Originally witten by Victoria P. Posted originally on http://unfitforsociety.net/musesfool/goodfortune.htm Hermione had never believed in Divination. Even before attending Hogwarts, she'd always scoffed at the fortunes in her fortune cookies -- You will have many great adventures. Hmph. Generic tripe. It might as well have said she'd meet a handsome stranger on a train.
-- when her parents took her out for Chinese food, even though she knew they weren't meant to be taken seriously, especially not with her parents being juvenile and adding, "in bed" after every one. She thought the Prophecy that Dumbledore considered all-important was a load of hogwash.
Then she woke up one warm June morning with a strange foreboding, a chill running down her spine, and the very strong belief that whatever happened between Harry and Voldemort, she was not going to come out of it alive. And as it was nearly mid-June, she knew a confrontation was looming, because there had been one in June for the past six years (well, sort of, she amended, a stickler for accuracy even in the silence of her own mind), and Voldemort was nothing if not hung up on tradition.
She tried to laugh it off, but couldn't. She wasn't the hysterical type, and she didn't fall back into her pillows weeping extravagantly over the prospect, though it certainly didn't thrill her.
She still wasn't quite sure why she believed it, but she did. Mostly. And she did have one thing that needed doing before she died -- well, assuming she wasn't just queasy from that stew they'd eaten for dinner last night (she'd asked Ron if it hadn't smelled off, but he'd just continued eating with his usual enthusiasm) -- one thing she'd really regret not doing.
Hermione Granger was not going to die a virgin. She and Ron had been together since New Year's, and had done some very enjoyable things, but she'd always stopped short of -- what did all those ridiculous teen movies call it? Oh yes, going all the way. Well, that was going to change, and it was going to change today.
Because Hermione Granger did not want to die a virgin, and she knew how to get what she wanted.
She showered and dressed, keeping Ron's seduction in mind when she chose the lacy blue bra and matching panties that made her feel sexy; Ron always treated her as if she were when she wore them. She twisted her unruly hair up into a bun, knowing Ron enjoyed pulling the pins out and letting it spill over her shoulders so he could run his fingers through it and bury his face in it.
He wasn't at breakfast, which was unusual, but not worrisome. He'd been studying for N.E.W.T.s almost as hard as she, still determined to become an Auror. He'd been spending extra time in the library, which is where she found him, face down in a copy of his Transfiguration textbook, scrolls of notes scattered about the carrel, which was in the darkest corner of the library, away from Madam Pince's prying eyes.
Everyone else was still at breakfast, and the library was deserted. "Ron," she whispered, lips close to his ear. He shifted but didn't wake. She licked at the whorls of his ear, and he muttered in his sleep. She trailed her lips along his jaw, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her skin.
"Hermione," he said, his voice a sleepy growl that sent a rush of heat between her thighs. "I'm here," she answered and covered his mouth with hers, tasting sleep and sugar quills on his tongue. His hands, large and warm and callused from quill and Quidditch, pulled her into his lap, her skirt and robes spilling over the edges of the chair. She smiled against his lips -- perfect. As he deepened the kiss, sucking on her tongue and sending bolts of desire through her body, she fleetingly thought she should be grateful to Luna and Padma and that fifth-year, Christina Something-or-Other, because he was a wonderful kisser, and as good with his hands as with his mouth.
When she broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily, and she found she was already rocking her hips against him, feeling the hard bulge of his erection against the wet heat of her panties.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself to his chest, which had broadened in the past year; he had wide shoulders narrowing to lean hips, and an arse all the girls stared at when he wore Muggle clothes. They all knew that arse was hers now, she'd made sure of that. "Good morning," she said, leaning her forehead against his and smiling "Hi." He slipped his hands up under her robes and then down her back. "What a great way to wake up." She wriggled and he sucked in a sharp breath.
"Hermione?" "Hmm?" she murmured, lips trailing down his throat. "You do know we're in the library?" "Mmm." It couldn't have been more perfect, actually.
The library was her favorite place in Hogwarts, the place she felt most comfortable. And she felt a little extra tingle at the thought they could get caught so easily. She really was as much a Gryffindor as the boys. "I've been thinking," she said, "and," she kissed his right eyebrow "I don't," his left eyebrow "want to," the bridge of his nose, "die," one corner of his mouth, then the other, "a virgin," full on the lips, swallowing his instinctive, "You're not going to die!" When she let him speak again, he was breathless.
"You're not going to die," he repeated. "Are you sure you want to--" She kissed him, cutting off his question. When she pulled back, he was still talking. "In the libr--" He broke off with a strangled moan as she took his hand and slid it up the inside of her thigh, shivering with pleasure and need. "Yes, Ron." He grinned and slid two fingers beneath the elastic of her knickers, sliding along sensitive, wet flesh and she gasped. This was familiar -- he'd had her writhing in his bed, hands and mouth touching and teasing until her whole body exploded with bliss, but she wanted more, wanted everything, wanted him inside her in the best possible way.
He kept his eyes on hers, and she could see her own desire and pleasure reflected back at her. She shifted a little, so she could unzip his trousers, reaching in to free his already hard cock and he gasped. With her other hand she pulled the little foil packet out of her pocket. "I'm ready," she said, trying to concentrate as he circled her clit lazily with his thumb, grinning because he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
He liked to make her lose her train of thought, make her moan his name and nothing else. She vaguely remembered she should have cast a silencing spell, but couldn't be arsed now to do it. She was barely holding onto coherence and couldn't focus on anything but Ron's hands on her body, and her hands on his. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft and positioned the condom at the head, grateful she'd practiced earlier, as embarrassing as it had been.
The house-elves had enjoyed teasing her about her sudden fondness for bananas, until she'd threatened them all with clothes. His fingers clamped around her wrist, stopping her.
"Whassat? What're you doing?" There was a faint note of panic in his voice. She took a deep breath, tried to get her thoughts under control, though his other hand was still pressed against her sex.
"A condom." Her voice shook a little, and she really hoped he wasn't going to pick a fight now. "So I don't end up pregnant." "That's what contraceptus is for," he hissed, flushing red. "Well, yes," she replied, slightly annoyed by his response. Really, did he think she was completely stupid? "I cast it before I left the dorm." "Then what--" "It doesn't protect against AIDS or other sexually transmitted diseases," she answered, having learned this important fact after pestering Madam Pomfrey for a good twenty minutes, until the harried nurse had given in and explained that wizards didn't worry much about sexually transmitted diseases, as most of them were easily cured.
Hermione was not so sanguine, despite knowing how powerful healing spells and potions could be. "What?" Ron jerked his hand away from her body as his voice echoed through the library. She shushed him, eyes wide with worry that Pince would find them and then they'd be lucky if they ever saw each other again, let alone got to shag. "Sorry," he muttered, "but I don't get it. What--" "AIDS, Ron.
It's a terrible disease and it's transmitted by sexual intercourse." She could hear her voice take on the lecturing tone of a Public Service Announcement, and she hated it, hated that he was making her explain all this now.
She'd much rather have rolled it on him and guided him inside her, and they could discuss it later, but Ron always had to argue, could never just accept anything she said at face value. It was one reason she loved him, but God it was frustrating at the moment. "But the Healers--" In the face of his continuing argument, even as they were so close to actually having sex, she brought out the heavy artillery.
"Look, I promised my mother, okay?" She pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. "I promised her that when I finally -- that I'd have safe sex, and I don't want to break a promise." She attempted to shake off his grip on her wrist, but he was clinging like a grindylow, his face red and his body tensed as if for flight.
"Could we not talk about your mother if we're going to -- do this?" he asked plaintively, shuddering a little. "Or diseases, either?" "Ron, just for the first few times, could we please use a condom?
I'll feel better." She leaned forward and kissed him again. "I don't want to be pregnant when I die." "You're not going to die," he ground out, pulling her into an embrace. "Harry and I will protect you." She pushed his fringe off his forehead, heart aching at the look of determination on his dear face.
"I know. And this is a way to protect me -- to protect both of us. Please?" Still, he hesitated, so she said, "You keep telling me not even contraceptus can stop Weasley swimmers. Your parents--" He flushed and shuddered again, dropping his hands from her shoulders as if he'd been burned. She bit back a frustrated sigh. "Mentioning my parents right now is no better than mentioning yours, Hermione.
Worse even. How's a bloke meant to keep his hard-on if you keep yammering about his parents?" "Sorry," she said, not sorry at all, knowing she'd made her point and they could finally get started on the good stuff, the reason she'd sought him out in the first place.
"Hmph. Fine. All right." She kissed him again, more lingeringly this time, and he slid a hand into her hair. "It's not going to hurt, is it?" She laughed, nervously, relieved. "No, silly. Just let me--" She stroked him again, as always thrilled and amazed that she had this effect on him (she managed to suppress the fact that if it were blowing in the right direction, the wind probably had this effect on him), and gently rolled the condom on as he watched, fascinated.
"That's it? Like a little mac for my prick?" "Oh, Ron." His answering grin faded into a look of sheer amazement as she rose up, banished her knickers back to her room, and slowly slid down onto him.
It was an odd sensation, being filled by his thick, hard cock, but she liked it, even when it hurt a bit. He kept one hand on her hip, the other reaching up to pull the pins out of her hair so it fell around her shoulders. She felt wanton and wanted, loved, even, though they hadn't said the words yet. He twined his fingers through it and drew her mouth to his, thrusting with his tongue the way he did with his cock -- slow, steady and deep, letting her get used to the sensation.
She slipped her hands under her shirt and palmed her breasts, the friction from the lace of her bra rubbing over taut nipples sent bursts of pleasure through her body.
"You all right?" he murmured against her throat, skating his hand over her back and hip before moving between them to tease at her clit again. "Oh, yes." Even better than all right, she wanted to say, but his hand was moving faster now, rubbing harder as his hand tightened on her hip in time with his thrusts, and she couldn't find the breath to speak except to say, "Ron." She clenched her muscles around him, and he gasped. "Hermione. God. So good. Do that again." She laughed quietly, struggling to keep her voice down, and did as he asked, enjoying the feel of him inside her, the pleasurable tension in her body spiraling higher and tighter as they moved.
It was fantastic, better even than when he used his fingers or tongue, because they were doing it together. She clung to his shoulders as his body tensed and he came inside her; she kissed him hard, swallowing whatever sounds he made.
He looked dazed when he opened his eyes, but a single thrust of her hips reminded him that she hadn't come yet. He grinned mischievously and lifted her off him, standing so he could deposit her in the chair.
With a murmured spell he got rid of the condom and cleaned himself, then slid to the floor before her, hands parting her thighs so he could kneel between them. She was still wound up and growing impatient.
"Ron?" She shivered at the feel of cool air brushing her thighs when he pushed her skirt up, but then she forgot all about it when his tongue slid over her clit, rough and wet and oh so very good. She arched her back and twined her fingers in his hair, soft and gleaming dimly in the lamplight. "Ron, please." He laughed and she could feel the vibrations of it down to her toes.
He swirled his tongue over her and her body bowed.
"Ron, I'm going to-- God, Ron, I--" she gasped as the orgasm pulsed through her. He kept his tongue and fingers pressed to her, and the waves of pleasure didn't stop, just grew longer and deeper and slower, until she thought she'd melted and would never get out of that chair again. He leaned forward and kissed her, and she tasted herself, salty and sharp on his tongue. It was something she hadn't yet got used to, but she was starting to like it, the way her taste mingled with his and became something else entirely.
When she was finally able to speak again, she said, "That was--" "Amazing," he finished. "Spectacular. Better than Quidditch, even." She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. "Yes." *** Voldemort did indeed pick a fight with Harry just after exams were over. There were, sadly, numerous casualties amongst the Order members and the student population of Hogwarts. Hermione was not one of them. After the celebration of their victory, Hermione had a strong premonition she wanted to spend a lot of time having sex with Ron, so they sneaked off together and spent a week shagging like rabbits.
She cheerfully disregarded the fact that her last premonition had proved wrong. After all, hadn't her fortune cookie said she was destined for great adventures. In bed? The End