From Bad to Worse

If anyone is still reading this-- I know it's been years and I'm sorry. I am nothing if not lazy and inconsistent. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like to play with them.


[i]The fire stretched out above him like a hovering blanket, small tongues of it lapping in the direction of his bare skin. He shuddered, watching it draw closer, his eyes wide. His heart pounded in his chest and he feared that it would explode. “Don’t play with fire, Harry,” Hermione’s voice admonished him, echoing through his ears in a sing-song tone.
It drew closer and Harry flinched as the heat of it lapped against him. Sweat peppered his skin as though his body were hoping the small droplets would put out the enormous flames.
He tried to huddle away from it. Part of his mind, however, wanted to embrace the heat, wanted to pull it around him like a blanket and let it consume him. It would be so much easier to give in.
It was close, now, less than a foot above him and it scorched him without ever touching him. He hissed out a breath as it curled above him, causing the chains around his wrists to heat. He cried out as the cuffs began to burn him, never losing their strength to hold him down.
Now, it licked at the tips of his toes, the unbearable heat causing blisters to rise up almost as soon as it had touched him. The flames were so near that he thought he might die just from their closeness. He felt as though he were burning up already, as though he was likely to combust at any moment.
He shut his eyes and tried to summon up some bit of courage, something that could make him stop his imminent death, but the only thought that flowed through his mind was “Why not? Why fight it? Just give in.”
And then, it was on him. He felt it searing the flesh from his bones, taking pleasure from his whimpers and screams. It wanted him to fight. It didn’t want him to submit. It wanted to see him in agony.
He was almost lost to it now. The last bit of him was turning to ash as it consumed him. And he relished it, as he’d relished nothing else.[/i]

“Harry! For God’s sake, Harry, wake up!”

He stirred, opening his eyes slowly, the smile dying off his face. “What?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Hermione was staring down at him, her face glowingly pale in the dark of the room. “What is with you? Are you all right?”

He frowned. “I was until you woke me up.”

“You weren’t. You were screaming and moaning and—“ she paused, clearing her throat. “And laughing. You were laughing. What kind of dream was that?”

He shrugged, rolling onto his side. “No clue.”

“Harry,” she snapped, and he turned his head to look at her, noticing now that she was trembling.

“What’s got you so bothered? You’ve seen me have nightmares before.”

She let out a soft growl. “That was not a normal nightmare, Harry. That was—creepy. You were screaming in pain and laughing—hysterically—at the same time. What was it about?”

He huffed. “I told you, I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

She glared at him, her eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” he asked, softly, turning his back to her again. She sat and stared at him for a good, long while. He could feel her eyes burning into his back. Finally, with a growl, she climbed out of bed and started to search for her clothes. He didn’t try to stop her. He wasn’t in the mood to talk this out.

She dressed, her movements quick and jerky with her anger. She didn’t say good-bye before she Apparated out of his flat. He shut his eyes, pulling the blankets more tightly around him. He’d never get the dream back, now. Not after Hermione’s tirade. He’d have it again, eventually—he always did. He was yet to figure out the meaning of it, though. And he missed that pleasurable feeling he always got at the end.

His penis twitched at just the thought of it and he sighed, wishing he still had Hermione around to take care of it for him. As it was, he’d have a lot of making up to do before she’d be taking care of him again. He was too tired to mess with that right now.

He reached his hand down and started to stroke himself, his grip tight. After fifteen minutes, however, he was no closer to coming than he’d been when he started. He sighed again, rolling onto his stomach and trying to ignore the dull ache between his legs.

He dozed a bit, but never did fall into a good sleep again. When his clock finally buzzed that it was time to get up, he was both grateful and irritated. He climbed out of bed and stumbled into the shower, letting the cold water wash over him and force him into wakefulness. He was shivering by the time he got out and wrapped a towel around himself.

He pulled on his robes over a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt, stuffed his feet into his boots and snatched up his wand. He Apparated into the main hall of the Ministry, and started through the throng of people, most of whom gave him a rather wide berth as they passed.

“Morning, Potter,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said as they queued up for the lifts. “You look like hell.”

Harry smiled wryly. “Thank you, Kingsley. Always nice to be complimented so early in the morning.”

Kingsley didn’t share in the joke. He followed Harry into a lift with several other Ministry workers, standing with his hands folded in front of him as the gates closed. “I want you to come to my office with me,” he said quietly. “Now.”

Harry sighed. “I’ve got work to do.” A witch next to him sidled away slightly, casting awestruck glances at him as she did. He wasn’t surprised. No one else ever dared speak to the Minister that way, some out of respect, some out of fear. Only Harry had ever dared it, and only he had gotten away with it, so far.

“Potter,” Kingsley said, his deep voice gravelly. “I’ll not ask you twice.”

“You didn’t ask in the first place,” Harry muttered. “You demanded.” Kingsley pretended not to hear him.

The lift emptied as they rode up and Harry very nearly stepped out on his own floor, just to spite Kingsley. He knew better than to push things too far, however, and so he merely leaned himself against the wall and waited until they’d arrived at level one.

Kingsley stepped out and strode down the hall, nodding to the greetings of “Hello, Minister,” and “Good Morning, sir,” that peppered him as he went.

Harry followed, twirling his wand in his fingers. He stepped inside Kingsley’s office, as the Minister held the door open for him, then flopped into a chair. “Have a seat,” Kingsley dead-panned, rounding his desk to take his own seat. “What’s up, Harry?”

“How should I know? You called me in here.”

Kingsley sighed. “Don’t. Not today. I’m not having your attitude today. What’s wrong?”

Harry shrugged, his expression blank. “Not a damned thing.”

Kingsley stared at him a minute, then nodded. “Fine. You’re suspended, effective immediately. Three weeks, with half-pay, and pending evaluation by a therapist.”

Harry gasped, sitting forward. “What? You can’t do that!”

“I can and did.”

“You prick!” Harry growled, getting to his feet.

“Are you trying for four weeks, Harry? Six? Because I can put you down as indefinite and call you back up when you’ve come back to your senses.”

“Why?”

“I don’t answer to you, Mr. Potter. You answer to me.” The man continued to stare at him, his expression hard. “Now, if you’d care to ask me as a friend, I’ll be glad to answer you.”

Harry ground his teeth, but forced himself to sit back again. “All right then, as a friend. Why?”

“Your attitude, Harry. Your complete disregard for authority, and for the rules. I’ve never accepted a dissident attitude from anyone else, and I can’t accept it from you either. You’re lucky, really. Most would have been sacked for half of what you’ve done. I put my neck out for you daily, and I don’t appreciate the crap I get in return.” He folded his hands on the desk. “As a friend, Harry, whatever bug you’ve got up your arse, get over it. You’re losing confidence and respect with every fit you throw, and soon, you won’t have anyone left who will stand by you anymore.”

Harry stood, not bothering to respond as he left the room. He stepped into the lift, still fuming and rode it down to level four. He stepped off and turned down the hall, following it toward Hermione’s office. He entered without knocking and stopped, smirking slightly at what he’d walked in on.

She was sitting on her desk, her robes flung over the back of her chair, her skirt up around her thighs. Ron was leaning over her, one hand resting on her breast, the other on the desk beside her.

“Harry!” she gasped, her cheeks coloring as she hurried to straighten her skirt. “What are you doing here?”

Ron frowned at him. “Don’t you knock?”

“No,” Harry said, chuckling as he crossed the room and flopped into a chair in front of them. “You two carry on. I don’t mind waiting.”

Hermione scowled at him as she slid off the desk and quickly walked around to the other side of it. Ron ran a hand through his hair and muttered something about nosy gits. “I’ve got to get to work,” he said, still glaring at Harry. “See you later, love.”

Hermione waited until he’d left, closing the door behind him, then she rounded on Harry. “What the hell are you thinking? And what are you doing here anyway? If you had any sense, you’d know I’m furious with you right now.”

“I’ve been suspended,” he said simply.

She froze, one hand in her hair. “Wh-what?”

“Suspended, three weeks, effective immediately.”

Hermione collapsed into her chair, staring at him. “B-but why?”

“Kingsley said I had a bad attitude.”

She continued to gape at him, her eyes wide. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Oh Harry. Did you talk to him? Try to reason with him?”

“Not really, no. Unless you think calling him a prick was a good bargaining tactic.”

She sighed, dropping her head into her hands. “Harry,” she moaned. “Go talk to him. Try to work something out. And for heaven’s sake, don’t get mouthy this time.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going back in there. To hell with him.”

“You don’t mean that,” she said, rubbing her temples. “You love your job.” He watched as she stood up and paced around her desk, straightening her clothes unconsciously as she went. “So, three weeks, then? It could be worse.”

“Three weeks and an evaluation by a shrink.”

She rolled her eyes. “And I suppose you think you aren’t going?”

“I don’t need to go.”

“You do if you want to keep your job.” She leaned over her desk and stretched to grab a pad of violet paper. “I’m sending a note to their office now. I’ll let you know when they schedule the appointment.”

“I’m not—“

“You’re going,” she snapped. “You’ll go if they want you there at midnight on Friday. I don’t give a shit, Harry, you’re going. Do I make myself clear?”

He stared up at her, watching the flush of indignation grow on her cheeks. Finally, he smiled slightly. “I love it when you get pissy.”

She glared at him. “I passed pissy a long way back, Harry.”

He stood up, stepping closer to her. “Where are you now, then?”

“I’m just passing irate.”

His arms slid around her waist. “So do I have time to head you off before you get to explosive?”

“No.”

He laughed, leaning down to brush his lips across hers. She pushed at him weakly once or twice before sighing against his mouth. Her hand scrambled over her desk and she picked up her wand, doing a locking spell on the door. Then, she dropped it to the floor and curled her fingers into his hair.

His mouth moved to her neck and she sighed, dropping back against the desk. “Ron had it all wrong, you know?” he whispered against her throat.

“Did he?” she gasped, pulling his head closer.

“It works better this way.”

He lifted her off the desk and turned her around so that her hands were splayed on the flat surface of chipped wood. His hands trailed up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher and she moaned and pressed back against him. “I don’t want it this way,” she whispered. “I want to see your face.”

He laughed, his fingers sliding across the wet fabric of her knickers. “Do you have time?”

She nodded, gasping as he massaged her. “Yes, all the time in the world.”

He turned her back to face him, capturing her mouth again. He lifted her onto the desk again and pushed her skirt up, then opened her legs so he could stand between them. He moaned as she brushed her hand against him through his robes and jeans. His hands started to work on the buttons of her top and hers moved to get his robes opened.

When her shirt was open and her bra moved out of the way, he sucked a nipple into his mouth and caught it between his teeth. She tossed her head back, letting out a strangled cry. Her hands scrabbled at his fly and she managed to unfasten his trousers and tug them down around his thighs. Her hand snaked into the waistband of his shorts and wrapped around him tightly.

She found herself lying back across the desk in an instant, and watched him hitching his jeans down with one hand as the other moved to get knickers off of her. They tore rather than coming off cleanly and he snickered slightly. “Whoops.”

She didn’t have time to respond. His fingers found her center and he pushed them in slowly, letting them go only a few centimeters in before drawing them out again. He repeated this action, moving further into her each time, then pulling them out.

She whimpered and squirmed as he teased her, chewing her lip until it actually started to bleed. “Harry,” she moaned. “God, please. Take me, please.”

He drew a finger across her lips, shushing her. “Be patient,” he whispered, “You said you had all the time in the world.”

She wiggled against his touch. “I can’t wait.”

“Yes you can. You’re stronger than that.”

“No I’m not,” she sighed, but she knew that pleading with him would do no good. She thought she’d lose her mind when he knelt and pressed his nose against her curls. He kissed her softly, sucking just slightly on the skin there. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “You’re killing me.”

He blew gently into the curls, his hands caressing her thighs. “So hot,” he muttered, his warm breath tickling across her center. “Does Ron realize just how hot you are?”

His tone was teasing, and she knew that he was trying to irritate her again. “Don’t talk about Ron, please?” she whimpered. “Not right now.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Are you worried that he’ll come in and find us like this, with my head between your legs? What do you think he’d say if he heard you moaning my name as I licked you like this?”

She groaned at the thought, but not because it irked her. It was because the idea turned her on. The image of Harry with his mouth working between her thighs was hot enough, but, for some reason, thinking of Ron walking in and catching them only turned her on all the more. “Harry,” she sighed, reaching her hand down to tangle it in his hair. “Oh God, Harry.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Like that. Does he do this to you? Does he press his face into your crotch and taste you like this?”

“No,” she muttered. It wasn’t strictly true. Ron tried to, sometimes, but he never did it like this. It was never this good.

“Shame,” Harry said, hissing the word out across her sensitive clit. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Nnngh,” she answered, letting her head fall back. His tongue slid into her and she wished she’d cast a spell to keep the noise from drifting out into the hallway. Instead, she bit hard on her tongue and gripped the edge of the desk to hold herself still.

He worked her over quite thoroughly with his tongue, until she was muttering incoherently and beyond caring if anyone could hear them. Then, he stood and pushed his jeans down a bit further. He lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, then leaned over her, kissing her deeply. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, nipping at it softly until he moaned.

His hips shifted and he pushed into her, filling and stretching her. He wasn’t in any hurry, apparently, keeping his movements slow and easy. She stared up into his eyes as he moved above her, daring him to blink or look away. He didn’t. He gazed at her as he moved, his breath panting against her mouth as he pumped into her at a steady speed.

She was the first to look away. Her orgasm started to peak inside of her and she let her eyes fall shut, groaning deeply as he pushed her over the edge. It seemed like an overflow of heat in her stomach, not stabbing and quick, but slow and overwhelming.

When she opened her eyes again, he was still staring at her. “That was beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

She almost whimpered at his words. He sounded sincere. She wanted to believe he thought so. His breath started to come out in tremors and she reached up to touch his face as he thrust into her a bit harder. He was quiet, this time, when he climaxed. He only grunted slightly, then sucked in a breath between his teeth.

She held him for a bit afterward, stroking his hair. He sighed against her shoulder, lifting himself up and looking down at her. “Thanks,” he whispered, planting a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Thank me by going to see the psychiatrist.”

He sighed, pulling out of her and standing to adjust his clothing. “Hermione…”

“I mean it, Harry. Please. You need to do this. And you need to go apologize to Kingsley.” She stood too, pulling her skirt back into place. She thought to go home and get fresh knickers, then decided to leave them off. It seemed erotic to walk around without them, knowing what had happened to them.

He fastened his robes, shrugging. “Yeah all right.”

“No, that’s not going to work,” she insisted, pulling her bra back into place. “I want to hear you say ‘I will go see the psychiatrist.’”

“I’ll go see the psychiatrist.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.” He came back over and brushed his lips across hers. “Come over tonight?”

“Oh, I’m going to. Because you’re going to tell me about that dream.”

He blinked at her. “What dream?”

She finished buttoning her shirt and threw her hands into the air. “You’ll want to rethink that answer before I get there.”

He laughed. “Yeah, okay. Take care.”

He waved his wand to unlock the door, blowing her a kiss as he stepped out.