Sexual Healing

Healing Hermione

***The Bin Lady***


That next morning I woke as usual. Severus was rolled over on his side, his back to me. I tried to remember when he started sleeping that way. We used to sleep entangled with one another. But lately, we barely touched. I rolled over and wrapped my arms around him, but was batted away by his arm and snarling snore. With a quick peck on his cheek, I left our bed and prepared for my day.

Before I left, I checked on the children who were all still asleep. Then I went once more to see my grouchy husband. He had left the bed and was in the loo relieving himself. I snuck up behind him and placed my hands over his.

“This is more of you than I’ve seen in the last few weeks,” I whispered into his ear. My only reply was a snort. “I’ll be back early today. I promise,” I stated not letting his mood affect my day.

I strolled quickly to the gates and the Apparation point.

What happened next, I do not know. But that was the last time I would see my husband and children for over a year. The following details are reconstructed to the best of my ability. There are details which are as clear than crystal, while others as hazy as the fog that settles over the lake at Hogwarts.

I woke amongst putrid slime. The grime was under me, on me, in me. I tried to crawl through it, but could only use my right hand. A stabbing pain screamed through my left hand and arm whenever, I moved. As I reached the top, two strong arms reached out and grabbed me and pulled me up. My rescuer appeared to be a forty- or fifty-year-old black man with long dreadlocks on his head and beard that was streaked with grey. Without knowing why, I used the last of my strength and flung myself onto him and kissed. He made no attempt to stop me as he pulled me from the bin, my body wrapping itself around him with its freedom.

A searing pain woke me from a sleep I had not even known I was in. His arms held me down. He stopped working on my hand and stuck something in my nostril and pinched the other one closed. Then he told me to breath in, that it would kill pain. I did as he said and felt a gritty, burning sensation travel through my nose. He was right though; soon I could feel nothing, let alone the pain in my hand. I could hear him talking to me, but had no clue what he was saying.

It could have been days, or it could have been weeks before I realized that I had no idea who I was or where I was from. But to be honest as long as he kept making me snort the pain killer, I really didn’t care. I didn’t even care that my left hand was missing two fingers. He was taking care of it, making it better. It wasn’t as swollen as it used to be, and if I was late taking my pain killer, it didn’t hurt as bad.

His name was Lenny and he called me Bin. That is where I came from and that is where I slept, except for when they came to collect the rubbish. Those nights, I slept with Lenny.

During the day, I’d help him with those that came to see him for help. Lenny helped those in the neighbourhood that got help nowhere else. When everyone had been helped we scrounged through my bin for food and anything useful. Lenny also fixed my hair. It had started to tangle. He separated it and wrapped it into locks similar to his. The only time I new what day it was, was Sunday. Lenny took me to a church; if we sat through the worship we were given a hot meal of soup and bread or meatloaf and peas.

As the weather got colder and wetter, we spent more time in my bin than in his shanty. Soon the only time either of us slept in his place was when they emptied my bin. Once, they came a day early. Lenny had already got up to get something to warm us up and a stayed there where it was warm. I was rudely awoken by a loud banging and the feeling of being lifted off the ground. Everything went topsy turvy and everything was falling. The rubbish and I landed in another pile of rubbish. Soon I heard a panicked voice screaming. It was Lenny. He was screaming that his lady was there. He was screaming for me. From that day one, we only slept in the bin when it was too wet to sleep in the shanty.

We found other ways to keep warm. Our favourite was physically. It felt so good to have him moving in me. I couldn’t wait until the weather warmed up and I could see what his body looked like. It was too cold to love without clothing. We had other ways as to keep warm as well. He almost always had a bottle of whisky and some blunts, as e called them, for us to share. For a special treat he would get us other junk on occasion.

I never asked how he got stuff; I just trusted that when we needed something he could get it. On one particularly cold night during Christmastide, he brought home something new. He pulled out a small scrap of paper with squares on it and licked one. He handed it to me and told me to lick the one of the others.

The Christmas lights blended together and warmth unlike any other spread through me. Without a worry for the snow that was falling around us, I removed my ragged clothing and flung them haphazardly through they alley. My body revealed to my lover in its entirety for the first time since we had met. With calculated slowness, I set about removing his clothes as if it were a natural act for me. Each article dropped carefully around us. I found his chest, nappy hair covered every inch except for two circles which exposed his dark nipples. I nipped them playfully, kissing with each taste, hoping he would return the favour. I teased him down to his trousers. They were ragged and barely fit. As they slid off easily, his cock sprang free. It was long and thick and magnificent. I licked my lips delightedly before I lowered my face to it for the first time. Slowly I kissed my way up and down his shaft. Each touch sent sparks through me. Finely after showering the head with kisses, I attempted to take him into my mouth. I knew he was large, but had not realized just how big he was. He was an awkward fit in my mouth, but I kept working on him. I stopped before I could taste him completely. As much as I wanted it, I had to have him inside me. I had to feel the sparks on the inside of me.

With ferocity I had not seen from him, he plunged me into the snow and ploughed into me. The snow melted around us. My senses exploded from desire. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he drove harder and harder. I cried in ecstasy as he filled me to overflowing and kept going. I was in Nirvana. The bin and shanty and alley disappeared. It was just us, a blanket of white, and sparkling multi-coloured lights.

It was dark when I work swathed in the numbing snow. Lenny was clothed and wrapped in his blankets. Picking up the extra blanket, I crawled back to my bin. It was warmer than the snow. The next morning, wearing the worn cotton blanket, I looked for my clothes. If they were still there, they were buried in the snow. For weeks, I walked around in nothing but that blanket. I think Lenny enjoyed it though and it was in my best interest to keep him happy. I kept him happy and he kept me with the things needed for survival. When some of my toes turned black and a few of them snapped off, he found me an old pair of shoes. The Christmas lights came down and soon after, everything was decorated in red and pink hearts.

One night, Lenny came home from being gone all day with a new dress. Well, it wasn’t really new, but compared to what I had before it was as if he had bought it from Harrod’s. Without thinking, I dropped my blanket and wrapped myself around him. He carried me and the dress back to the shanty. That night, I slept underneath him with him inside of me. It was the best nights sleep I remember having.

The next day we went to church; then had the best warm dinner I remember having. Or it could have just seemed that way after weeks of cold handouts and salvaged toss-outs. After supper, Lenny took me to see a friend of his who he said used to be a parson. The parson’s shanty was in an alley not too far from ours. There were about twenty people that I had recognized from around the street standing around. With much flourish, Lenny dropped to one knee, pulled out a glittery ring and asked if I would become his wife.

With tears in my eyes, I dropped to my knees and kissed him passionately. The parson came over and began reading from a well-loved Bible. I could not tell you which passages though, nor could I tell you if we took vows. I do remember Lenny slipping the ring onto my index finger and pinching it to fit; then the parson announced us man and wife and we kissed so more. I remember feeling as if I had never been happier.

The snow melted and the flowers bloomed. My new dress grew tight, too tight to wear while sleeping. I didn’t mind though. Lenny began sleeping without his clothes, too. We used our clothes for pillows and slept entangled with each other enveloped in our blankets.

The next time the bin was emptied, I climbed into it before dressing. The morning light reflecting off of the grubby walls of the bin cast a new light on my body. My breasts were firmer and swelling and a bulged had formed at my belly. I cupped the precious protuberance with the three fingers on my left hand. It is funny how memory works. I knew nothing about who I was or were I came from; yet, I knew I was pregnant. I only remembered having two menses since waking up in the bin and would guess them to have been in early November and early December. The rest of my day was spent sitting in the bin touching my baby, Lenny’s baby.

Just before Lenny usually came home with whatever he had been able to find during the day, I clambered out of the bin and wrapped myself in the blanket. Lenny came home some good handouts, a new bottle and some junk. He was ecstatic to learn about my discovery and we celebrated the rest of the night. The days and nights got warmer and longer. Soon my dress no longer fit at all. Instead of wasting the resources on new clothes, I just fashioned my blanket into a passable toga which nicely highlighted my fertile body.

We may not have had anything except for what we could salvage from other peoples rubbish or nick, but we had enough. When we were hungry, we found food; thirsty, we found whisky; if we were in need of a fix, Lenny always found some junk. Once he scrounged up enough coins for us to go to on of those photo-booths the tourists use. The baby was more prominent in my belly. The machine took three pictures; I wore my toga for one and went without for the other two. When we left, we had twelve perfect pictures, four shots of each pose.

I never worried about where Lenny got stuff. I just trusted that he would. He never brought business home. I don’t know why I was in the bin that day. Perhaps because it was empty and I could lie there in the sun without my toga and no one would be the wiser. It was the day after we had our pictures taken. I heard him come home and was about to pop out when I heard voices. They didn’t sound very nice. In fact they sounded quite mean. I heard some shuffling and waited for things to quiet down. And then I waited some more. Then I heard more voices and noises. I heard the sirens and then came the lights. Wrapping my toga around my body, I crept out of the bin. Lenny was covered in blood and there were a few people working on him already. They didn’t notice me until I was sitting with them cradling his head in my lap, tears streaming down my face. They tried to shoo me away, but I wouldn’t move. They stopped working on him and covered him up. They tried to ask me questions, but I couldn’t answer them. I couldn’t let him go. Eventually, the pulled me away and put him in a bag. I found his stash and laid down in the bottom of the bin, waiting for the peace to wash over me.

How I survived, I do not know. The word about Lenny spread quickly. People would share there scrapes with me. Word even reached the rubbish collectors. Whenever they came to empty the bin, they would take a few minutes to make sure I was not in it. Beyond that, I spent most of my time crying.