HP: (FIC) Cover Ourselves With Lies (HG/RW, RW/LB) R
Title: Cover Ourselves With Lies
Rating: R
Pairings: Hermione/Ron, Ron/Lavender.
Word Count: 1543
Warnings: Voyeurism. HBP Compliant
A/N: This occurs parallel to events in Chapter 14 and 15.
Beta: djin7 and occasusvenustas
For: mrman17 in the wizard_love Exchange
A/N: Ah, now this assignment was a bitch, let me tell you, and I'll never ever write this pairing again, but, I actually love the way it turned out. My poor Hermione.
Hermione walked into the crowded Common Room. The unimaginable had happened: Gryffindor won the house cup without Harry's help. She was relieved, in more ways than one, because at least she wouldn't have to deal with temperamental boys who loved Quidditch. It was amusing to her that something so trivial could cause such stress and emotion in those that normally couldn't spare more than a teaspoon's worth on anything of importance.
Gryffindor had won and, for Hermione, it meant that she wouldn't be dealing with Ron in one of his moods. He'd never handled disappointment well. He took things far too personally, overreacting at the merest of comments. Harry was far easier to deal with. She had more patience with him, for one, because he was far more sensible than Ron was. And, unless Slytherins were involved, he was less likely to take his disappointment out on her.
She sighed, boys. She shook her head and tried to push through the crowds to find Ron and congratulate him. They'd fought earlier and she just wanted to clear the air. He had done well, and he deserved the credit. Hermione often felt as if she was on the outside looking in on those two, not just because she was the girl, but because of her strict ethics about rule breaking. She would just have to try harder to relax, and be more supportive. Perhaps she would give Ron a congratulatory kiss. It wouldn’t be her first kiss, which had belonged to Viktor, but she really didn’t count it. It should have been Ron’s in the first place.
She wished that he would just take the hint and finally ask her out. She had thought that after their row at the Yule Ball in fourth year that she had made herself perfectly clear. She wanted to date him and she wanted him to ask her. Yet, they were going to Slughorn's party together. Perhaps, he'd finally realise what she'd been hinting at. It may have been positively ancient thinking, and she did fancy herself a feminist, but there were still things she had been raised to expect, and having him ask her was one of them. The fact that she feared that he'd laugh at her, she'd never admit aloud.
She spotted red hair and smiled; she'd found him. She looked up and stopped in her tracks. There he was, wrapped around Lavender like so much Devil's Snare, devouring her face as if it was the last pumpkin pasty. She felt her heart shattering as her lungs refused to fill with air. She turned and made her way back out the room. She couldn't breathe and her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she could hear little else.
After what seemed like a mile long walk, she finally emerged on the other side of the portrait, and she slumped against the wall for a moment. A choked sob escaped her throat before she hastily made her way to anywhere but there. She ran to the first available classroom, lost and bewildered as to what to do next. She parked herself atop the teacher's desk and swung her feet back and forth in a nervous burst of energy, masking her need to scream. She twirled her wand in her hand before she conjured up small birds, one by one, to keep herself busy. They fluttered about her as she sat there, stunned. Ironic, she thought, that the birds flew around her like those around the cartoon animals to denote dizziness, because she felt like someone had just beat her head repeatedly against the wall-she being the likely culprit.
When Harry came in with a concerned look on his face, unfortunately just preceding a boisterous Ron and that bitch, Lavender, she lost it. Hermione screamed, Oppugno, although she was a hair shy of wanting to cast Cruciatus. Then, at least, his pain would rival hers. She took off again, not looking where she was going, and not caring. She walked around the school, listlessly, until she was physically exhausted and emotionally spent. Her feet led her to the door of the Prefects' Bath.
She stepped into the room, and sighed. She was fraught with turmoil. The idea that Ron could just cast her aside for that vapid chit caused her chest to constrict with pain. She had thought she’d tried everything to get his attention, but to no avail. He never noticed her, barely thought her a girl. Why did she waste anytime mooning over him when it was a fruitless endeavour? He was never going to want her, never going to love her. Sobs wracked her body, as she wrapped her arms around herself. Hermione wished her mum was here, because she would hold her, and tell her how wonderful she was, and all those things you need to hear when your heart was shattering to a million pieces.
Hermione shed her clothes hastily as she watched the tub fill with essence of lavender, trying not to think of the irony, and chamomile. Perhaps, after this, she'd be too tired to cry herself to sleep. The water felt like a balm as she settled against the cool tile of the tub. She closed her eyes, allowing the fragrance to relax her body. She immersed herself in fantasy, ignoring the lurching of her own heart.
Ron would come to her, wrap his arms around her, whispering words of love and devotion as his lips caressed her ear. Hermione let her hands down her body, teasing her nipples to hardness. They floated on the surface, cool air of the bathroom, contrasting with the heat rising off the water. Her hands continued down her body, slowly; her legs spread to allow her to slip between them. She heard a gasp on the other side of the room. Her instinct was to jump and cover herself, but she knew, she knew it was him.
Hermione wondered why Ron was there. Hope rose inside of her chest as she pondered his reasons for coming. Perhaps he wanted to make sure she was all right? Hermione's lips curled at the thought. No, that wasn't the reason at all, was it? Bitterly, she contemplated if trips under Harry's cloak to watch her in the bath were a frequent pastime, or if he wanted to revel in the special misery he had put her through tonight. Had Lavender left him for the night? Sighing, she pushed the reality of Ron out of her mind as best she could, and focused on what she wished could be.
Her fingers teased her labia, touching herself hesitantly. Visions of Ron swooping around on his broom filled her mind. She plunged a finger inside, gasping at the sensation. She rocked against the palm of her hand, which rested against her mound. Ron's smile as he did homework came to forefront. She couldn't stop herself from crying out as she thrust two fingers inside. Her other hand slid up her soft belly, cupping her breast as she fucked herself on her fingers.
She pictured Ron hovering above her, letting his weight comfort her as he filled her for the first time. She saw him thrusting inside of her, his muscles tensing with the effort to go slow, savouring every sensation. Her fingers moved faster within her as she pinched her nipple. She watched in her mind as they made love, as he professed his love. Hermione felt her world spiraling away, lost in her familiar fantasies starring Ron and her.
She could hear the breathing across the room increase as she neared her peak. Then she remembered everything that had happened. Her dreams turned bleak as the form beneath Ron ceased to be her and became Lavender. She muffled a sob that was more pained than pleasure. The distinct desire to die came hurtling back at full speed. She couldn't stop seeing him with her. She was popular, pretty, into Quidditch: the Perfect Girlfriend. She couldn't compete with that. She'd find herself lost shortly after she lost him, if she could ever have him to begin with. Loving Ron was something she'd done since she knew what love was, and she couldn't lose anything else to him or she'd have nothing left.
A surge of anger welled up inside of her. She wanted him to hurt as much as she did. She wanted him to know what it felt like to feel unloved, unwanted, and unimportant. Hermione cared less about the fact that he was watching, and more about the fact that he was counting on her wanting him. She refused to play that game. Not any longer.
The orgasm crashed over her, tension bleeding away, exchanging desolation in its place. She opened her mouth to breathe out the name of the boy who haunted her dreams, the focus of all her longing, and said softly and deliberately, "Viktor”.
She just couldn't let him have that. It was hers and hers alone. She couldn't look him in the eye the next morning, and he wasn't exactly searching anymore. She watched as he and Lavender fit like two halves of a whole and tried to convince herself that perhaps, she and Ron just weren’t meant to be.
Rating: R
Pairings: Hermione/Ron, Ron/Lavender.
Word Count: 1543
Warnings: Voyeurism. HBP Compliant
A/N: This occurs parallel to events in Chapter 14 and 15.
Beta: djin7 and occasusvenustas
For: mrman17 in the wizard_love Exchange
A/N: Ah, now this assignment was a bitch, let me tell you, and I'll never ever write this pairing again, but, I actually love the way it turned out. My poor Hermione.
Hermione walked into the crowded Common Room. The unimaginable had happened: Gryffindor won the house cup without Harry's help. She was relieved, in more ways than one, because at least she wouldn't have to deal with temperamental boys who loved Quidditch. It was amusing to her that something so trivial could cause such stress and emotion in those that normally couldn't spare more than a teaspoon's worth on anything of importance.
Gryffindor had won and, for Hermione, it meant that she wouldn't be dealing with Ron in one of his moods. He'd never handled disappointment well. He took things far too personally, overreacting at the merest of comments. Harry was far easier to deal with. She had more patience with him, for one, because he was far more sensible than Ron was. And, unless Slytherins were involved, he was less likely to take his disappointment out on her.
She sighed, boys. She shook her head and tried to push through the crowds to find Ron and congratulate him. They'd fought earlier and she just wanted to clear the air. He had done well, and he deserved the credit. Hermione often felt as if she was on the outside looking in on those two, not just because she was the girl, but because of her strict ethics about rule breaking. She would just have to try harder to relax, and be more supportive. Perhaps she would give Ron a congratulatory kiss. It wouldn’t be her first kiss, which had belonged to Viktor, but she really didn’t count it. It should have been Ron’s in the first place.
She wished that he would just take the hint and finally ask her out. She had thought that after their row at the Yule Ball in fourth year that she had made herself perfectly clear. She wanted to date him and she wanted him to ask her. Yet, they were going to Slughorn's party together. Perhaps, he'd finally realise what she'd been hinting at. It may have been positively ancient thinking, and she did fancy herself a feminist, but there were still things she had been raised to expect, and having him ask her was one of them. The fact that she feared that he'd laugh at her, she'd never admit aloud.
She spotted red hair and smiled; she'd found him. She looked up and stopped in her tracks. There he was, wrapped around Lavender like so much Devil's Snare, devouring her face as if it was the last pumpkin pasty. She felt her heart shattering as her lungs refused to fill with air. She turned and made her way back out the room. She couldn't breathe and her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she could hear little else.
After what seemed like a mile long walk, she finally emerged on the other side of the portrait, and she slumped against the wall for a moment. A choked sob escaped her throat before she hastily made her way to anywhere but there. She ran to the first available classroom, lost and bewildered as to what to do next. She parked herself atop the teacher's desk and swung her feet back and forth in a nervous burst of energy, masking her need to scream. She twirled her wand in her hand before she conjured up small birds, one by one, to keep herself busy. They fluttered about her as she sat there, stunned. Ironic, she thought, that the birds flew around her like those around the cartoon animals to denote dizziness, because she felt like someone had just beat her head repeatedly against the wall-she being the likely culprit.
When Harry came in with a concerned look on his face, unfortunately just preceding a boisterous Ron and that bitch, Lavender, she lost it. Hermione screamed, Oppugno, although she was a hair shy of wanting to cast Cruciatus. Then, at least, his pain would rival hers. She took off again, not looking where she was going, and not caring. She walked around the school, listlessly, until she was physically exhausted and emotionally spent. Her feet led her to the door of the Prefects' Bath.
She stepped into the room, and sighed. She was fraught with turmoil. The idea that Ron could just cast her aside for that vapid chit caused her chest to constrict with pain. She had thought she’d tried everything to get his attention, but to no avail. He never noticed her, barely thought her a girl. Why did she waste anytime mooning over him when it was a fruitless endeavour? He was never going to want her, never going to love her. Sobs wracked her body, as she wrapped her arms around herself. Hermione wished her mum was here, because she would hold her, and tell her how wonderful she was, and all those things you need to hear when your heart was shattering to a million pieces.
Hermione shed her clothes hastily as she watched the tub fill with essence of lavender, trying not to think of the irony, and chamomile. Perhaps, after this, she'd be too tired to cry herself to sleep. The water felt like a balm as she settled against the cool tile of the tub. She closed her eyes, allowing the fragrance to relax her body. She immersed herself in fantasy, ignoring the lurching of her own heart.
Ron would come to her, wrap his arms around her, whispering words of love and devotion as his lips caressed her ear. Hermione let her hands down her body, teasing her nipples to hardness. They floated on the surface, cool air of the bathroom, contrasting with the heat rising off the water. Her hands continued down her body, slowly; her legs spread to allow her to slip between them. She heard a gasp on the other side of the room. Her instinct was to jump and cover herself, but she knew, she knew it was him.
Hermione wondered why Ron was there. Hope rose inside of her chest as she pondered his reasons for coming. Perhaps he wanted to make sure she was all right? Hermione's lips curled at the thought. No, that wasn't the reason at all, was it? Bitterly, she contemplated if trips under Harry's cloak to watch her in the bath were a frequent pastime, or if he wanted to revel in the special misery he had put her through tonight. Had Lavender left him for the night? Sighing, she pushed the reality of Ron out of her mind as best she could, and focused on what she wished could be.
Her fingers teased her labia, touching herself hesitantly. Visions of Ron swooping around on his broom filled her mind. She plunged a finger inside, gasping at the sensation. She rocked against the palm of her hand, which rested against her mound. Ron's smile as he did homework came to forefront. She couldn't stop herself from crying out as she thrust two fingers inside. Her other hand slid up her soft belly, cupping her breast as she fucked herself on her fingers.
She pictured Ron hovering above her, letting his weight comfort her as he filled her for the first time. She saw him thrusting inside of her, his muscles tensing with the effort to go slow, savouring every sensation. Her fingers moved faster within her as she pinched her nipple. She watched in her mind as they made love, as he professed his love. Hermione felt her world spiraling away, lost in her familiar fantasies starring Ron and her.
She could hear the breathing across the room increase as she neared her peak. Then she remembered everything that had happened. Her dreams turned bleak as the form beneath Ron ceased to be her and became Lavender. She muffled a sob that was more pained than pleasure. The distinct desire to die came hurtling back at full speed. She couldn't stop seeing him with her. She was popular, pretty, into Quidditch: the Perfect Girlfriend. She couldn't compete with that. She'd find herself lost shortly after she lost him, if she could ever have him to begin with. Loving Ron was something she'd done since she knew what love was, and she couldn't lose anything else to him or she'd have nothing left.
A surge of anger welled up inside of her. She wanted him to hurt as much as she did. She wanted him to know what it felt like to feel unloved, unwanted, and unimportant. Hermione cared less about the fact that he was watching, and more about the fact that he was counting on her wanting him. She refused to play that game. Not any longer.
The orgasm crashed over her, tension bleeding away, exchanging desolation in its place. She opened her mouth to breathe out the name of the boy who haunted her dreams, the focus of all her longing, and said softly and deliberately, "Viktor”.
She just couldn't let him have that. It was hers and hers alone. She couldn't look him in the eye the next morning, and he wasn't exactly searching anymore. She watched as he and Lavender fit like two halves of a whole and tried to convince herself that perhaps, she and Ron just weren’t meant to be.