest as she made her own tempo this time, riding him without restraint. Finding her body acutely aroused, she claimed him unabashedly as she built up speed, his body perfectly matched for hers, every contour made solely for her pleasure.

Sliding her hands over his chest, she flicked at his nipples and followed their caresses with her tongue, making him moan deeply, feeling the reverberations deep inside of her.

Hermione felt her passion spiral as she pushed herself upright and rode him harder. Not ever feeling this sensation before, she let it flow from her and let her body take control.

Sweating, panting, tightly-bound nerve endings sending lightening-strength shocks through her, feeling his hands reach up to tease her breasts, feeling the tugging at her nipples as she rocked up and down his length. Each time she slammed down, she felt her clit graze the firm skin over his pelvic bone exquisitely, so good, she thought, oh, so fucking good.

Succumbing to the heat, she felt her insides draw him deeper and convulse around him and she cried out. Animalistic and foreign, yet distinctly her, she continued, faster and faster. Louder and louder, until he was clenching her hips and meeting her stroke for stroke.

Charlie's hips rose up, crashing their bodies together harder and harder until he too met her orgasm with his own; his clench-jawed growl of release filling the room as he filled her with jetting throbs.

She stilled, looking down at this man, and felt their aftershocks throughout her whole body. And it dawned on her that she had never felt this way before. Her body tingled with a pleasure she, until now, had never experienced.

She moved and he guided her off of him and tucked her body next to his, rolling onto his side to look at her, stroking the palm of his free hand languorously over her abdomen. "What do we do now, Hermione?" Charlie's face clouded with concern. His frown showed his turmoil, thinking of family and the suffering that was bound to happen, not knowing that Hermione's and Ron's relationship was irrevocably severed.

"Shhh." Hermione's fingers traced his lips, then smoothed over the crease furrowed between his brows. "We've done no wrong here, Charlie. Ron and I broke our ties not too long after you walked out of your room."

His surprise shimmered over his face, and Hermione felt his whole body relax in relief. Tucking her body closer to him, she skimmed the long scar across his chest reverently with her middle finger before wrapping her arm over his chest and moulding her body to his. Then he whispered softly to her and gazed into her eyes. "Are you okay, Hermione…I mean…with my brother…?" His face thinly veiled his concern about what she was feeling, and how he should handle her and this particular turn of events.

She realized that he was attempting analyze her. "I read your book, Charlie. Don't worry, I'm not another wizard's dragon." And she couldn't suppress her tiny grin.