Everything was pink. As his fist wrapped around the headboard rails, Ron felt a mix of shock and discomfort. This bed of pink sheets and frilly ribbons was where Hermione had slept as a child.
And they were fucking on it.
That was the only word to describe what they were doing. Skin slapping skin, hands grasping hips, grasping breasts, grasping sheets, gasping breaths. Hermione moaned below him, and the words coming out her mouth urged him on.
“Harder,” she gasped. “Fuck me harder.”
Ron’s hips sped up, and he looked down to see his cock disappear completely inside her. Feeling like he was ready to go over the edge, he slowed down.
“Don’t stop,” she protested.
“Hold on, I don’t want to come yet,” he explained, his hips rolling slowly.
“I want you to. I want your come all over me,” she pleaded, pushing her hips against his. Ron felt himself grow even harder upon hearing her words, and he moved faster. Just a few seconds later, he pulled out.
“Hermione-” He grunted, his come splattering all over her bare stomach. He had tried to concentrate it to a small area, but she was writhing underneath him, and he felt his control was just out of reach. He fell beside her and reached for his wand before her hand stopped him.
“Leave it,” she mumbled.
“But you’re dirty.”
“I know,” she said, before she turned to face the wall.
They fell asleep, Ron’s feet sticking out from underneath a pink comforter. They had no need to put clothes on. Hermione’s parents were still in Australia, with no memory of this house, this bedroom, this daughter.
She hadn’t been able to restore their memories.
Ron turned onto his stomach and saw a picture of Hermione’s parents on the nightstand. With a twist in his chest, he closed his eyes. It was like sleeping in a tomb.
When Ron woke up, Hermione was already downstairs, looking out the window.
“I need to sell the house,” she said, sipping coffee.
“I’m here to help,” Ron replied, kissing her shoulder. Hermione turned towards him though her gaze was fixed at a point just above his left shoulder. Ron tried to look in her eyes, but she blinked.
She began washing the mug. Ron stood idly at the kitchen counter, his arms and legs feeling like they took up too much room. Hermione stood at the sink, and Ron wished he could just see her face. Maybe then, he could help.
Just then, she turned around and grabbed him by the waist. Her lips smashed against his, and he felt her hands plunge beneath his waistband, his body reacting as she took her clothes off.
“Hermione, we should-” he mumbled against her lips.
“I want you to fuck me,” she said, “Right here, on the kitchen table.”
“But don’t you think we should-”
“Please, Ron. I need you,” she pleaded. He kissed her, gently at first, before she kissed him back, her teeth hungrily pulling at his bottom lip. She turned around and bent over the table.
“I want it like this,” she said, her face against the cold table.
“Really? Are you comfortable like that?” he asked, his breath hitching as he looked down to see her below him. His hands kneaded her arse, his cock growing harder by the second. He slipped a finger inside her. She was already sopping wet.
“I don’t care, just do it,” she muttered. He plunged into her, and she hissed at the sensation. Hermione groaned as his hips sped up, her cheek pressed against the table, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck, Hermione, you feel so good,” he rasped, his hands running along her sides. Grabbing his hand, she moved it onto her arse.
“Spank me,” she instructed.
“Spank me. Fuck me harder,” she pleaded.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed, his hips slamming into her, his hands rough against her smooth body.
“I want you to,” she begged. Ron noticed the desperation in her voice, her eyes still squeezed shut. He nodded as he firmed his grip on her. He glanced down to see his cock plunge in and out of her, his knuckles turning white against her skin.
“Yes,” she moaned. Her mouth lolled open, the corners turning up in a smile.
“Yeah?” he grunted as he moved his hand to her shoulder. She arched her back, her torso rising from the table.
“God, yes, fuck me like that. Spank me,” she groaned.
Throwing his head back, he smacked her arse with his palm. Hermione wailed in pleasure. He spanked her again. He felt dizzy as he fucked her over the table, her arse turning red with his handprints.
“Harder,” she breathed, her eyes squeezed shut again.
“I can’t-“ Ron began. He didn’t have enough air to finish his sentence. I can’t go any harder.”
“Make it hurt. I deserve it,” she whimpered, her voice shaking.
Ron felt the pull at the base of his cock, and he knew he was close. He didn’t want to come; her words made him want to turn her over and kiss her, feel her arms wrap around him.
“Punish me like the filth I am,” she pleaded, like a prayer.
When Ron was in 5th year, he couldn’t understand how conflicting emotions could fuse together. But now, he was eighteen, and he was fucking his girlfriend in her parents’ kitchen. Hermione’s tight warmth wrapped around him, while her words sent a cold tingle down his spine. Her body curved against the flat table, stretching away from him as he pulled her closer. He gripped her hips tighter; he knew he would come soon. Surely his fingers would leave bruises on her hips.
Punish me like the filth I am, she had said. He felt like he was going to cry.
“Hermione, I’m gonna come,” he whispered through gritted teeth. She slid off the table then and took him in her mouth. He came before he could push her off, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that she had swallowed.
“What-“ Ron leaned against the table to catch his breath. “What was that?”
She wiped her mouth and poured herself a glass of water.
“Nothing,” she said, and she turned towards the window.
“You said you deserved it- to feel hurt,” Ron said, gently.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she replied, turning her head away from him.
“You don’t deserve that-“
“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” Hermione shouted, and the glass in her hands broke. Her blood dripped on the kitchen floor, and she tried to grasp her wand. Ron did a quick reparo and reached for her hands.
“No, let me-“ she started, but Ron was quicker. Murmuring a wound care spell, her hands became clear of blood.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Hermione, can we-“
“I need to contact a realtor,” she stated. Her eyes fixed on the door, she dressed and walked out the door, leaving Ron in the kitchen.
For nearly a month after they returned from Australia, Hermione had stayed in their studio flat, staring out the window or lying in bed. Owl posts from the Ministry went unopened. Her wand lay unused on the bedside table. They slept side by side each night, but Ron felt like she was fading in front of him.
Some nights, Hermione went out for walks, leaving her wand behind. Ron always offered to go with her, but she always shrugged him off. Pushing his hurt feelings aside, he would tell her to be careful. He would lie in bed and stare angrily at his watch. But his anger always faded as he felt her climb back into bed, her hands cold.
“I love you,” she would whisper as he would pretend to sleep. He never showed that he was awake. She never said those words during the day. She barely said anything to him then.
She started waking up at dawn to cook full breakfasts. Then, Ron began coming home to dinner. She began cleaning the flat until it smelled perpetually of cleaning sprays. Ron thought of a spinning top as he watched her scrub and cook, whirling until it came time to fall. Ron wanted to tell her to just use magic to do everything, but something about Hermione’s distant eyes, the wrinkle by her brow, her shaky hands as she placed the food on his plate, made him bite back his frustration.
I can be happy for the both of us. For now, he thought.
Ron stood by the sink and watched her scrub the pots and pans, his stomach full from another dinner. He brushed a soap bubble out of her hair, his fingers lingering by her face.
“I love you. Do you love me?” he whispered. He wanted to hear her say it.
Her hands went still underneath the running water, and her eyes met his, a pained expression on her face.
“More than you know.”
Ron moved towards her, his hands covering hers as he placed the dirty pan in the sink. He let their hands linger under the tap as the water washed away the soap before he pulled her closer.
They stumbled to the bed, his kisses gentle even as hers grew rough. She ripped her clothes off and, dropping to the floor, went on her hands and knees. He entered her slowly, even as her hips bucked wildly.
“Tell me I’m dirty. I’m worthless- this is all I’m good for, say it,” she begged.
“No,” he choked. “I can’t say that.”
A week earlier, he had said it. He felt disgusted with himself.
“It turns me on,” she pleaded.
“This isn’t just some kink, Hermione! I won’t– I can’t see you do this to yourself anymore.”
Hermione went still below him. She slid away, his wet cock cold in the air. She faced the opposite wall as she wrapped her arms around herself, teeth chattering as she cried.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, even though nothing was. He knelt down in front of her.
“The locket was right about me.”
“No,” he shook his head. And finally, he realized the truth. “It was wrong. For both of us.”
“Do you love me? Still?” she asked quietly.
Holding her face to his, he brushed his lips against hers. Lifting her onto the bed, his lips ventured down the length of her body. She trembled as his tongue flicked at her warm center again and again. Her taste was still on his mouth when he kissed her, her tongue soft against his. He lay beside her and pulled her on top of him.
“I want to see you,” he murmured, his hands running across her body. She lowered herself onto his cock, and he raised his hips slowly as she rocked back and forth, their eyes never leaving each other. She leaned her torso against his and buried her face in his neck, her breath hot against his skin as she gasped.
“That’s it, love. Make it good for you,” he moaned, his hands holding her close. She kissed his neck and jaw line, her forehead resting against his, her hair forming a curtain around their faces.
“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth, her body tightening around him as she came. Her legs still shaking, he rolled on top of her and began stroking her clitoris until, with tears in her eyes, her body quaked once more.
She reached for his cock, but he just held her closer.
“Don’t worry about me,” he mumbled. “Tonight was about you.”
“Was it enough?” she asked, her eyes filled with questions.
“Hermione, you’re more than enough,” he replied, though he knew she didn’t believe him. Tomorrow, they’d venture through the darkness that filled her mind. But tonight– Tonight was for holding each other close enough to drive the darkness away.