The Wedding

The cold hit him unlike anything he had ever experienced. He was used to furs and fires and the lap of luxury, not living like an animal. It’s the goddamn end of July, why can’t we be somewhere warm instead of on this stupid fucking mountainside in this stupid fucking cave? He was furious, and he had been since June. He had failed his assignment and that no doubt meant that his family was in deep trouble. He didn’t particularly care about his father, that oily sonofabitch, but his mother. His mother had been the only person that cared for him, the only person that had showed him any kindness or compassion. If anything happened to her…

“I only took on that stupid assignment just because he promised me she wouldn’t get hurt,” he said aloud. His companion turned sharply, dark hair hanging around his face. “What was that?”

Draco looked up. He fought back the urge to run over and box his former professor round the ears, but instead muttered a reply and turned back to the fire, once again immersed in thoughts about his mother. He couldn’t stand not knowing about her, couldn’t stand not knowing if she were alive or dead. He didn’t care about good or bad, dark or light, or any of that. All he cared about were getting back to her and making sure that she was safe. And it doesn’t look like I’m going to get any help from him, he thought, looking back across the cave to where Snape was leaning against the entryway. He can’t even get us proper food, he thought, looking to the remnants of their last meal: frozen berries and the burned carcass of an animal he didn’t even want to distinguish.

A sudden noise made him look up. Snape had rushed out of the cave into the snow, but Draco couldn’t tell for why. He struggled internally for a few moments, trying to decide if it was worth the risk going out after him, when Snape reentered. He was not alone.

This fact intrigued Draco into standing and inching a few steps closer. He could see that two people were with Snape, as well what seemed like millions of packages. They were talking, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. He seemed to be going unnoticed, so he inched a few steps closer.

“…says thank you for the potion, he was scared about what would happen the first full moon.”

“Yes, and Molly wrapped up a few weeks supply of food for the both of you. How is he, anyway?”

That voice sounded familiar. He hadn’t heard it in a while, but he knew that he had definitely heard it before.

“He doesn’t know yet. The charm that was put on him was a pretty powerful one—The Dark Lord knows full well how to cover all the loose ends when he Confunds someone.”

Were they talking about him? The though of being Confunded astounded Draco. It seemed almost laughable. He had wanted to kill Dumbledore, wanted to be in the inner circles of the Death Eaters, wanted the Dark Lord’s approval. He wanted something to hold over the Dark Lord, he realized—the death of Dumbledore was something that not even he could have done.

“Does he know yet that Dumbledore knew?”

“No, he doesn’t know anything, Remus, how many times must I tell you?”

Remus! Remus Lupin! That was the voice that he was hearing; his old Defense against the Dark Arts professor. As much as he hated to admit it, the man knew his stuff. But why were he and Snape talking? And who was that woman that was with him? None of this made sense, and Draco didn’t like it when he didn’t understand something. It made hot coils of anger boil up in his stomach, and he wanted to be included. He wanted to know why they kept talking about him, as though he were just some pawn in a huge plan that was being laid out.

“It’s sad, though, that Dumbledore had to go. But, it makes sense. A man can’t live forever, and he told us all the last time we spoke with him that he knew what he was doing. He said something about having to die, in order for Harry to be able to vanquish Voldemort. Do you understand why, Severus?”

That was the woman talking. Lupin would have never called Snape by his first name, never.

“I do understand why, but that is something that I must show Harry myself. I have it here,” he said as he potted his cloak pocket. “It must wait until after his birthday.”

“Well, that’s in another two days, and then the wedding.”

“The wedding. It will be at the wedding.”

Draco was utterly dumfounded. He didn’t understand anything that was going on, and he hated it. But before he could step out of the shadows he was hiding in, Lupin and the woman bid their goodbyes and left.

“Draco.” Snape’s cold, sneering voice echoed through the chamber that they had been using as a shelter for the past month or so. “I have food for us. And…we need to talk. There are many things that I have to tell you.”

-*-

Ron woke up, the sunlight streaming through his window causing him to blink several times before his eyes finally adjusted. He stretched and then noticed something peculiar: he was naked. Suddenly aware, he snatched the covers from the foot of the bed and drew them up to his chin, casting a glance at the door to make sure his mother or sister hadn’t come in to wake him up. He was alone, but he the warmth that he felt in the blankets beside him told him that he hadn’t been all night long.

Then he remembered. Hermione. Oh, Merlin, Hermione. He laid back, reveling in the events that had taken place the night before. He blushed at first, remembering that she had walked in on him with his pants down and his cock in his hands, moaning her name. And then she had climbed on his bed and taken over for him. A slight whimper escaped his lips, remembering the way her hands felt on his skin, and the way she had moved them up and down…but none of that had felt as good as it had when she’d used her mouth. He looked down and noticed that there was a tent-like structure in the covers, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. The way that she had swallowed, the feeling of her nails against his back, how hot and tight she felt against his finger, the taste of her nipples in his mouth and the way that her throat caught in her breath when he made her come. He knew that he had been the only one to do that for her, and he was glad. The thought of his Hermione with another boy made his temper flare and his fists clench.

He relaxed, though, when his thoughts landed on what had been the best part of the night. After everything that they had shared together, when she was lying with her head against his heartbeat, she had whispered the three words that he himself had so often thought. She loved him. He could hardly believe it, but she had said it, nestled into his arms. He smiled widely, reveling in the fact that Hermione was his, and she loved him.

“Ronald!! Get out of bed, it’s time for breakfast!” His mother’s yell traveled up the stairs, as well as the smell of eggs and sausage from the kitchen. He stood up and pulled on some pajamas, still smiling.

As Ron walked down the stairs, he locked eyes with Hermione. She immediately turned away, her cheeks turning pink. He felt his neck turn red, like it did so often, but he cleared his throat and took his place at the table next to her. She looked up at him as he sat down, her eyes twinkling and her face unsuccessfully hiding a wide smile. From across the table, the rest of the Weasley clan (Harry included) chuckled—or in Fred and George’s case, smirked—and began to pile breakfast foods onto their plate.

“Get a good night’s sleep, Ronniekins?” Ron looked up at George, who winked and glanced pointedly at Hermione. She looked up as well and locked eyes with Ginny, who rolled her eyes and aimed a kick at George from under the table.

“Ow! Oi, Ginny, what the bloody hell was that for?” Ron ducked under the table to massage his throbbing shin, thankful for the excuse to escape the laughs and snickers from his brothers, sister, and best friend. He glanced over and saw Hermione’s legs beside him—long, smooth, and shapely. He shivered and remembered the way they felt sliding against his the night before. He couldn’t resist the urge to reach over and trail one finger along the side of her leg, ending in the crook behind her knee.

Above the table, Hermione gasped, and then covered it with a hasty cough. She cleared her throat and smiled as Ron emerged from under the table, looking (for a reason that the others couldn’t deduce) a little pleased with himself. Harry noticed the Fred opening his mouth to say something and beat him to the punch—“What are the plans for today, Mrs. Weasley?”

She immediately launched into a detailed itinerary for the days events in preparation for the wedding. There still was a lot to do, and the ceremony was due to take place in three short days. They wanted to linger at the breakfast table, putting off the moment where they had to get up and get started, but Mrs. Weasley rushed them along and sent Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny to get dressed, all while yelling at Fred and George to leave their business behind for one day—they had gotten caught sneaking Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’ products into different parts of the house.

As they were walking back up the stairs, Harry caught up with Ron. One glance between the two spoke more words than either of them would have felt comfortable with, and Harry understood. As they reached the room that Harry was in, he stopped and turned to face Ron. “So it’s out then, is it? She knows. She knows that you love her.” Ron just smiled, and that was all Harry needed to know.

The rest of the day was filled with what could only be described as backbreaking work. Ron and Hermione, both able to use magic without any consequences pitied Harry. They opted to not use their wands, but instead did manual labor while Harry complained about being so close to his seventeenth birthday. The other two didn’t listen too him, however…Hermione was too busy noticing how attracted to Ron she was, even if he had sweat beads on his forehead and his shirt was damp, all while Ron was trying to not stare at the way her breasts moved under her shirt every time she raised her arms to hang flowers or prune a garden hedge.

Harry, however, had other things on his mind. Being so close to Ginny was reminding him why he was so in love with her, but a voice in the back of his head kept repeating the same thing over and over: She’s in danger. You can’t stay with her, she’s in danger. You can’t take her with you when you leave, so stop. Stop it now, Harry. He knew that they weren’t being very smart, and he knew that when he left to hunt down the remaining Horcruxes, the harder it would be the more time he spent with her. And the Horcruxes. He wasn’t any closer to knowing where they were, what they were, or how to get rid of them.

Harry’s train of thought continued in much the same way until time for dinner. He was hot, sweaty, and more than a little perturbed at the way things were unfolding for him. He didn’t want to let the others know—Ron and Hermione thought he had a plan of some sort—so he forced a smile on his face and tried to appear as thought nothing were out of the ordinary.

As for his two best friends, they didn’t take a second glance at Harry. They both knew that they would be leaving soon after the wedding, and they wanted to take the time they had to spend with each other. At least, Ron did. Shedding his shy and awkward demeanor, he stroked Hermione’s thigh all during dinner, causing her to squirm and blush and try to act as though everything were normal.

To Hermione, this was the hardest thing of all to do. Spending all day with the knowledge that Ron reciprocated her feelings was enough to make her want to dance and sing—two things that she normally did not do. And now he was running his fingertips against her jeans, sending little lightning bolts through her body. She could feel herself getting wetter and wetter, and it was just from his touch!! She could only imagine how aroused she would be if they managed to find time to be alone again together. She remained immersed in thoughts of how to sneak away with Ron through dinner.

For once in her life, she was at a loss for ideas and was beginning to think that she would have to wait until the rest of the Weasley’s and Harry went to bed. She didn’t think she could wait that long, but she was willing to—anything to experience the same kind of events that she had the night before.

“Oh, no! I just forgot, we’re completely out of fertilizer for the ferns we’re going to use. I meant to run and grab some today…I wonder if the store is still open? Fred, George, would you mind—“ Mrs. Weasley’s request was interrupted by two small pops. The twins had been worked harder than anyone else that day, and they quickly Disapparated when their names popped into question. Mrs. Weasley shook her head, and then turned to Ron and Hermione. “Dears, do you think you could pop down the road to the store? I do desperately need the fertilizer—without it, the Bow and Bubble Ferns won’t have the bows and bubbles.”

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other before responding perhaps a little too quickly. “Sure thing, mum, we’ll go.” Hermione was elated—here was her chance! They both stood from the table, already waiting impatiently for Mrs. Weasley to gather together some gold and for Harry to run upstairs and grab his invisibility cloak.

What seemed like an eternity (but what was really only a few minutes) later, Ron and Hermione were heading down the path from the burrow, safe under the cloak. Now that she was alone with Ron, Hermione didn’t quite know what to do. Sure, last night she had the courage to walk into Ron’s room and take his erection in both her hands and her mouth, but now that her secret was out she didn’t know what exactly to do. Ron knew that she loved him, and she knew that he loved her—but were they a couple? Would it be okay for her to reach over and grab his hand, even though their arms were brushing together with every step?

As if reading her thoughts, Ron took her hands in his. The warm of his touch sent shivers down her spine and curls of arousal spiraling down her belly. She was a little surprised—Ron was usually so shy and awkward, but here he was, taking control. She liked it, she decided. She liked the idea of Ron being a sort of alpha male, instigating contact and—

“Hermione.” Ron’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she realized that they had stopped walking. Under the cloak they seemed very isolated, even though houses lined the street they were walking on. He turned to face her, taking both of her hands in his. All of her previous thoughts about him were being disproved, due to the fact that his palms were clammy and his neck was turning red. She smiled, remembering the way it looked when that blush traveled down his neck and spread onto his chest and shoulders, much the way she was imagining it was doing at that moment. “I…erm…I, uh…I wanted to tell you that I was sorry.” Sorry? Sorry for what? What did he do? Is he going to say that he doesn't really feel that way about me? Her heart quickened as he kept talking, “I don’t know if you wanted to do any of that…stuff…last night. I would be…well, I would be very…I would just be a little upset at myself if you did something you didn’t want to do. I mean, you know me, ‘Mione. I’m not a pushy person…I, uh…erm…you see? I can’t even get my words out most of the time,” he laughed, albeit a little nervously.

Hermione was a little taken aback at Ron’s sudden display of shyness. She smiled, however, finding it as endearing as his sudden spurts of confidence. “Ron, you don’t have to be sorry,” she stated, finding it much easier to say these kinds of things when she used her as-a-matter-of-fact voice. “If I didn’t want to do those things, I wouldn’t have done them. You didn’t pressure me, don’t worry.” He exhaled, a relieved grin spreading over his face. She smiled back, and at the sight of her smile he leaned in and kissed her.

This kiss was unlike the others. It was filled with what Hermione could only describe as love, and caring, and compassion, and all the other wonderful things that she had hoped to find in a relationship. She sank into him and the kiss, wanting nothing more than for the feelings that such a kiss elicited in her to never stop.

Ron’s arms wrapped around her, bringing her as close to him as possible. Their hearts beat together, harder than either could ever remember their heart beating, as though they were threatening to break out of their respective ribcages. He loved the feel of having her in his arms; he felt as though he would never tire of it. More than that, he loved the feel of her tongue against his, the way that it slid through his mouth and across his lips. And he specially loved the way she moaned into his mouth when he nibbled on her bottom lip, the way he was doing right now

Moving backwards under the cloak, Ron found balance against a garden wall. Their kiss deepened, growing both more urgent and more passionate. Hermione’s hands moved from around Ron’s neck to his waist, and then to the waistband of his jeans. She looked up at him with surprise in her eyes when he reached down and moved her hands back to his neck. “Did I do something wrong?” She asked.

He smiled and replied, “No. Never. I just want to show you how good you make me feel.” With that he reached for her waist and lifted her onto the wall behind him, readjusting the cloak so that it still covered both of them.

Hermione didn’t know what to expect, but she knew that she was going to like it. Ron’s hands moved through her hair and down her neck. She shivered as his mouth followed the path his fingertips were taking across her skin, leaving fiery kisses across her neck and collarbone. The fabric of her shirt didn’t stop him; he continued kissing down her chest, causing a new sensation for Hermione. One hand moved under her shirt and across her breasts, causing her to arch her back, silently pleading for more of his touch. He continued to kiss through her shirt, leaving tiny wet spots where his mouth and tongue had touched…but she didn’t care. As long as the feeling didn’t stop, she didn’t care. His hand moved from her bra, where his fingertips had been playing with the edge of the fabric. She moaned in protest, but understood why he moved when he pushed her shirt up so that her chest was exposed. He resumed his kissing, this time his mouth touching both skin and fabric. The sensation sent shivers up Hermione’s spine and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He moved his head down her stomach, kissing each bit of skin that he could. Hermione moved her hands to run through his hair and across his back, making him breathe in sharply against her stomach. She arched her back, her body begging for more.

He was more than willing to oblige. He moved his hands from her breasts and ran them down her legs, never stopping the wonderful kisses. Suddenly, his mouth was on hers and his hands were off of her thighs and at the fly of her jeans. Before she could understand what was happening, her pants were being pushed from her hips and legs, and Ron’s kisses were once again on her stomach. This time, they played with the elastic band of her underwear, and she knew what he was about to do.

Her legs, which he had taken and thrown over each of his shoulders, suddenly clamped shut. Had she not been so embarrassed, the situation would have been comical: Ron’s arms flew to her knees, which were on either side of his face. When he finally pried them apart, he looked up at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I’m scared for you to do that,” she whispered. She could feel a blush rising on her cheeks, and she was ashamed of herself. “I don’t think you’ll like it, and I don’t want you to do something just because I did it for you,” she explained in a rush. Instead of looking relieved, like Hermione thought he would, Ron just laughed.

“Hermione. I promise you, I want to do this for you. I want to show you how good you make me feel, I want you to feel the same way. Please, let me do this,” he said softly, each word punctuated by his fingers brushing against her panties.

She just threw her head back and moaned, moving her hips toward him. He took that to be a go-ahead, so he leaned his head back down and continued kissing. He teased with kisses along the waistband of her panties, and then moved further down to the spot that he was still rubbing with his fingertips. He then moved to her inner thighs, once again spread on either side of his face. As he kissed up and down her legs, two fingers moved inside her underwear and pushed inside of her.

She cried out, not caring if she was heard by the owners of the garden wall that they were sitting on. They were under the invisibility cloak anyway, they couldn’t be seen even if they were heard.

Ron’s fingers were a kind of sweet torture to Hermione—pushing in and out, slowly and then quickly, hard and then soft. He was pushing and stretching her, but she still fit tightly around him, the sensation driving him mad and causing his cock to strain harder and harder against his jeans.

Hermione thought she was going to explode with pleasure. This can’t get any better, it just can’t, she thought…and then it did. Ron’s mouth moved from kissing the inside of her thigh to kissing directly over her clit. If Hermione thought she was going to explode before, she was definitely going to explode now. Ron’s tongue escaped from his mouth and pressed against her, rubbing the wet cloth of her panties against her clit, all while he was steadily pushing in and out of her.

Hermione was too embarrassed to ask for what she desperately wanted, but Ron seemed to know what she was thinking. With his nose he nudged her panties out of the way, and his tongue made contact with her skin. She arched her head and cried his name, and he moaned against her. The friction was delicious, sinful, completion, everything she could have wanted. He moved his tongue against her—from side to side, in circles, up and down, hard and fast, slow and easy—every way that Hermione could have imagined. She needed more, couldn’t live without more, and she pushed against his mouth, all inhibitions she held gone.

Ron was enjoying himself, too. Her smell, her scent, her taste, her tightness around his fingers…everything about her screamed that she was perfect for him. He tried to think of something that tasted as good as she did, but he was at a complete loss; tried to think of something that felt as good as her wrapped around his fingers, but he couldn’t. It was perfect. She was perfect.

Ron kept pushing deeper and deeper into her, his tongue still working furiously at her clit. She knew she was going to come soon, but she didn’t want it to stop—it felt too good. Unable to stop herself, one hand moved from beside her on the garden wall to her breasts, jerking her bra aside and rolling her palm across a nipple. Ron happened to glance up at her at this moment and almost came in his jeans—Hermione’s head was thrown back, her shirt pushed up above her breasts and one hand had was rubbing against those amazing tits of hers, the other buried in his hair, pushing his mouth harder down onto her.

His cock in his jeans was begging for release and he didn’t think he would be able to resist any longer. With his free hand, unbuttoned his fly and pulled out his manhood. The breeze in the air made it stiffen even more, precum already glistening on the tip. He began to stroke, not even bothering with his usual routine of teasing himself by moving one finger across the head. He had soon built up a pace equal to the way he was pushing into Hermione, the fact that he was pleasuring himself at the same time as pleasuring her making him hotter by the second.

Hermione bucked against his mouth and hand, her release coming soon. Amid her pants and cries she looked down, loving the sight of his mouth on her most private parts. She caught a glimpse of his hand moving up and down, and she came with such force that she lifted off of the garden wall. She shook and trembled for several long seconds, unable to come down from such a powerful orgasm. When she finally did, however, she pulled Ron up until he was standing, his hand still stroking his cock.

She made sure she had his attention and then began to move in a way that confused Ron. Her hand, instead of moving to pull her jeans back up, slipped down into her underwear. When she drew her hand back up, three of her fingers were glistening with her own arousal. Giving Ron a sly look, she reached out and smoothed them against his cock. He thrust forward, unable to believe what she was doing. The feeling of her hot, sticky wetness against his skin was unlike anything he’d ever experience before. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, what with Hermione’s hand a blur against on his cock and the slippery friction of her arousal between her skin and his. She pulled on his shirt and kissed him, skill stroking his cock, her tongue sliding through his mouth and across his lips. She made a low purring noise, and he realized that she could taste herself on his lips. The though of that was too much, and with one final thrust he came, long and hot and hard. Hermione kept stroking until he was finished, and he collapsed onto her shoulder, breathing heavily.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, Ron dropping light kisses on her shoulders and she on the top of his head. When they regained their energy, they straightened their clothes and set off toward Frottsmeyers Flora and Fauna for Mrs. Weasley’s fertilizer, hand in hand.