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113 Days Later (In Time Series 2)	By : Dazzlious Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 8955 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from JK Rowling’s fantastic books or films, I’m just borrowing and playing with them for a little while and get no monetary reward for doing so.

Chapter List
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Hermione hurried down the road; her need to get as far as away as she could from the Burrow was immense. She couldn’t bear another minute cooped up in the bloody place, especially with her so-called best friends, who were both going to suffer protracted and painful deaths if she wasn’t given a chance to get away from them and calm down.
Ever since their return from Diagon Alley the previous evening Ron and Harry had done nothing but mercilessly take the piss out of Hermione about her antics at the party and the drunkenness that had caused them, not to mention her treatment of George both at the time and in the unhappy aftermath. It was okay to begin with, and Hermione had expected it, even when they began to list all the men she had kissed, most of whom she had completely forgotten about in her mortification over Arthur and some of whom she wouldn’t have gone within twenty feet of if she had been even a little bit sober.
But after several hours of ribbing and more than a few sly digs from Ron about breaking George’s heart, Hermione was close to breaking point and headed off to bed in a thoroughly bad mood. Unfortunately, being the pair of idiots she had always known they were, Harry and Ron hadn’t taken the hint that she’d had enough and the jesting and snarking had started again this morning almost as soon as she entered the kitchen looking for breakfast and a quiet cup of tea.
With Molly and Arthur both away from home, as they had gone to visit Molly’s great-aunt Muriel, there was no one around to spot Hermione’s growing anger and rein the boys in from their incessant taunting, which had followed her wherever in the house she had gone to try get away from it. After an hour she was close to completely losing it with both of them and was heartily wishing she had thought to bring her wand downstairs. By the time lunchtime came around she was considering using her bare hands to rip them limb from limb if it would only shut them up.
It didn’t help that Ginny wasn’t talking to her today either; another sibling annoyed about Hermione’s casual toying with George’s affections. It had already caused an argument between them when they had first woken up because Hermione was apparently unable to adequately explain why she didn’t want George as a boyfriend. She had tried to point out that she had only got together with him in the first place because she was so drunk she could hardly stand up and that he was the one who had got her in that state, but this hadn’t gone down at all well and now Ginny seemed to think that Hermione deserved everything she was getting from Ron and Harry.
Desperately needing to be alone and away from all the hurtful comments, whether intentional or not, and unable to go back to the bedroom as Ginny was in there, still sulking and angry after their earlier argument, Hermione grabbed her coat and accessories, pulled on her boots and left the house, hitting the open road and heading towards Ottery St Catchpole where hopefully the café would still be open and she could get warm for a bit while keeping out of everyone’s way.
Unfortunately, by the time she finally made it to the village square the café was closed, but after wandering aimlessly for a short while and considering whether to visit the church, if only to get out of the biting cold, Hermione realised the pub was open. She didn’t want alcohol as her body still wasn’t sufficiently recovered from the punch to inflict more on it, but she could get a soft drink and keep out of the way, hopefully in blissful solitude for a couple of hours until Molly and Arthur got back and could rein everyone in.
As she walked towards the old building, admiring the ancient architecture with its wooden beams and thatched roof, Hermione studied the painting on the sign that was on a pole inside the small front garden. The pub was called the White Hind, not an unusual name for a village pub by any means, but the sign certainly was. The painting was beautifully rendered and was obviously quite old, and the deer that was depicted in it looked exactly like Harry’s Patronus when it was at its strongest. In fact, if Hermione hadn’t known that the pub was Muggle, as was the whole village, she would have suspected the sign had been painted by a wizard drawing on his knowledge of the spectral spell creatures.
She pushed open the heavy front door and stepped down into a dark room full of yet more thick wooden beams and a whole host of gleaming horse brasses and copper jugs that filled the room, making it seem small and snug. To her left there was another room housing a big open fireplace that made the whole area feel uncomfortably warm after the cold outside, but there weren’t many people in the pub so there were plenty of free tables away from the fire.
Hermione walked to the bar, knowing that everyone in the place was watching her intently.
‘Good afternoon. Can I have an orange juice and lemonade, please?’ she asked the barmaid politely, making sure she was smiling.
The barmaid smiled back. ‘Course you can, m’ lovely. You wan’ anything else?’ she looked around as if expecting someone else to appear.
‘No, that’ll be all, thanks.’ Hermione smiled again to forestall any further comment.
The barmaid disappeared down the other end of the bar, returning a couple of minutes later with a tall glass full of the requested drink.
Hermione paid for it, thanking the barmaid, then walked over to sit at a table by the window and as far away from the fire as she could get. She pulled off her gloves and put them on the table, watching out the window as the cold wind blew around the last of the dead leaves and some discarded rubbish, as she removed her hat and scarf and took off her coat.
Now she was a bit less overdressed the room was quite pleasant, the smoky wood smell and the warmth of the fire soothing her. She took a sip of her drink, enjoying the slight tartness of the orange before a bubble of fizzy sweetness exploded on her tongue from the lemonade as she relaxed onto the padded bench seat she had chosen.
Hermione looked around the pub, thinking how much she liked the relatively small, dark space with its mishmash of decorations, old photographs and paintings covering the areas of wall not taken up by brass. It had a somewhat quaint and homely feel, the mixture of tapestry-type fabrics on the chairs mixing with faded red velvet and old brass studs. It was quiet too, not a jukebox or fruit machine in sight, for which she was grateful.
There were a couple of old men playing dominoes and another pair over by the fire appeared to be playing backgammon. Elsewhere, other patrons read newspapers or talked quietly over dark pints of the locally brewed ale. And at least one was asleep, snoring gently in a corner while everyone ignored them and carried on with their own business.
She looked out of the window again, watching the sign swing precariously in the stiff wind that forced a dead leaf to dance pirouettes across one of the deserted wooden tables in the garden.
‘I’s a bit blowy ou’ there.’
Hermione looked round to see who had spoken. An old man with short grey hair and a big grey handlebar moustache wearing baggy black trousers and a thick blue handknitted woollen pullover was wiping down tables and collecting empty glasses. He already held a couple in his hand.
‘Yes, it’s cold,’ Hermione said. ‘I was just watching your sign blowing around.’
‘Don’ ya worry abou’ ’er. She ain’ goin’ nowhere,’ the man said with a wink.
‘It’s a beautiful picture,’ Hermione told him.
‘Ah, ya like our dream hind, do ya? She’s a real beauty, ain’ she?’
Hermione nodded. ‘Yes. It’s very unusual.’
‘Painted a lon’ time ago, she were,’ the old man confided happily. ‘Weird man the painter were. Dressed oddly. Wore this long ol’ robe thing and a big floppy ’at.’ He chuckled richly. ‘He looked like a wizard, you know . . . well, what ye’d imagine a wizard t’ look like, anyway.’
‘Really?’ Hermione said politely, already knowing the man was right. The painter probably had been a wizard who wasn’t very good at disguising himself amongst Muggles.
‘Oh, arr. Course, I were on’y a nipper when he came by so I was gonna think he were a wizard, weren’ I? But still, e’en now when I think on it, there were sommat strange about ’im. But then painters are odd people, ain’ they?’
‘Some of them certainly can be,’ Hermione said politely.
‘You ‘ere on yer own, then?’ the man asked. He frowned as if seeming concerned.
Hermione nodded. ‘I’m staying with some friends in the area for Christmas, but after a few days together we all needed a bit of a break so I thought I’d come for a walk and see the village on my own. It’s very picturesque, nothing like where I live in London. But it’s so cold out there, especially with that bitter wind. I thought I’d stop and have a couple of drinks and warm up a bit before I walk back. I was thinking about going into the church, actually.
‘Ah, very ol’ that church. Like everything round ’ere . . . e’en me.’ The old man grinned at his weak joke. ‘Built in the fourt’nth century and got some intrestin’ stuff in there if yer into tha’ sorta thing — misericor’s an’ all tha’. Nice roo’ screen, an’ all.’
‘I’ll definitely go and have a look in there before I go back home,’ Hermione said. ‘Although I might leave it until another day when it’s a bit sunnier.’
The old man nodded solemnly. ‘In tha’ case you wanna look at the graveyard too. Some interestin’ ol’ graves in there.’
‘Thank you for telling me about it,’ Hermione smiled at him.
‘So you’m down from Lon’on, then?’ The man said once he had wiped Hermione’s table.
Hermione nodded. ‘Yes, out in the suburbs. It’s all big housing estates where I live. Not much greenery except for the odd park and a few London planes lining the pavements. It’s nice down here — quiet and peaceful. I like it very much.’
The man looked pleased. ‘Arr, Ottery St Catchpole is a beautiful village. Wouldn’ wanna live anywhere else. Been ’ere for eighty-three years, me.’
‘You’re very lucky,’ Hermione said. She was wondering how to get rid of the man without being rude. He was quite interesting but she had been looking forward to a bit of peace — some time for quiet contemplation.
‘I better get on, afore they tells me off for disturbin’ the customers,’ the old man said. ‘“No one wants to hear your gabber, ol’ Tom,” they say,’
‘You’re fine.’ Hermione replied as she crossed her fingers beneath the table. ‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you. You’ve given me some useful information.’
‘I’ll catch you nex’ time I come back roun’ if yer still ’ere.’ Tom wore a satisfied smile, clearly happy with Hermione’s compliment.
‘I’ll see you later,’ Hermione agreed, hoping the pub was a bit bigger than just the two small rooms she could see otherwise he would be back before she even had time to get another drink.
With a wave, Tom wandered over to the next table along from Hermione, wiping it down before walking over to the bar to drop the two empty glasses he had picked up earlier. Hermione watched him for a moment, then looked back out of the window at the sign of the hind that probably was a Patronus. She wondered if it had belonged to someone in Harry’s family; they were all big on deer of one description or another. It really was a beautiful painting, though.
Hermione looked at her almost empty glass then checked her watch. She had no idea what time Molly and Arthur would be coming home, but knowing the Weasley matriarch she would make sure she was back in plenty of time to prepare dinner. The woman didn’t seem to be happy unless she had fed them all so much that they couldn’t walk, a bit like the house-elves at Hogwarts if you gave them the opportunity. As long as she didn’t return home until after they had got back she would be safe, but that meant having at least one more drink. At least it didn’t look like Tom was coming back.
She delved into her pocket looking for some Muggle money, then made her way over to the bar to buy another drink.

Arthur was a bit worried about Hermione’s mood when she joined him in the shed after dinner and wondered if he should send her away. But the truth was that she was probably better off out here, away from Ron, Ginny and Harry, than back in the house where she would have to put up with their sarcasm and taunts.
He just hoped she had a good excuse for where she had disappeared off to. He didn’t need them to come looking for her and find her in the shed, even if they weren’t doing anything when they were discovered. No one was supposed to come out here apart from him. That was how they had managed to keep their secret for so long.
Arthur had already had to weigh in a couple of times to get her friends to cease in their teasing although he tried not to be too overbearing about it in case it sparked suspicion. But then Molly joined in and told them all in no uncertain terms what she would do if anyone mentioned George’s infernal punch or its effects around her again, and there was finally peace — in the kitchen, at least.
Hermione had stayed in the kitchen with Molly, helping her to cook dinner and talking about Hogwarts, catching her up on the gossip while Molly told her about their trip to Muriel’s, although Arthur couldn’t even begin to understand why Hermione would be interested in that.
He disappeared to the shed, eager to be away from the unpleasant atmosphere that permeated his home like a bad smell. He felt sorry for Hermione but there was nothing he could do to help her, not without giving away their infidelity or at the very least raising suspicion as to why he cared so much, so he was better off keeping out of the way. Molly would deal with the situation in her own special way and then he would deal with the fall-out later.
Arthur wasn’t certain whether Hermione would come to see him, unsure whether she would leave Molly’s side when she was protecting her against her friends, and for a short while he found himself wondering whether this would finally cause Hermione to feel guilt at what they were doing behind his wife’s back. But it seemed that even this hadn’t been enough to stop Hermione in her desire for him.
Once dinner was over Arthur returned to his shed as everyone else moved into the lounge. Hermione went with them but didn’t feel particularly comfortable, not wanting to play Exploding Snap with the friends who were still being prickly about George and not wanting to sit around doing nothing when Arthur was alone in the shed and able to provide the stress relief she so badly needed.
She talked to Molly for a while, finishing up their conversation that had started in the kitchen, and then she expressed the desire to go for a walk, to blow away the cobwebs and lift her mood a bit.
Molly, understanding how the teasing was affecting Hermione, was happy to let her go, knowing that being out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but fields for miles, she wasn’t likely to get into much trouble wandering off on her own, even after dark.
Hermione, grateful to be released, hurried to get her things and slipped out of the house, making sure no one was watching or following before heading to the shed.
‘Are you okay?’ Arthur asked.
He had wrapped his arms around Hermione, holding her quietly for several minutes, but her silence was making him concerned.
‘I am now,’ she said as he released her, and she moved back a step so she could look at him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Weasley, I’m just really feeling stressed tonight. I understand they’re unhappy on George’s behalf, but I’ve had it up to here.’ She indicated over her head with her hand. ‘Even George wasn’t this bad, and if he put them up to it I’m going to kill him because I thought we’d sorted things out. He wasn’t happy but he understood that getting me completely slaughtered wasn’t the best basis for inducing a lasting relationship.’
‘I suspect they’ve come up with this on their own,’ Arthur said. ‘Ron’s perfectly capable of holding a grudge, even when he’s not been wronged, and Ginny has been a bit over-protective of George ever since Fred died. Harry was just teasing you, wasn’t he? He didn’t say anything about George.’
‘He didn’t have to, Ron said enough. I just don’t understand why they think I should have to go out with him just because we spent one drunken night together. I adore George, I honestly do, but he’s so different to me personality-wise, and I can’t be doing with all his jokes and stuff. If I went out with him we’d last about two minutes so there’s no point in even attempting it, not even to shut that lot up.’
Hermione knew she was ignoring the most important and obvious reason that she wasn’t interested in George but she didn’t want to talk about that at the moment. It was a subject she had to keep completely locked away from Arthur because if she ever started talking about it she might never stop, and then Merlin only knew what would happen.
Nothing would happen, a little voice inside her chided. It would make no difference. Arthur would still be married to Molly and you would still just be one of his Muggle artefacts . . . and that’s how it is . . . and that’s how it should be.
‘You really are stressed,’ Arthur said. He was massaging Hermione’s neck and shoulders in an attempt to release some of the tension. ‘What can I do to help you out? Tell me what you need.’
His hands moved lower, drawing her jumper up. Hermione raised her arms so he could remove it and drop it onto his workbench. He found her breasts encased in black lace and squeezed them as he kissed the side of her neck. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed gently, allowing the tension to drain away as she focussed on the sensation Arthur was causing within her. There was so much she wanted to do but she was aware that once again their time together was limited, and unless they did something soon she would have to return to the house without either of them being satisfied.
‘What do you want to do? I’m just an artefact, remember?’ Her voice was soft and dreamy. Arthur’s soothing caress was making her feel dizzy and the flickering flames in the warm shed created shadows that danced around her, making the whole thing seem almost surreal.
Arthur chuckled in her ear as he pressed against her. She could feel his erection, hard against her bottom, his fingers pinching her nipples, tugging on them to increase their size. She gasped.
‘There are all sorts of things I’d like to do, but if I’m being honest I’d really like to fuck you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think you’re anywhere near ready for that and I’m not sure we have time to remedy the situation and do the deed as well.’
‘I don’t care about being ready. I want to fuck you too,’ Hermione said.
‘I’m not hurting you, Hermione. I don’t want to, and there’s no need for it,’ Arthur told her.
‘You’re not going to hurt me. I promise.’ Hermione turned her head to look at him, her lips pecking his even though she knew she shouldn’t. ‘I want you to fuck me, Mr Weasley, and I can assure you I’m more than ready.’
Arthur’s hands left her breasts and moved to caress her bottom as he considered her words. This had happened before, the first night she had returned to him, and the sex had been incredible. But what if this time she really wasn’t ready? He gasped as Hermione’s hand reached behind her to grab his cock through his robe, even as he continued to squeeze her bottom.
‘Please, just fuck me. It’ll get rid of the stress, we’ll both love it, and we’ll both end the evening satisfied and happy.’
Laughing once more, Arthur slid his hands around her waist to undo the button and zip of her jeans, obviously agreeing with her pronouncement. Hermione gave another loud sigh to show her approval.
‘I think we’ll stay in this position tonight,’ Arthur said once he had helped Hermione out of her jeans and knickers and removed his robe and underpants. His cock was rubbing against Hermione’s bottom as he worked on the catch of her bra, wanting to play with her breasts while they fucked.
Hermione made a noise of agreement, all the while hoping she was going to be wet enough. Although she was extremely aroused, Arthur fucking her doggy style was hardcore and was going to be a challenge without any foreplay. She gasped as a hand slid between her legs and his fingers pushed inside her. Obviously he’d had the same thought. Still inside her and holding onto her waist with his other hand, Arthur guided Hermione round so she was facing his workbench.
‘Bend over,’ he commanded.
Hermione leant forward, resting her arms on the workbench. Arthur stroked her bottom with his free hand.
‘You are completely gorgeous,’ he told her.
‘And I want you to fuck me,’ Hermione said.
‘All in good time, Miss Impatient,’ Arthur said giving her bottom a slap of chastisement. He sounded amused. His thumb found her clit and rubbed it gently as his fingers stayed buried inside her for a few minutes, then he removed them. ‘Bend forward a bit more and open your legs wider.’
She did as he asked and Arthur watched as the whole of her perfect vulva came into view. He stroked it, fingers drifting up towards her anus and pressing into the tight hole as Hermione gasped and twitched. After a few seconds of this he stopped, refocussing his efforts on her clit. As much as he would like to try it with her, anal sex wasn’t happening tonight so there was no point in wasting time on that. Better to focus his efforts on ensuring she was ready for his cock. He bent down and licked her slit.
Hermione cried out at the unexpected sensation. Her nerve endings were tingling just from that one assault. She flattened herself on the workbench, pushing her sex out so Arthur could reach her more easily. A moment later she was rewarded with his tongue again and experienced a rush of desire so deep she thought she would drown. Again and again he lapped at her and she could feel that dull ache deep inside her, pulsing and flaring to life as Arthur’s tongue stoked the flames of her arousal. She longed to yell out but the sound wouldn’t come. Instead, she was panting hard and fast as she got closer and closer. She was almost there—
Abruptly, Arthur stopped what he was doing. Hermione cried out in disappointment, feeling the wave that had been steadily building inside her recede. But before she could say anything Arthur was on her, his cock sliding inside her, pushing her down onto the workbench again as he buried himself with a low moan. He pulled back, almost leaving her completely, but then he was back inside her and the wave was building again; a tidal wave this time, growing and strengthening with each hard thrust.
Arthur grabbed Hermione’s breasts, squeezing them as he moved against her, understanding from the noises she was making that she was close to orgasm. He kept the rhythm slow and steady at first, knowing it would frustrate her and cause her to try to take control, even as he pinched her nipples, twisting them to provide the small bursts of pain he knew she thrived on. He could feel her pushing back against him, trying to keep him inside her even as he was pulling back.
‘Oh god, please,’ Hermione wailed, begging Arthur to finish it because she was so close it was unbearable and she thought the agony of having to wait a moment longer would kill her.
Arthur released her breasts, grasping her hips instead as he sped up and rode her hard. Her muscles contracted around him, squeezing and milking, the exquisite feeling making breathing difficult.
‘Arthur . . . oh, Arthur!’
Again Hermione wailed, her pelvis mimicking Arthur’s movements as the flood rose, then surged, crashing down as she burst into tears, the sensation too overwhelming for her to do anything else. With the final contraction Arthur exploded, crying out Hermione’s name as he pushed into her and wrapping his arms around her to pull her to him as he kissed her neck. A few seconds later he withdrew, turning Hermione around to cuddle her tightly as she sobbed on his shoulder.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, anxious that he had hurt her in some way.
Hermione nodded into his shoulder but she was still crying.
‘I think that was the best yet,’ she said once she had recovered enough to talk. Her eyes were still glistening with tears but they were no longer falling. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard before. It made me cry.’
‘It was amazing,’ Arthur agreed.
He hugged her, then released her so they could put their clothes back on.
‘I’m back at work tomorrow,’ he said once they were both fully dressed and Hermione was ready to leave. ‘I think it might be a late one too, so I’m not sure if there will be time for anything—’
Hermione placed her lips on his in a brief and tender kiss as her hand brushed across his now torpid cock, giving it a gentle squeeze.
‘I’m sure we can think of something,’ she whispered, her eyes shining. ‘Don’t work too hard, Mr Weasley.’
She released him, kissed his cheek, then walked to the door.
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113 Days Later (In Time Series 2)