Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Folie a Deux	By : SalonKitty Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 206364 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 10
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8

Harry’s cock was a thing of beauty.

Having only seen one other in the flesh, I couldn’t exactly call myself an expert; nevertheless, I could appreciate the absolute perfection that his knob represented. I heard a rumour once, many years later, that there was a dildo on the market—unauthorized, of course—called The Chosen Dong, and it was meant to be a replica of Harry’s equipment. Supposedly, it was a bestseller for the company that sold them, which I don’t doubt for a moment if it really is out there. Harry would never cop to the story, but I often wondered just how enterprising the working ladies at that brothel he went to were.

Still, regardless of the rumour’s validity, there was a definite quality to his todger that had little to do with size (although that was impressive enough), and everything to do with proportion and symmetry; a virtual paragon in the hall of noted cocks, I liked to imagine. While my mind resisted comparing it to Ron’s during an afternoon with Harry, inevitably, it would dawdle to that place in the wee hours of the night. It wasn’t as if one was better than the other, by any means, but they were different, and there was something a bit thrilling in that detail. Perhaps because they were the two people closest to me in this world and suddenly, I knew something incredibly intimate about them both.

Ron’s was quite thick, which had made our lovemaking difficult at first. He was always so eager to get it home, as it were, but if I wasn’t prepared, it was incredibly uncomfortable. There were some patches of discoloration below the foreskin, which included a spattering of freckles, and his testicles could get a bit hairy, but I never felt he wasn’t enough to satisfy me. Ron was so tall and broad-shouldered, however, that I had concluded his genitals were somewhat dwarfed by his frame. He was what the Muggles would refer to as a ‘grower’. Ron had been so gangly growing up and then filled out quite spectacularly, at some point. Conversely, Harry, who had looked practically malnourished when I met him, was rather compact. He’d eventually grown to an average height, but his body remained fit and wiry. There wasn’t an inch of the extraneous on him.

Being up close to Harry’s erection, I continually marvelled at how proud it stood, straight as a board and aiming for the heavens with a fierceness that seemed to be shooting a finger to those who sought to deny Harry this rapacious side of himself. Even the veins were assertive, like vines curling around a column of the Parthenon, the touch of blue a reminder of the blood pumping just under the skin; blood that was pumping through Harry’s whole body and into his heart. All of it crowned by a head that glistened with his arousal like a rain drop on a leaf during a misty morning, the skin so smooth it begged to be licked.

And that I did a lot, much to both of our surprise. I hadn’t expected that I would come to enjoy it so, but going down on Harry was like being blessed by the bishop’s hand during communion. Perhaps it was because he took control of the experience for me; with him I always knew where I stood. There was no guesswork, no trying to determine what every moan or whine would mean, what I was supposed to glean from silence or intermittent grunts (honestly, was that code for ‘go faster’ or ‘suck my balls’? And how was I supposed to know the difference?). Harry would tell me what he wanted and I gladly provided it.

The third time I gave him a blowjob, we were in the sitting room of Grimmauld. Rose was sleeping in her playpen behind the sofa (immersed in a cloud of silence), while I knelt on the floor in front of it, hands cuffed behind my back and my face in Harry’s lap. His hands cradled my head, my hair pulled back and gripped in his fist, while he directed me in slow, steady glides up and down his prick. He was sloped against the back of the sofa, legs spread wide and his bum at the edge of the cushions. My mouth was full of him and I kept preparing to gag at any moment, but he seemed to have a sixth sense about how much I could manage, pulling me up just when I thought my breaths were about to explode out of my eyes. We were moving at such a halcyon pace that I became dazed all too soon, feeling as contented as Rose at my breast, my breathing evening out enough that each nudge downward made it possible to expand my throat a little more each time. At a certain point, I was suddenly snapped out of my trance as I realised just how deep his cock had nestled into my gullet. I spluttered a bit, trying to rear back, and Harry murmured encouraging words as he’d disengaged me and dragged me up his body so that my face was at his chest. He slid my mouth over to a nipple and I instantly attached my lips to it, hardening it with my tongue.

            “Mmmm, baby, make me wet,” he moaned in a throaty whisper. “Use your teeth, luv. Show me what you can do.”

I bit down as he had asked and my eyelids fluttered when I heard him groan deeply, the vibrations in his chest tickling my lips. I quickly moved to the other one and taunted it likewise, with Harry providing more vocal enthusiasm. I felt ready to gush between my legs I was so turned on, but no sooner was I getting into the suckling then he was grabbing at my waist to drag me up onto his lap.

            “Kiss me, Hermione.”

Such a simple demand but one that made my knees weak as I did as he requested, pouring everything I had into the act as my mouth fastened to his, tongue groping and wild as if I were trying to crawl my entire being into that orifice. I had my bits rubbing against his madly, wanting the friction so much but wanting to draw the moment out as exquisitely and as excruciatingly as possible. Once again, Harry turned the tables on me with frightening rapidity, first putting the flat of his hands to my hips and pushing me back far enough that I couldn’t hump his knob. I groaned at the loss of contact, but cried out the next second as my body was twisted around—my head dropped to the seat cushion as my knees were repositioned to Harry’s side. My continuing cries were muffled into the upholstery as he smacked my arse hard. It was difficult to raise my head with my hands behind me as they were, but no sooner had I managed to turn my face so I could protest the spanking, than he was shifting me again, spreading my knees out and pushing my bum high in the air.

            “That’s a good girl, upsy daisy. I want to feel that mouth back on my dick while you fuck yourself on my fingers, understand?”

Stunned by his words, I could only nod, my complaint forgotten until he slapped me once more. I shrieked, probably a bit too dramatically, but then my head was being swivelled and his cock was back to stroking the insides of my cheeks. When I felt his fingers slip into me, it was as though he had flicked a switch inside those walls; I was ready do whatever he wanted.

            “I love seeing my handprint on your arse. It looks fantastic. I want to hear you squeal before I’m done, baby, do you hear me?”

A third finger stretched me even wider leaving me full and tight while his thumb scraped over my clitoris. I moaned along his prick and moved my hips so that my bum pistoned back into his hand.

              “Merlin, you’re a sight. I’m going to make your cum run down my arm, Hermione, till it’s dribbling off my elbow.” He added lasciviously, his voice low and husky. “You’ll be my human hand puppet, you little cunt, while I knob your throat raw.”

I moaned even louder, trying to lift the weight of my head without using my arms so that I could suck him off with the proper rhythm. His words were sending me into overdrive and I struggled to give him the deep-throating he was after. Certainly, no one had ever spoken to me like that before and I felt exhilarated by it. Harry was digging into my scalp again so that he could control the bobbing motion of my head, my hair feeling like it was about to be ripped out, and when I felt my cunt emptied a moment later I knew to anticipate the sudden slap to my rump. This time, the sound that I made was more appreciative and Harry snickered before he slapped me again, his whole hand gripping my left buttock tightly at the contact as a few fingers snaked to the crevice in between.

            “I’m going to have you craving that soon, just you wait. You’ll be begging me to spank you, little Miss Know-It-All.”

I tried to eke out my disagreement around the width of his cock, but then those fingers were circling the opening that still made me burn with embarrassment. I twitched as he attempted to shove a thumb inside, his hand switching to the other side of my bum, but no sooner had he made it in then I felt his other hand wrap around my neck. He pushed my head up so that it was parallel to the rest of me as my back flattened.

            “But right now, you want me to fuck you, don’t you? What’s it going to be, Hermione? In your ass or in your cunt? Show me how much you want it, luv. Pump these fingers the way you’re going to pump my dick.”

I whined out my longing as he stuffed more fingers into my twat. I was sopping by then, I could feel the wetness on the inside of my thighs, and then Harry kept smearing the residue all over my skin. I sawed my body back and forth in a fury, my eyes shut tight as animalistic noises made their way out of my mouth.

            “Well? Which hole am I going to fuck, then? I’m waiting for an answer, you little swot.”

            “In my cunt, Harry. I want to feel your big cock in my cunt,” I replied rather breathlessly, only to whine loudly again when the fingers once again were removed. The next moment brought another fresh sting from his palm.

            “That’s sir to you, slut. I deserve the proper respect.”

Just like that something in the air changed between us. My body froze for an instant and I could sense a moment of hesitancy coming from Harry; I imagined his hand hovering in the air awaiting my reaction before the next strike. My brain caught up to the desire flooding through me and a whimper escaped pressed lips. That one little word, a mere three letters, had never sounded as enticing as it did right then. A sudden and inexplicable need for his approval shot through me like burning arrows.

            “Sir. I wish to feel your beautiful cock inside of me, sir.”

My voice was much softer this time, almost timid, even though I could feel something massive building up inside of me. Harry’s hand was still at my throat holding me up and when I felt him exploring and threading through my bits I couldn’t get my knees farther apart fast enough. He made a feathering motion with his fingers and the slick, slapping sound of the gauzy layers of my cunt reached my ears a second before I felt him slap me in the same spot. My vision drew spots, like I’d been staring at a light bulb for several minutes, and then I heard my long groan, as if from far away. When I felt Harry’s mouth brush against the shell of my ear I jolted from the contact, but he held me tighter as he goaded me on, his voice thick and his breath warm.

            “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for my cock between your legs, luv. First, though, you’re going to take all of my fingers on this hand—all of them—until the whole lot are lodged deep inside of you. And then you’re going to take every inch of this...beautiful prick in your gob till I’m so far down your throat I’ll be able to stir the eggs you had for breakfast. And when I’m ready, I’m going to come right in your mouth, Hermione, and you’re going to swallow every last bit of it, just like the perfect little cocksucker I know you are. Then, and only then, if you’re very good and work hard enough to get me stiff again, we’ll see about my cock in your cunt. All right, dear?”

I think my eyes must have gone glassy because I couldn’t really see what was in front of me, yet I mindlessly nodded to what he’d said while expecting a river to pour from between my thighs at any moment. My nipples could have etched a portrait into ice they were so hard. Then he was manoeuvring us both around until I was plopped face first into his lap again while he made good on his promise to clog me up at the other end. His hands were quite busy, as he was also controlling the movement of my head, all while still egging me on to fuck what was rapidly becoming his fist. I’d never felt so stretched like that before, except perhaps during Rose’s birth, and I had a moment of sheer panic when I thought for a second that he was actually going to put his entire hand in there. I positively did squeal, even with my jaw widened around such a mouthful, until he threw me for another loop when he not only extracted his fingers, leaving me with the distinct sensation of fluid running down my legs, but then he lifted my bottom half into the air and propped my knees on his shoulders. My lower legs and feet were flailing wildly about as I choked a bit trying to pull my head up from his cock, the adjustment making it almost impossible for me to have any autonomy of my body.

It was like being submerged under water again as soon as I felt his mouth on my bits while I swallowed around the knob in my throat. But my anxiety surged as soon as I felt him shift again, until—unbelievably enough—I realized he had stood up, the two of us still locked at the other’s crotch. As soon as he moved, I attempted to scream in the back of my throat; it was feeling hollowed out by then. Harry had his hands clasped to me: one still tangled in my hair as the other gripped my waist, his arm pressed to the small of my back. But no sooner had he taken a few steps then the crown of my head was bumping a hard surface. He was laying me down on the heavy, wide mahogany coffee table, and I could hear the clicks in my neck as each vertebrae of my spine curved. Harry was still connected to me even as we settled into a supine position, but his knees stayed slightly bent so that his weight wouldn’t suffocate me. His prick remained high enough that I didn’t gag and we lay like that a moment, taking a breath, before he slowly began pumping his hips. His fingers, by that time, were back to being buried in my quim while he sucked more blood into that engorged nub until I felt quite stupefied by the sheer overload and couldn’t do much more than keep my throat open to let him move in and out at will. It was then that I understood the expression, ‘fucking your face,’ to such a degree that I would never again roll my eyes at the perceived exaggeration of it.

When I came, his cock slid in so deep that I had a moment of inexpressible awe, my pride flowing as freely as the fluids of my twat and the aches in my body making each narrow passageway feel cavernous. And when it was time for Harry to climax, he pulled back far enough that I only had the soft, spongy tip of his cock at my lips before I felt the sudden sensation of viscous globs splashing my tongue. The moment was sublime. For the first time ever, I considered the release in my mouth a gift and not just the completion of a job well done. I felt high; floaty, the taste of him a pure delight. His spunk was caviar and Moët and I wanted more.

All right, the metaphor might sound a little overdone, but it was truly how I felt, riding some sort of wave of adulation in my ecstasy. I couldn’t understand how he had accomplished such a thing; how Harry had made it possible for me to experience this heightened, twisted version of desire. I think back to all of the crazy stunts Harry pulled throughout school and during the war. He would jump in feet first with no thought to the outcome, a trait that drove me spare, and yet I always felt like he was daring me to follow him. And most times, I would...with my heart in my throat the entire time, but the feeling of elation and accomplishment when we came out of the other side so addictive that I couldn’t imagine not doing it again were I given another chance.

And so it seemed like this was just one more dare, Harry waiting to see how far I would follow him into the rabbit hole. Each hurdle I cleared opened up a new section of my brain. My skin was constantly tingling, and there was a steady hum in the centre of my being every time I was in his presence. I felt as though I was glowing all the time, truly alive again after such a gloomy interlude.

Of course, Harry wasn’t done with me that afternoon.

He had secured me to the low lying table at its four corners, with me flat on my back spread-eagled and panting as he rubbed his tackle all over me, his mutterings still as vulgar and profane as ever. Some of it I found alarming even as it provoked another bout of arousal from me. Each line out of his mouth was as much a fascinating glimpse into his subconscious as it was a turn on.

            “I love you so much I want to hurt you,” he would tell me. “Every foul, filthy thing I do to you, I want you crying for more.”

I winced at his dark tone but then he was dragging his scrotum over my face; the head of his cock pressing into my eyelids and swiping my eyelashes, his bollocks resting on my mouth until my lips parted. I responded to him automatically, no thoughts to deter me from what I might consider right or wrong. I just did it. By the time he had grazed his bits over my breasts I was writhing with desire and need. He tweaked and pinched my nipples and the soft flesh of my tits until I was groaning aloud, eventually squeezing them close to each other as if he were mashing them into one boob. He slid his cock in between them and used his hands to massage each mound in rotations; fucking my bosom, in essence, which was something I’d heard about but never actually thought to put into practice. As I wrenched my head up to see what he was doing, he’d occasionally slide his prick closer to my face and coax me to lick and suck on the tip. I whined every time he would pull it away, but he kept it up for quite some time before finally taking pity on me.

            “Aw, bless; it looks like the fastidiously prim Hermione Granger is gagging for my dick. If only our Gryffindor mates could see her now,” he whined back with his mocking.

My head slumped back on the table as I gasped in exasperation.

            “Harry, why must you insist on calling it that? It’s so crude.”

My chest rose and fell heavily as I squirmed under him, recognizing how silly I sounded considering our positions but needing to inject a little of my old self into the situation. Harry laughed heartily before he squeezed my breasts painfully again.

            “You don’t like it when I say ‘dick’? Oh my god, you’re precious. Just for that, I’ll have to fuck you extra hard.”

And he certainly did. He made me respectfully entreat him for the privilege first, but once I was able to pass muster he made me work for the rest of it. He pressed my legs so far out past my shoulders that I felt like a collapsible mattress being closed in half. The sticking charm he used to keep my ankles in place only served to heighten my senses, as the muscles in the backs of my thighs stretched in such a capacity I worried they might snap and go slack the way a rubber band loses its spring. More degrading and perverted musings dropped from his mouth while he made good on his promise to pound the living daylights out of me. I was incoherent by the time he had made me climax once more.

Afterward, as I sat in his kitchen while Harry pottered around making us tea, I reviewed all the coarse things he’d said during sex. I must have looked a little too pensive to Harry’s liking because he stopped his preparations to stare back at me in concern.

            “What’s the matter? Why the frown? Did I do something wrong?” he asked me nervously.

His questioning brought me out of my reverie, but I turned my attention to Rose instead when I replied. She was propped up on the table in her carrier as I fed her a bottle; her round, wide eyes suggesting she had been quite hungry.

            “You didn’t do anything wrong, Harry, don’t be so paranoid. I was just thinking about some of the things you said.”

            “What things? When? We haven’t had much of a conversation so far today.”

I blushed and bowed my head. It still felt awkward discussing with him what exactly it was we were doing with each other.

            “You know; from earlier. Had you thought about...hurting me for a while?”

            “What? What are you on about, Hermione?”

I made an exasperated sound.

            “I’m talking about the fact that you apparently love me so much you want to hurt me and make me like it.”

Harry blanched as he gawked back with mouth open, seemingly frozen to the spot. Finally, he turned away with the same sort of noise escaping his lips like air released from a tire hose. His face reddened as he feigned to scoff at my inquiry while spooning some jam onto a scone.

            “I...I wouldn’t put much stock in that, luv. I say a lot of fucked up shit during sex. It doesn’t mean anything.”

            “Really?” I intoned with some disbelief. “Are you sure about that?”

He set a plate in front of me with a cup of tea but then turned back to the counter to stir some sugar into his own. I saw him shrug his shoulders, taking another pause before he spoke.

            “I don’t know what I’m saying half the time and I never remember any of it.”

When he faced me again, he looked a bit shaken, even guilty, but then quickly grabbed hold of my hand as he sat down at the table, threading his fingers through mine.

            “I don’t want to hurt you. I would never want to do that,” he insisted quietly. “You mean too much to me.”

I watched him languidly stirring his tea again, his dark eyelashes fanned across the tops of his cheekbones as he stared down at the table. I stayed silent for a bit, the only sounds in the room the tinkle of his spoon against porcelain and Rose’s rhythmic sucking of her bottle. I surveyed the treat before me and t’sked disapprovingly.

            “Honestly, Harry, your sweet tooth will be the death of that lovely smile. Why are you so obsessed with sugar? Haven’t you ever heard of fresh fruit?”

He glanced up with a smirk, looking relieved that I wasn’t going to pursue the other topic.

            “We eat plenty of fruit at Chez Potter. And our veggies. I never got any confections as a kid, though, so it always feels like I’m getting away with something when it comes to sweets.”

I frowned at the explanation.

            “What did those horrible people feed you, anyway? It couldn’t have been much.”

He eyed me suspiciously.

            “Well, no, it wasn’t. But at least I know I can survive on bread and water for long periods if I’m ever again in a situation where food is scarce. Why do you think I rarely complained about being hungry during our camping nightmare? Although, I admit, Hogwarts and Mrs. Weasley totally spoiled me,” he added right before stuffing a large bite of his jam-slathered scone into his mouth.

I shook my head as I retracted Rose’s bottle, wiping away her spittle a bit too impatiently. She scrunched up her face as she pulled her head away from me. I felt disturbed and a bit angry, a twisting in my gut that wouldn’t go away.

            “How is it possible for people to be so cruel...and to a child, no less? Between them and Voldemort, it’s a wonder you’re not locked up in Azkaban. Thank Merlin for the Weasleys.”

Harry regarded me coolly as his eyes turned to slits.

            “What do you mean by that? You think I’m off, too? That there’s something wrong with me, like Ginny seems to believe?”

            “No, I just meant that there could have been something terribly wrong with you if you hadn’t experienced some measure of caring and nurturing while you were still young. Things very easily might have gone the other way for you, Harry. You were very lucky. And to a large extent, it says a great deal about your strength of character and who you are as a person that you made it out of that misery with still so much compassion and empathy in your heart. It’s not as if you were ever spared any by the people who raised you.”

I took a hard breath, trying to collect my thoughts so I could proceed carefully. It wasn’t my intention to upset Harry, but I wanted him to understand something about himself, all the same.

            “I...believe you, Harry, when you say you wouldn’t ever hurt me. Certainly, not maliciously. But I think that a part of you is...perhaps, fascinated by the idea of being something you’re not. And what you are is a good, loving person who’s discovering this capacity he has for darkness and a...satisfaction, if you will, in manipulating others in the way he’s always felt manipulated growing up. I don’t know, Harry...I...I have to think about what drives you because it seems this same thing is in me, too. I feel different with you, now. You’re able to get me to do things that I never expected to do, let alone...enjoy. And that scares me. Being restrained, bending to your will, listening to you call me derogatory names while you...fuck me...these are all things that I’m not supposed to be turned on by as a strong, self-respecting woman. I shouldn’t want to be dominated by old patriarchal attitudes. I shouldn’t want to act like I’m nothing more than some...cock-crazed slut—because I am cheating on my husband, after all, so it would seem to apply—one who would do anything to please her...her...well, you. And I’m realising I want to please you a great deal. You were right about that.”

I slid my plate away from me suddenly so I could rest my elbows on the table’s surface, hiding my face behind my hands as I struggled on. It was hard to look at him while I finally admitted what had been circling my thoughts for a while.

            “I know it’s not exactly a shocker that someone like me would be...motivated by praise. I always assumed I’d eventually get over that, but it hasn’t really faded yet. Especially at work where I’m always trying to do more for the department, push myself harder, and I know it’s partly so I can bask in the glory of hearing my bosses crow over me for every success we have. However, the real truth of it is...” and I split my fingers so I could look at him, “...your approval seems to supersede everyone else’s. I don’t know why, but every glowing thing you’ve ever said about me...I could float to the stars on that feeling. I’ve never felt that kind of pride when it’s been anyone else...not my parents, not my teachers...not even Ron.”

I dropped my hands so I could cross my arms in front of me, hunching my shoulders in as if to hug myself.

            “I respect you so much, Harry, more than you’ll ever fully appreciate. What we’re playing with here...I suspect I need it as much as you do. To be honest, I don’t think it’s going to take that much effort on your part to get me to...do whatever foul, filthy thing it is you’ve concocted in your head.” I paused a moment as the next sentence collected on my tongue, heavy like stones. “I want it,” I croaked. “I want to be...dirty for you. And I want you to make me work for whatever it is you plan to give me.”

I glanced up only to have Harry’s eyes once again boring into mine, his features perfectly still and emotionless. My breath caught for a moment, I worried I had said too much, but I screwed up the rest of my courage and ploughed ahead, needing to finish the remainder of it, to get the words out of me before they scorched me from the inside.

            “I guess what I’m saying is that I want to embark on this experiment with you. I don’t want you to feel inhibited and frustrated, anymore. I don’t want to feel inhibited and frustrated, either. I know it’s completely selfish of me, of us, but at this moment in my life...I need you, Harry. We need each other.”

Harry’s expression remained stony as he continued to stare at me. It was another few minutes before he eventually moved. He cleared his throat as he took our plates and placed them in the sink, turning back to us as he moved to Rose’s side of the table. He let her grab hold of his finger while he watched her gurgle contentedly. I’m pretty sure I held my breath the entire time. When at last he spoke, it was gruffly matter-of-fact.

            “I need to pick up some files from the Ministry before I head over to Godric’s Hollow. You two should get going; Ron will be heading home soon.”

And with that, he strode from the room, leaving me staring after his back in utter confusion and humiliation.

            “I’m telling you, Hermione, it works every time. Whenever any of us kids were sick, Mum made us eat the whole thing and we’d be fine the next day.”

“I don’t really care, Ron. I’m not eating that bloody onion as if it were an apple. I told you I’ve already taken a Pepper-Up Potion. Let it run its course, for Merlin’s sake.”

Ron had spent the entire morning trying to convince me that I needed to follow his mother’s old cold remedy to cure my sore throat, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I had sounded absolutely awful when I woke up; my voice hoarse as I croaked to him that I wasn’t up to making breakfast that morning. I let him believe that I was coming down with something, but the truth of it was that all of Harry’s oral demands had left their toll on my ravaged throat.

            “Well, maybe I should drop Rose off with my Mum today before I go to work. If you’ve got a nasty bug, you don’t want to be passing it on to her. You should stay in bed and rest up, Hermione. Take care of yourself today, for once. You’re looking a bit peaky, too, I might add.”

That solution seemed an ideal balm for my stress, so I continued to play up the notion that I was sickly, hacking away with the most horrid sounding coughs I could manage without actually tearing the lining of my throat to shreds. I was still feeling hurt and boggled by Harry’s apparent disdain of my offer the day before and all I wanted to do was nurse my wounded pride for the day. When Ron left with Rose, I threw myself back on the bed like a woebegone Miss Havisham, relishing the chance to wallow in my pity.

I had, perhaps innocently, assumed that Harry would take his time with me in progressing to the more ‘BD’ elements of his bdsm fascination. But I had forgotten that Harry was hardly one to exhibit a wealth of patience when it came to things he felt passionately about. The school ties had been abandoned for more sophisticated leather cuffs fairly quickly as I found myself being trussed up in a variety of positions while being bound to an ever-changing assortment of furniture upon every visit. Harry obviously didn’t believe in routine. It was all rather disconcerting as each time I had arrived at Grimmauld he had something new for us in mind, and I was daunted at first being faced with challenges that were as equally demanding physically, as they were mentally. And yet in spite of that, it hadn’t taken much time at all to realise that I rather loved the thrill; the anticipation for what he had planned overcoming all other thought.

I loved the way Harry pushed me. I loved the attention he showered over me while we were cocooned in our little world. It was addictive, that much I acknowledged early on. As each sexual request grew more difficult and demanding, so, too, the reward became greater. The first time Harry had bent me over a desk and roped down my wrists and ankles it took me a minute to control the panic that had instinctively risen up, but his words to me were so sweet and encouraging, the way he caressed my back and bum and down the lengths of my legs so gentle, that I completely gave over to the notion of his entitlement to my body. I wanted to give a part of myself to him, a gift meant to connect the two of us together in a way that no one else could have access to. And in return I received nothing but wave upon wave of pleasure.

It had been important to me that Harry grasped this notion; to realise just how he had changed me. So I had not only announced my feelings, I had bloody well given my permission for him to indulge whatever needs he had upon my very body. And to all that he had simply walked away as if it were no matter to him whatsoever. The rejection left me bitter enough that I really did feel ill, not having to fake the nausea at all, but still baffled by his reception, my thoughts growing angrier every hour. I longed to call him, my fingers continually twitching as I thought about what I might say to the idiot. But try as I might, I couldn’t just lounge away my day thinking about Harry. After a morning of brooding, I decided it was much more practical to find something useful to do. I went to retrieve Rose from Molly, insisting that I wasn’t contagious, and spent the afternoon outside working in the garden, Rose napping in her playpen under a hazy sun. The rest of the day was uneventful, while my phone lay silent. By the time Ron arrived home, I could barely communicate with him, the seething in my gut ready to boil over. I had such a fitful night tossing and turning that I fled to Rose’s room, the steady spell of her breathing eventually lulling me to sleep as I curled on the floor by her crib.

The following morning my mood was as dark as the rumbling clouds that crowded the morning sky, the threat of a storm practically guaranteed. No word from Harry all night. I’d learned not to bother leaving messages on his mobile service anymore, as he never answered them when he was in a funk, and the habit only succeeded in making me look like a desperate ninny, I had decided.

            “You’re looking worse, luv,” Ron informed me. “I don’t think the potion helped any. Either you need to find something stronger, or you need to visit a mediwitch. Go see Madam Pomfrey’s sister at St. Mungo’s. You like her.”

While I no longer sounded like I’d been dining on gravel, I did feel horrid. Of course, it was no virus that had infected me, but rather a dark-haired wizard with a penchant for the silent treatment. Another day of it and I was likely to have a fit as grand as the one that had got us into this predicament in the first place.   I resolved to steel myself against it, whatever it took.

            “Fine, Ron, if it’ll make you happy,” I acquiesced, with my head slumped against an outstretched palm, the arm propped on the table holding me up. “I’ll make an appointment and leave Rose with your mother again. She seemed a bit put out that I collected Rose so soon yesterday. I don’t think she believed me when I told her I was better. She kept shoving an onion at me, too.”

            “See? Ask Ginny, ask George, or any of my brothers, and they’ll tell you she’s got it right on that one.”

            “I’d rather have a pot of Gurdyroot Tea,” I mumbled under my breath before adding aloud, “Considering boiled onion is one of the ingredients for a Coughing Potion, wouldn’t it have made more sense to ingest that, instead? Also, one’s breath is not quite as odoriferous in the aftermath.”

Ron’s fair skin turned pink as he straightened his shoulders.

            “Right, well, the rest of that potion’s ingredients are a bit pricey. We made do with what we had, though.”

I rolled my head back, staring at the ceiling with a suffering sigh. It didn’t matter how well off we were; Ron would apparently never get over that old shame.

            “Sorry,” I mocked petulantly, feeling bitchier by the minute.

I extended my arms above my head to give myself a good stretch, my back curling over the chair. My tits were practically screaming for attention as they pointed northward. I briefly pondered cajoling Ron back into bed for a morning shag, but I didn’t want to make him late, and I didn’t think a blatant show of such randiness would go far in supporting my supposedly poor health. Plus, it had occurred to me while I’d been sitting there prolonging this sham that perhaps a visit to hospital could provide some relief.   Perhaps I could ask Mediwitch Humphrey to prescribe me something to alleviate my anxiety, at least for a while. If Harry wasn’t going to play fair, then I wanted to go back to being numb, and to hell with this pining for him bullshit.

So it was with quite a bit of apprehension that I had answered the knock at my front door an hour later, just as I was preparing to Apparate into London, to discover a wet and bedraggled Harry standing on the stoop. A clap of thunder heralded the initial shock that sprang up at seeing him there, only to be instantly replaced by forty eight hours worth of aggravation.

            “I’m leaving for a doctor’s appointment, you foul git, so get lost,” I groused as I attempted to swing the door shut in his face, the rain coming down harder as cool gusts swept into the house. He lodged his foot as a doorstop at the last moment, while one hand kept it ajar.

            “Hermione, let me explain,” he began, but I had turned my back to him as I stomped towards the fireplace with purpose, clutching my purse tighter under my arm.

            “Fuck off, Harry!”

I was almost to the hearth and had reached down for the pot of Floo powder when he grabbed my arm and spun me around, causing me to drop my bag. There were streaks of rainwater running down the sides of his jaw and his neck from his soaked-through hair, but his glasses were spot free and dry as bone so I could clearly see his eyes flash at me with an angry spark. Then it was gone as he took hold of my other arm and jerked me closer to him, that green gaze suddenly earnest.

            “Hermione! I told you, I can explain, just give me a chance,” he insisted through gritted teeth.

            “Why? Why should I?” I pulled away from him forcefully enough that I tripped over the hearthstones, my shoulder painfully slamming into the mantle. Harry was instantly pressed against me, his hand sliding up my back towards the injured arm while I struggled to get away from him.

            “I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to leave you like that, I swear. You caught me off-guard.”

            “You didn’t mean to? You didn’t mean to?! What the bloody hell kind of excuse is that? How does one accidentally stroll out of a room, then, and forget to acknowledge the person who just poured out their ruddy soul to you?!”

            “I didn’t know how to handle that!” he yelled back, pinning me against the stone as his grip tightened around each bicep. I sneered at him right before kicking him in the shin. Impressively, he didn’t let go of me, just swore to the heavens.

            “God DAMN IT, ‘Mione! Will you give it a rest?! That bloody hurt!”

            “Keep your voice down!” I said. “Rose could be sleeping, for all you know. I don’t need you shouting at me in my own bloody home.”

            “I already know she’s at the Burrow with Mum. Ron told me as soon as he got in. Said you were sick. You wouldn’t answer your mobile when I gave you a bell, so I came here to plead my case, okay?”

I was still busy trying to extricate myself from his clutch, but I snapped back at him in my frustration.

            “That’s not good enough, Harry. I’m tired of you treating me like crap whenever you’re in a mood and then leaving me to stew in it for days while you bloody ignore me. What was so pressing that you couldn’t talk to me right then? And what couldn’t you handle, exactly? Acting like you gave a shit about what I’d just said to you?”

Harry’s eyes widened at the accusation. His mouth was shaped in a moue of distress as he scanned my face, but the pressure in his grip increased.

            “Hermione...of course I give a shit. But I...you don’t know how much that meant to me, the things you shared. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to say.”

            “Well, how about, ‘thank you’, for starters.” I jeered at his answer. “Or, ‘blimey, Hermione, that’s really ducky of you. I’m chuffed to buggery by your offer.’ I don’t care; anything would have been better than, ‘go home to your husband’.”

            “You’re not listening to me,” his voice rose. “Shocked. As in, ‘a state of’. I couldn’t think straight. You’d basically just finished telling me what I’d been dying to hear for, I don’t know how long. It was like hearing someone speaking from your dreams. You were my dream come to life, Hermione, and all of a sudden everything about that moment felt too real. I—I couldn’t even breathe. I had to get out of there, away from you, because I was scared to death of what I might do at any moment.”

I had stopped struggling as I listened to him, but my breathing was still laboured as he pressed his body against mine, his hands snaking their way down to my waist. His words were hurried and impassioned as his face loomed closer.

            “Everywhere I look there’s a glaring reminder that I shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t want to be with you. I love my family; I do...I love your husband, even while I’m stabbing him in the back. And, bloody hell; I love you, Hermione, yet look at what I have you doing? I stay away because I feel like I’m contaminating you and I’m desperate to make it stop, to spare you from this madness. I AM fucked up, it’s true. I might as well admit it. So I try to convince myself that I need to put you out of my mind, for the sake of us all, but then I’ll be sitting at dinner with Gin and Jamie and I’ll suddenly see your face, see how bloody exquisite you are when you come for me, and I want to have that again, want to watch you surrender to me over and over.” He passed a glance over the rest of me. “It’s even worse when I’m at the Ministry. Try getting through a meeting with some dignity intact when all you can think about is how wet your lover gets at the merest suggestion of overpowering her.”

By then, my attention had shifted to his mouth, and my breasts ached as his touch grazed over my midriff. As much as I couldn’t deny that I wanted him, what I needed was to have the stones to kick him out of the house and be done with it. But I knew I couldn’t turn away a begging Harry; I didn’t have the stomach for it. There was no doubt in my mind that he was as genuinely torn and confused as he claimed, but I didn’t want to give in to him that easily. I wanted to leave Harry hanging for once, let him feel that cruel rejection and see how he liked it.

            “It’s got nothing to do with you ‘overpowering’ me, Harry. I get aroused the moment you put a hand on me, doesn’t matter how you do it,” I challenged, my fingers circling his wrists as I attempted to peel him off of me. “But I’m not interested in your martyr act right now, or this idea that you’re,”--I mimicked a terrified expression--“dangerously deranged and I’m under your thrall, powerless to defend myself against you. Give me a little credit, please. I have no illusions on just who you are, Harry Potter, I’ve only known you since you were eleven. You shut yourself off emotionally, then, as well, but the act is getting a bit old now. It’s time to grow up.”

He gaped at me for several beats, the hurt in his eyes skewering holes in my chest before his top lip suddenly quirked up distastefully.

“Right, because I’m the one who’s been acting the child all along. That’s rich, Hermione, considering that everyone’s been tiptoeing on eggshells around you for the last six months hoping they won’t get their head chewed off. I barely even got a childhood and you’re going to bust my balls because I can’t share my feelings at the drop of a hat? I’m doing the best I can. I’m trying to be honest with you, here.”

“You know, Harry, I’m beginning to see why Ginny is so bleeding fed up with you, at the moment.”

I’d just managed to get his fingers unclenched from my waist when without warning, quick as a Snitch, his hand was at my throat, pushing my head up far enough that I had to arch my back awkwardly over the mantle. I grabbed frantically for his wrist again, panic surging from my belly and into my breastbone.

            “You don’t mean that,” he snarled.

            “Harry, let go of me!” I shot out a hand to smack at his temple.

He blocked it easily, knocking my arm away without once loosening the pressure on my windpipe. I felt stupid all of a sudden, watching those green eyes get darker, flinty; looking as menacing as I’d ever seen them. A thrill coursed through me as I stilled, my heart thundering in my chest. When he spoke again, his voice had softened but retained a measured insistence.

            “Hermione, calm down; I just need you to listen.”

            “Let go of me, first,” I whimpered, feeling the tips of my breasts turn to studs.

He pulled me closer with his hand still round my neck until we were practically nose-to-nose, his gaze bleeding into mine so intensely that I grew dizzy for a minute as a prickly heat bloomed at the periphery of my vision.

            “And what if I don’t want to?”

By then, I had wrapped both hands around his forearm in an attempt to pull him off of me, trying to mitigate the fear mounting by pretending I could exert some control over him.

            “Is this why you really came over, Harry? To rough me up a bit? Already having a hard day at the office, were you?”

I gave a sharp cry, however, when I felt him hike up my skirt a second later, fingers groping the space between my legs until they were delving under the panty line of my underwear and rubbing the gathered wetness there up and down my beating clit.

            “I fucking knew it; your poker face is horrible. You’ve soaked them right through, you little tart. I want your feet spread apart...now.”

I hastily complied upon his demand, still clinging to his arm, but breathing heavily through an open mouth. I uttered a high-pitched whine with every stab of a finger or as he pushed my skirt up over my hips. When I suddenly felt his tongue lick along the angle of my jaw, I gasped, no longer able to hide my naked desire for him, and then he was doing that sexy muttering into my ear again to spike it further.

            “Did you forget who you were talking to? We’re not at school anymore, Hermione, you can’t boss me around. I’m the one setting the rules, here,” he said, his fingers wetly slipping into their intended passage. “It’s just like you said...I give you what I want, when I want, and I’m not going to make it easy on you.”

His teeth clamped down on the soft lobe of my ear and I practically shouted the moan booming from me. He tugged at it with a growl in his throat before moving down to my neck with savage nips to the flesh there. By then, he had stuffed three fingers inside me, pumping them hard, and my legs shook as I struggled to keep them spread wide enough.

            “God, you can be such a bitch, sometimes, do you know that?” His gaze fixed on my lips as he accused me and he bent closer to lick and tease them, my mouth still open and begging to be kissed while he pulled his head away at each lunge towards him. “You need to learn to shut it once in a while and give someone else the courtesy to explain themselves. Now look what you’ve gone and done. You always do this to me, for fuck’s sake.” He spoke gravely but his hands never stopped moving. His hold on my throat had eased up, merely keeping my head in place, but his fingers fucked me relentlessly.

            “Now I’m going to have to take you upstairs and fuck you stupid,” he informed me hoarsely. “And seeing as we’re both aware of how brilliant you are, that’s going to take some doing. Any objections?”

I gave an emphatic shake of my head, my grip now white-knuckled around his wrist. It would have been foolish to deny that I didn’t want him; it was quite apparent to us both. My clitoris was throbbing so hard it felt like an erection, swollen and assertive.

He stepped away from me suddenly, fingers withdrawing, and I almost fell over in my woozy state. He caught me in time, propping me up by gripping a bicep, but then he held his palm out towards me in expectation.

            “Give me your wand.”

I snapped out of my haze momentarily and stared at him curiously. With an almost mindless response, I removed my wand from the inside of my blouse’s long sleeve and handed it over. Harry snatched it away and then leaned over to rest it atop the mantelpiece. He put both hands on my shoulders and turned me around to face the staircase.

            “I want you to march ahead of me. Every ten steps, you’re to discard an article of clothing. I don’t care what order they come off, but by the time we’re at the door of your room, I want you naked and willing. The latter shouldn’t be too difficult for you, luv. I’m sure the juices from your cunt will have trickled down to your ankles by then.”

And so it was that I found myself being guided into my bedroom without a stitch on, quivering and desperate for Harry’s touch. For every step to my destination had been a tweak of a dial, the volume building into a crescendo of need and want and yearning so sharp that I felt blinded by it, my nerves overcome and jangling under my skin like pins dancing on a table in a magnetic fervency.

When he tied me up, he used thick rope that he’d transfigured from my bedsheets. I was arranged on my back across the width of the bed, my wrists bound with long tethers to the bottom corners, while my legs were once again stretched v-shaped over my shoulders and hampered to the finials on both the head and foot boards. He spent hours taunting me with his mouth, situating himself at the point of what had become the very heart of me, a constant, bleating cry in my cunt that swallowed me whole. Harry would bring me to the edge of an orgasm and then pull back, and he did this over and over until I was weeping and begging him in undecipherable sobs and lunatic ramblings to finish me off. And when he finally fucked me, making sure to press his weight into me with enough force that I felt the twinges in my bones where my wrists and ankles were pulled taut, I was sailing among the clouds, into some unknown space where bones and flesh and solidity held no meaning. The only thing that mattered was the euphoria my mind and body were experiencing then, pain twining into my pleasure so symbiotically that I could no longer tell them apart.

Before he said his goodbyes, Harry spent another ten minutes or so getting off with me at the front door, his body firm and hot and squashing me into the wood while his lips grazed at mine as though he were quite content to stay the rest of his days there. It was just as well he had me pinned, his palms flattened to the door by my head, for he was the only thing holding me up, really. I surely had no strength left in my lower half, and when he’d stepped away to prepare to Apparate I teetered precariously on rubbery legs. I can only imagine how depleted I looked: my robe hanging loosely and wide open and which I barely had the wherewithal to tie shut, my eyes glazed and lids heavy, probably looking as drugged as I felt, and my mouth slack, still recovering from Harry’s kiss and awaiting its return. If I hadn’t had a proper excuse to rest the day in bed before, I certainly had one now.

--------------------------------------------------------

That evening, just as I had been getting comfortable on the settee to watch some telly, Ron's arrival was announced with a loud swoosh from the fireplace. I glanced up in distraction, but feeling much more lucid and sound than I had earlier after Harry had left. My legs were tucked under me, a shawl thrown across my lap, and I held out a hand to him in a faint greeting, letting my head loll against the sofa’s back. I urged him to grab his dinner from the kitchen and join me in the sitting room, as I’d already put Rose to bed and it had turned quite late.

Ron huffed at me with a swell of his chest, appearing bedeviled for a moment. Instantly, I sat up straighter, fear shooting into my spine.

            “I think we need to invite Harry and Ginny to supper tomorrow,” he said a moment later, flinging his robe heavily over a chair, a frown still deeply embedded in his features and deep ridges creasing across his forehead.

            “I beg your pardon? What spurred this on?”

Ron dropped himself into the very same chair with a long, exasperated sigh.

            “We need to get them back together soon. This has gone on long enough. She’s about ready to burst any day now, and Harry...I don’t know what’s going on with him, but something has to happen or he’s going to be out of a job.”

A/N: I am so sorry this took forever, too. There was a bit of a block going on for a month. Not that I don't know where this story is heading, because I do, but there was a lot of vacillating back and forth over what I wanted to include in each chapter. Plus, sometimes you just don't feel the mojo. Anyway, I have to take another break from this story, as I have a fest piece I need to work on that has to be completed by October. I hope to have another chapter in the bag for Folie soon after. I can promise the next one will have lots of drama and upheaval.

Once again, I really appreciate everyone's reviews. Reddi, I am intrigued by your challenge. My email should be on my profile page, if you'd like to send me more information.

My thanks to Soft Obsidian and Daye for giving me notes on this chapter as I was dragging along. They always give me a fresh perspective on things.
- 7
- 8
- 9
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Folie a Deux

Chapter 8