Chapter Text
He didn’t want to think about it, how badly he’d messed things up. The more he dwelled on it, the more he felt like he might be sick. Ginny had made him feel as though he wasn’t good enough, just as he’d felt his whole life in the shadow of his siblings. But knowing Hermione had kissed Viktor Krum? Viktor Krum, international Quidditch star and, if you asked Ron, a complete creep for kissing a fourteen-year-old. How was he supposed to compete with that?
So yeah, it had been insecurity. That’s what he told himself when he’d snogged Lavender. She’d clearly wanted him, and it felt good to be wanted. She’d jumped him during the party, and he’d let it happen. What didn’t feel good was the look on Hermione’s face afterward: the birds attacking him, the redness in her eyes, the tears streaking her cheeks.
Ron stared up at the canopy over his bed and sighed. He couldn’t sleep. He’d cast a Silencing Charm around his curtains to block Neville’s snores and Harry’s restless muttering, but it hadn’t helped. It had to be well past two in the morning. He’d closed his eyes a few times, but every time he did, he saw her face again, the hurt woven there, and it brought him back to that selfish part of himself that had wanted her to feel the same gut-deep sting he had watching her with Krum at the Yule Ball, back when he was still too young to understand what those feelings meant.
He shut his eyes again, forcing himself to breathe, willing the shame to fade, the gnawing sense of inferiority to quiet. That’s when he saw the shadow of hands groping at the edges of his curtains.
He sat up, startled. “Harry?”
The curtain was yanked back, and before he could react, a blur of curls, flannel shorts, and an oversized Chudley Cannons shirt, one he vividly remembered giving her, burst through. Hermione straddled his bed, fists flying.
“‘Mione ?! What are you—?” He broke off with a grunt as her fist thumped into his chest and her palm slapped over his mouth.
“Shut up, you absolute moron, or you’ll wake everyone,” she hissed, her bony knees planted on either side of his thighs, hair falling in tangles over her face.
“It’s silenced,” he croaked against her palm. She was sweaty, but he didn’t really mind, because even if she was furious, even if she was hitting him and telling him to shut up. Hermione was still in his bed.
“You’re likely wondering why I’m even here. Believe me, I’ve been asking myself the same thing, while I climbed the stairs, while I broke your charms, dismantled your wards, and pushed through your curtains.” She sat up straighter, the feral edge in her eyes dimming, though the spiral in her voice still wound taunt.
“Wards?” Ron cut in.
“Don’t interrupt.” She snapped like a whip. “What you did…that display of immaturity….”
“Immaturity? Snogging someone’s immaturity?” Ron pushed himself upright, and the movement brought Hermione sliding a fraction of an inch down his body. Just enough that her hips settled lower, making the curve of her arse grind over his cock. Heat flared, and Ron was suddenly, acutely aware of how little separated them.
Hermione’s breath caught, almost imperceptibly, but she didn’t move away. “I didn’t realize someone as vapid as Lavender was your type,” she said coolly, though her cadence faltered, betraying the fact she’d felt the twitch too. “I misjudged you, Ronald.”
“It’s the middle of the bloody night, and you’re here to lecture me about who I snog?” Ron shot back, his hands instinctively gripping her legs to keep her balanced.
“I’m here because, well, first I was angry, then vengeful, then I swore you off completely—”
“Those are all just different forms of rage,” Ron muttered.
“Shhh.” Hermione cut him off with a glare. “Then I thought… why not try honesty?”
“Honesty?” Ron swallowed, his gaze flicking down to the thin piece of cotton draped over her lap, just concealing what he knew had to be her knickers. This was dangerous, very dangerous. Hermione was straddling him, and the more his mind wandered, the more likely it was she’d notice exactly how precarious the situation was becoming.
“I want you to kiss me,” she said simply, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world. “Then you can tell me if you’d rather keep kissing Lavender.”
“You want me to… snog you ?” His mouth went dry, the words coming out as if he’d chewed on sand.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” she said with a pointed lift of her brow, “since you’re apparently snogging every other girl in our year…”
She shifted once again, but this time, enough to draw a cautious inhale from him. His hands slid to her waist. “You can’t keep moving like that,” he warned. Her eyes were glassy, as if she were still holding the ghost of earlier tears.
“Like this?” she rolled her hips over his growing erection. “Would you prefer it were Lavender?” Hermione did it again. This time, it was a purposeful glide that sent a shockwave racing from his toes to the crown of his head.
“No,” he rasped. “Gods, no…”
Ron didn’t wait for her to move again. He acted on impulse. He acted on what she’d asked for. His hands cupped her cheeks, fingers threading into her hair as he leaned forward and caught her mouth with his.
The instant their lips met, it was as though a fuse had been lit; sparks fiery enough they could bring the whole tower down. The world seemed to tip, pulling them both under. His thumbs stroked over the bow of her cheekbones, her bottom lip caught between his, before his tongue grazed hers in a tentative, electric sweep. Her hands clutched at his bare shoulders, nails marring his skin. Hermione broke away first. The blanket pooled at his waist, lashes brushing, both of them panting.
“So?” she probed, almost challenging. “Was that better?”
“Better than Krum?” Ron shot back with a grin, rolling her onto her side so she wouldn’t tumble off his narrow bed, knuckles skimming the strip of skin now visible by the shift.
“Krum? How do you?” Her eyes widened, as if she’d just realised she didn’t want him to know.
“Gin let it slip,” Ron admitted, careful to keep his tone light. The last thing he wanted was to ruin this moment, not after the best kiss of his very short kissing career.
“I’m going to kill—” she began, but Ron cut her off, moving before she could finish. He positioned himself over her, blankets sliding away, his mouth finding her neck. He pressed kisses along the structure of her jaw, then dipped to the hollow of her throat, dragging his tongue over the soft indent until she gave a shallow, unguarded whine.
“Much… much better than Viktor,” she purred.
Merlin, hearing her like this, relaxed, sated, and all his, was enough to make him feel drunk all over again. His mouth wandered to the steady thrum at her neck, lips closing over her pulse. His grip settled at her waist, itching to drift down, but he wouldn’t rush. Wouldn’t push. Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he was doing either.
“Ron… Ron …” she gasped his name hesitantly, so he broke away.
“Yeah?”
“Do you like her because she’s prettier than me?”
The question hit like ice water, washing the heat right out of him. He pulled back, looking down at her. Hermione’s hair was spread across his pillow, the fresh scent of her coconut shampoo staining his sheets. The moonlight caught her thickly curled lashes and the constellation of freckles across her nose. Her lips shone in the lustrous light, and for a moment, he couldn’t process that someone this beautiful could ever feel unsure of herself.
“Are you joking?” Ron scoffed. “Mione, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
She began twisting in his hold. “You’re only saying that because you’re a boy, and I’m in your bed, and we’re snogging.”
“No,” Ron said firmly, “I’m saying it because I’ve secretly pined for you for years, because I love this freckle right here—” his thumb brushed the tiny dot above her lip, “—and the way your nose scrunches when you’re annoyed with me. I love the sparkle in your eye when I get you to help me with homework. Not because I can’t do it myself, but because I like it when you lean over me and write on my parchment.”
She bit her lip as a blush bloomed on her chest. “I don’t know about you being able to do the work yourself…”
“I mean… it is nice having your help,” Ron joked.
Hermione moved a few strands of hair from his forehead, “I thought about this over the summer… about sneaking into your room, climbing into your bed, just to see what you’d do if I did.”
“I’d likely freeze up,” Ron chuckled, but his eyes never left hers.
Hermione’s hand caressed from his face down the expanse of his arm, fingers tracing the muscle of his forearm before finding his palm. She massaged it gently with her thumb, then began guiding his hand lower… lower … over her stomach… and settled it between her thighs.
Ron was breathing harder now than after any Quidditch match.
“Would you? Freeze up?” She questioned. He flattened his hand, just as she spread her legs for him. The thin flannel between them couldn’t hide the heat of her, as he rubbed downward. Hermione gave a quiet, needy whine. He slid his hand back and then forward again, firmer this time. She let go, rolling her hips toward him, her lips parting on a breath.
“Is this what you thought about?” Ron grunted. “Does it feel good?”
“Yes… yes, it does…” Hermione whimpered.
An urge in him, much braver now, fondled the loose trim of her sleep shorts and slipped his hand underneath. She wasn’t wearing knickers. The first feel of her bare skin was molten, cushioned, warm, wet. It made his mouth water.
“I’ve wondered what you taste like,” he blurted before he could stop himself. His face went beet-red as she gave a startled squeak. “I— Merlin, that was —sorry, I didn’t—” He fumbled, about to yank his hand back.
“You could try it,” she whispered.
Ron searched her face. “Are you sure? You’ll tell me if you like it?”
She nodded quickly, as if she didn’t want to waste a single second second-guessing herself.
Ron scrambled to shift to his knees. Hermione adjusted too, pushing herself further up against the headboard. He found the waistband of her shorts, and he began easing them over the silken skin of her thighs, past the purplish bruises from bumping into library desks, over her knees, slipping them off her painted white toes. She kept her legs singed together at first, as if she were suddenly shy, but her eyes stayed following his. For a moment, it felt as though the entire world had narrowed to just them.
Ron coaxed her apart. Hermione allowed her legs to fall open until he was eye-level with her, peachy-pink skin, a neatly trimmed patch of hair at the mound, and the glistening proof of how much she wanted him.
“Fucking hell,” he breathed.
She twitched as if to close her legs again, but instinct took over. He hooked her thighs over his shoulders, leaning in to settle his mouth against the flesh above her clit before dragging his tongue through her slit. Her fingers caught in his hair as he flattened his tongue, licking her as though he’d been starving for days. She tasted like pure sin, and he thought fleetingly: Bloody hell, this must be what addiction feels like.
“Lower… lower,” she urged.
Ron obeyed, nose nuzzling against her as he found the swollen nub that made her hips jolt. He circled it with the tip of his tongue, feeling her shudder.
“Oh gods… oh my gods …” Hermione whimpered.
“Do you like that?” he asked, pausing just long enough to look up. Her shirt had ridden up, the underside of her breasts peeking through.
“Do you?” She echoed.
“I fucking love it,” Ron grinned, before dipping down again. “Gods, please…let me do this daily.”
“Daily seems… as… if … we… may … not… get… anythingggg… else… done… ” she gasped, words broken by the rhythm of his mouth.
Ron chuckled, then hitched his hand to join his tongue. He began circling her clit with his fingers, and her whole body reacted, hips tipping toward him in thirsty little movements.
“Not like we need NEWTs anyway, right?” he teased.
“Ronald!” She half-moaned, half-scolded.
“Is this alright?” He pushed one finger inside. The suction closed around him, and she squirmed. Her body was tightening so quickly that it made him leak in his briefs, pre-cum wetting the stretchy elastic.
“That’s good… really, really good. You’re doing brilliantly,” Hermione gasped.
“Exceeds Expectations?”
“I believe you’ll get a comple—” She broke off with a yelp as he glided a second finger in at the same moment he sucked on her clit. “O,” she finished in a cry.
Hermione's thighs fastened on his shoulders as if she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away. Ron curled his fingers on that front cushioned wall while keeping his lips sealed on her clit.
“Ron—oh—gods— ” She was incoherent. “Don’t stop,” she gasped, fingers fisting in his hair. “Please don’t—”
“I’m not stopping,” he mumbled, the vibration leaving goosebumps up her navel. Her hips kept rolling up to meet his mouth, grinding down on his hand and jaw. The whiny, desperate mewls coming from her were enough to make Ron ache in ways he didn’t think he could survive.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, lifting his eyes enough to see her face. She was pink, lips parted, chest heaving, the beads of sweat at her hairline catching the stray flashes of moonlight. “You’re so close, aren’t you?”
“Yes—Merlin, yes—” Hermione’s legs clamped around his head, but Ron held his ground, keeping her open to him. Her hands were everywhere, grabbing at his shoulders, clawing at the sheets, returning to his hair to keep him exactly where she needed him.
The first wave hit her so suddenly she let out a scream, her whole body jerking against him. Ron licked her through it, riding the tremors, until her legs shook and her voice broke into spluttering spells.
Ron finally slowed, letting his mouth place a lasting, gentle kiss over the inside of her thigh. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at her with a grin that was hazily proud.
“Full marks?
“Highest marks imaginable,” she breathed, then reached for him, pulling him up into a kiss that tasted of both of them.
“I can’t believe we… ahh … did that,” Ron huffed.
Hermione pulled at her shirt until he saw the slope of her ribs and the valley between her breasts. Ron drank in the cleavage he’d been sneaking glances at for years whenever she leaned over him in the common room.
“Lie back,” she pushed her hand to his chest. He obeyed, and in doing so caught sight of himself, hard and fighting against the constraint of his briefs. Hermione had shrugged off the t-shirt entirely. She knelt over him, completely nude, gorgeous, perky breasts in his face. His jaw went slack, words tumbling out in muted, meaningless stutters. Hermione only laughed, hooking into the waistband of his boxers, before tugging them down.
Ron was still mesmerized by the sight of her chest when he felt the sure grip of her dainty hand closing around his cock. The sound that tore out of him was unlike anything he’d ever made before, an animalistic grunt battered with curse words his mum would hex him for.
“You’re… bigger than I thought you’d be,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, stroking him thoughtfully, her breasts squishing against his abs with each twist of her wrist.
“Fucking hell, that feels good….your hand…”
“My hand barely fits around you,” she observed, as if she were cataloguing an Arithmancy problem. “Very girthy. If we have sex, the first time will be very uncomfortable for me.”
“Hermione, do not mention me inside you right now or I will—” Ron cut himself off with a strangled groan, because her mouth was suddenly on him.
Her lips, hot as silk, wrapped around the tip, tongue flicking over the sensitive head. She drew back just far enough to swirl her tongue before sinking forward again, and Ron’s hands yanked into her hair, palm fisting without meaning to.
“Merlin’s—bloody—” He cracked. He’d imagined this before, far too many times, but nothing in his daydreams compared to the reality of Hermione Granger sucking up and down his length.
She gripped the base with one hand, stroking in sync with the bob of her head. Every time her lips slid lower, the suction tightened, and Ron felt like the ground was dropping out from under him.
“Fuck— that —right there—” His back pressed into the headboard as he tried to keep still, but his body had other intentions. His hips gave a hearty thrust and she gagged in response, the choke sending sparks up his spine.
“Sorry—sorry, I’m—” He broke off with another groan as she adjusted, taking him deeper until his tip brushed the back of her throat. His vision pixelated. “Oh hell, Hermione..”
She pulled back, a thin string of spit connected her mouth to his cock before her tongue licked it away. Then she was back on him, quicker this time, her hand working at the base as her tongue annihilated his length.
Ron was panting. “I’m—I’m not —gonna last—”
She only squeezed him firmer and sucked harder. Her other hand came to rest against his stomach, holding him down when his hips tried to chase her mouth.
When she glanced up at him again, eyes chocolate and bright, cheeks rosy, it was over.
“Oh, fuck.” Ron’s warning was little more than a gasp before his release plummeted through him. He spilled into her mouth in pulses, groaning so loud he was sure half the dorm could hear if not for the silencing charm. Hermione swallowed what she could, the rest dripping down her chin as she pulled off of him, her hand still stroking him through the aftershocks until he flinched from the oversensitivity.
Ron slumped. “Shit….I should’ve asked if that was alright. Are you alright?” he fumbled, watching as Hermione casually wiped the last traces of him off her.
“Salty,” she mused. “Much more than I’d anticipated.”
Ron heaved her onto his chest until their bodies were in parallel, her heartbeat beating against his. He kissed her lazily, refusing to allow her to move. “Never leave this bed,” he murmured.
“I’m assuming you’ll no longer want to snog anyone else… including Lavender,” Hermione replied with that maniacal little grin she wore whenever she was being just a touch unhinged. “She’ll be quite heartbroken, you know. If you’d like, I’ll be the one to let her down easy.”
“I can’t even remember what another girl looks like right now,” Ron chuckled, tugging the blanket over them both. “I’ll tell Lavender in the morning. Not that it would’ve worked anyway, seeing as I’ve always been mad about someone else.”
Hermione tilted her head. “Make sure to tell her it’s me. I’m also hoping to have a few love bites on my neck… perhaps I’ll wear my hair up tomorrow.”
“Do not tell me you only came in here to spite Lavender. If so, you’ll be breaking my heart.” He placed a hand over his chest in mock injury, though deep down he knew neither of them could pretend those lingering impassioned stares were just friendship anymore.
“Well, no,” Hermione shrugged. “I was just tired of this back-and-forth. Trying to make each other jealous. I even considered snogging McLaggen to get a rise out of you—”
“Wait, what? I’d murder the bloke.” Ron sat up.
“I didn’t, though, did I?” she added innocently. “I decided I’d just tell you I wanted to kiss you… and see if you wanted to kiss me.”
“In the middle of the night. In my bed,” Ron grinned, shaking his head. “You know, all your ideas are truly brilliant.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“So… should we tell people? Or, for Harry’s sake, should we try to keep it quiet?”
Ron’s knuckles dragged up her sides, kneading over her breasts before settling at her collarbone. “It’s going to be damn near impossible to keep my hands off you.”
“I’ve always wanted to fool around in the—” Hermione began.
“Library,” Ron cut in. “You’re going to say library.”
She rolled her eyes. “Alright, yes, but… what about the Gryffindor locker room? Perhaps after the next winning game?”
“Winning game?” Ron echoed sarcastically.
“It’s an incentive,” she joked, still lying on top of him. He was already sinking into the kind of heavy, satisfied tiredness that came after too many adrenaline spikes in one day.
“You did say something about sex…” Ron teased.
“Ronald!”
“I’m only joking,” he grinned. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want. Clearly, I’m not the one in charge here.”
They both knew she’d have to sneak out soon, before McGonagall caught them, and a howler from his mum inevitably followed, likely addressed to them both.
“Yes,” she mused, scattering kisses across his chest, “at least we can agree on that.”