FIC: In Solemn Stillness Lay (Ron/Hermione)
To: PumpkinPasty
From: Your Secret Santa

Title: In Solemn Stillness Lay
Author: ladytory
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Summary: Ron had been her hero that night, pulling her back from the edge of everything and into his arms. Hermione stopped with her hand outstretched towards the bedroom door. He should have been the one who came to comfort her at night. He should have been the one who woke her up gently to reassure her that she was safe and he was here and that there were no more Death Eaters to fight.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Author's notes: Best holiday wishes to pumpkinpasty! I hope that this little story measures up to your request.



Harry’s hand was on her shoulder, the same regretful shake that he would use when it was her turn to take watch. But that was months ago; the war was over now.

“Hermione? Hermione? He’s having a nightmare. I can’t wake him. I don’t want to worry Molly. Can you try?”

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and saw Ginny sitting up in bed, her duvet pulled up around her to ward off the mid-winter night. Hermione also saw the pained look of concern that passed from Ginny to Harry. Harry was holding out Hermione’s robe thankfully. She didn’t have time to go searching for the socks that she had wrestled out of under the covers. Hermione would always try to sleep in her socks on nights like this, but she always woke up without them.

Hermione shook her head, trying to order her thoughts as she pushed back two layers of homemade quilts and reached for the flannel gown that Harry held. Her bare feet froze when they hit the cold wood of the floor. A slight shudder shook Hermione’s shoulders as she took her first step towards the door.

“I’ll see if I can help.”


*****


“It is sad, a bit, really. He feels guilty about having the dreams. Nightmares. He wakes up screaming. Of course, he only talked to me about it because he isn’t that great at the charm work. Well, you know that. Anyway, I am the one putting Imperturbable Charms on his bedroom door every night. Not something that I ever really wanted to think about doing for one of my brothers.”

“No, I imagine not. But why does he feel guilty? Lots of us have nightmares now. We all saw horrific things. We watched people die.”

“Well that’s just it, isn’t it? He watched poor, wonderful, lovely Fred, to whom this glass of mead has been dedicated…”

“Fred would have been proud of you. Especially since you have been so kind as to dedicate the last five of seven glasses of mead to his memory. Who were the other two for?”

“Me. I’ve had a hard year.”

“Obviously. Boyfriend faking his death and hearing your mother curse for the first time and all.”

“Very traumatic that last bit.”

“So what’s wrong with Ron’s nightmares? They aren’t about people dying?”

“Nope. And that is why he feels guilty. Feels he should be dreaming about the battle and the ones we lost. Apparently, being locked in the Malfoy’s basement is not officially nightmare-worthy in his opinion.”

“Oh, I… I wasn’t down there… they didn’t put me… I wasn’t with them when they were there...”

“Just see if you can’t get him to talk to you about it. Maybe when you come for Christmas you can sort him out. Where is Harry? I’ve let Fred get me drunk… again.”


*****

The stairs up to the next landing were colder than the floor of Ginny’s room and the third one creaked. Hermione caught herself on the railing just before her foot came down on the offending board. There was no need to wake the whole house. Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried to focus on what Ron was going through right now. It was not the easiest mental exercise she had ever taken on.

It may have only been an hour or so of her life, but the time that she spent in the Malfoy house haunted her own nightmares. Cruciatus Curses cast by Bellatrix Lestrange were not something that one could just laugh off after they were over and then go on with life as usual. She had been so naïve, she had thought she had known what pain was, thought that she understood fear. Hermione thought she had a good grasp of exactly how much she was sacrificing when she agreed to go with Harry, no matter what.

It had been so completely and utterly surreal and at the same time the most immediate and all consuming fear Hermione had ever known. She was going to die. Voldemort’s sycophantic girlfriend was cursing her body into a broken mass and Hermione knew her mind, her precious mind, would soon follow. She had begun to think that maybe she was saying the wrong things through the veil of pain. Hermione’s mind was trying desperately not to give anything away. She wanted to die without making it any worse for Harry and Ron.

Hermione remembered passing out. She remembered in a very specific way how it felt when her body had surrendered to the darkness that flooded in on her. It was almost the exact opposite of Apparition, she had thought at the time. It was falling back into a wide and cold expanse where there was too much air and nothingness. It was a terrifying and comforting release. It was completely beyond Hermione’s control, because she had wanted to stay there. She wanted to hold on and listen to the voice that kept screaming her name as long as she could. She wanted that to be the last thing that she heard before she surrendered to the darkness. Hermione’s last fleeting thought was that for Ron to be screaming for her like that, she must have already been dead.

But she hadn’t been. Her eyes rushed open when the chandelier hit her. The pain she felt was plain physical pain, with no hatred behind it. The change was a welcome one, even though Hermione thought that she might have had broken another rib because of it. And then there was Ron. She was just awake enough to see the brilliant, familiar flash of red; just cognizant enough to feel his strong hand closing around her arm; just aware enough to feel herself being pulled to the opposite end of the spectrum of feeling as they Apparated away.

Ron had been her hero that night, pulling her back from the edge of everything and into his arms. Hermione stopped with her hand outstretched towards the bedroom door. He should have been the one who came to comfort her at night. He should have been the one who woke her up gently to reassure her that she was safe and he was here and that there were no more Death Eaters to fight.

But Hermione had never talked in her sleep, no matter how horrifying the dreams.

*****

Hermione paused, resting her hand tentatively against the worn wooden door of Ron’s bedroom. The warm, soft vibration of Ginny’s charm work hummed gently through Hermione’s fingertips and she gasped, pulling her hand away. The subtle, living presence of magic on the door had, for the briefest moment tricked her mind into, not simply remembering, but actually feeling Ron’s skin beneath her hand.

She was pulled almost as if she had fallen into a Pensieve, back to her own memory. They had been standing in the kitchen of the Burrow. Ron was kissing her fantastically, his hands buried in her hair; and Hermione had pulled him closer. In doing so, her palm slid beneath his jumper and found the warm smooth skin of Ron’s back. The feel of it had melted her at the time and it was threatening to do the same again.

Hermione shook herself and squared her shoulders. Now was not the time for indulging in fantasies of that type. Ron was terrified and trapped in his own nightmare and she has said that she would try to help him. She took a deep breath and began to murmur the counter charm that would allow her to pass through Ginny’s charm without breaking it. She would have to Apparate into Ron’s room without opening the door. If she had simply opened the door and walked in, she would have allowed the whole house to hear Ron; and she knew that was the one thing that he did not want.

Hermione cleared her mind and focused on the interior of Ron’s bedroom as she turned into her Disapparition.

****

As her body turned right side out again, Hermione’s stomach lurched and she reeled across the floor as if it were her first completed Apparition. She steadied herself against the wardrobe in an attempt to process all the information she was receiving now.

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” Ron was tossing, fighting with the bonds of his duvet and screaming her name.

Thoughts raced through Hermione’s mind with dizzying rapidity, even for her. In the same instant, she had the wish to silence him accompanied by an overwhelming guilt similar to that she felt when she had fleeting thoughts that mothers should use stunning spells on squalling children. Also, she wanted to run away, to Apparate out of the room, to get as far away as she could from the source of so much pain. But mostly Hermione wanted to comfort him, to hold Ron to her, rock him, kiss his face, and let him know that she was there, she would never leave him.

The last sentiment overtook the others without question, because Hermione recognized the very specific type of horror that was tearing her own name from Ron’s lungs repeatedly. It was the same pain that she had lived with during her sixth year as Ron lay poisoned in the hospital ward. It was the same pain that she had heard in Ron’s voice in the Malfoy house between Bellatrix’s Cruciatus Curses, even if at the time it seemed nothing to her own. It was the exact same pain that she heard in Ginny’s voice as she screamed for Harry when they all believed him to be dead in Hagrid’s arms.

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” Ron’s voice was rough with the force of the scream. His throat must have been raw.

Hermione swallowed down the bile at the back of her throat and forced her bare feet to take her closer to Ron’s thrashing, screaming figure. She was doing her best to fight back the overwhelming panic that caused her to hear Bellatrix’s voice and made her bones begin to ache with the ghost of the Death Eater’s curses.

Courage and compassion won out though, when she saw Ron’s face. He turned toward her, wrestling with a worn flannel sheet; and as his mouth opened in another scream, Hermione saw the tears streaming down his cheeks. Her wand clattered to the floor and Hermione found herself suddenly and literally on top of Ron.

“Ron! I’m here, it’s me. It’s me, Hermione.” As she spoke she attempted to hold and reign in Ron’s wildly flailing arms. An elbow narrowly missed her chin, as Hermione managed to get a hand on each of Ron’s wrists. “Ron! Ron!”

Hermione twisted and pulled, finally bringing Ron’s fists to her chest. He seemed to struggle harder as if she was his captor. There was no other way to still him, except to force down his arms with all of her weight. She knew if he had been awake, he could have thrown her off easily, but asleep she was just able to stop his frantic movements.

“Ron! I’m here! Ron! Please!” Hermione felt her own tears welling up. “Please, please stop.” Hermione pressed her head down towards Ron’s shoulder, her voice a mere whisper in his ear compared to the volume of Ron’s screams. Maybe it was the weight of her body, the sound of her voice, or quite possibly, the just the feel of Hermione’s breathing against his cheek; but Ron stopped fighting her hold on him and there was silence in the small room.

Hermione could hear her own heart beating against Ron’s arms. She took a deep breath and her body began to relax; until she remembered that she was lying on top of Ron. He was completely still beneath her. Hermione was not even sure if he was breathing, but she could feel his pulse beneath her hands and she loosened her grip on his wrists.

“Hermione?” Ron’s voice cracked into her hair. She nodded into Ron’s shoulder.

“It’s me, Ron. I’m here now.” Hermione felt the bow-like tightness in her body ease as Ron pulled his arms from between them and hugged her even closer. One strong arm circled her waist and the other hand was weaving its way through her tangled, half-slept-on hair.

“Oh, thank Merlin.” It was a heavy, choking sigh of relief as Ron pressed his lips to Hermione’s temple. He rolled them in the small bed, tipping Hermione to the side so that he could look down at her face. She gave Ron a shaky grin, catching his gaze.

In moonlight amplified by the snow outside, Hermione could see that his features had softened somewhat. She only had a brief glimpse because Ron descended on her again. His mouth covered hers, and Ron began kissing her with a feverish determination. Suddenly, without making a decision to do so, Hermione slid one hand up the back of Ron’s neck and into the silky decadence of his hair.

Ron made a noise in the back of his throat that Hermione usually took to mean pudding that involved some kind of chocolate. It was that hungry noise that broke her, that broke through all of the painful memories that this night had made so real again. Hearing that sound seemed to strip her of her ghostly pain, of her fear and of her inhibitions.

It wasn’t that Hermione actually went through the logical steps that told her Ron made that particular noise when he was very seriously enjoying whatever was in his mouth. That currently what was in Ron’s mouth was her tongue. That this meant that Ron currently found kissing her to be one of the most delicious things he had ever done. It was just an instant realization that seemed to flip a switch inside of her; either that or the fact that when Ron made the sound it vibrated in Hermione’s mouth in the most amazing way.

Regardless of the reason, Hermione found her hands once again grappling for the smooth, freckled flesh of Ron’s back. This time they had a much more serious purpose. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin beneath her palms. She wanted to give him something warm and real to hold onto in the night. Hermione wanted to give him all of the comfort and care that she wished for when she woke in the midst of her own nightmares. Hermione wanted the same thing that she knew Ron wanted: something so solid and so wonderful and so real that it would banish the nightmares and memories to the far recesses of their minds.

Ron pulled his mouth away from hers, nipping Hermione’s bottom lip as he went. She tried to turn her head and kiss his cheek, not wanting her lips to be parted from Ron; but she stopped as his teeth sank not so gently into cradle of her neck.

Hermione moaned. Her knickers were beyond wet, and she knew exactly where she was. She was at the point where she usually made Ron stop what he was doing and take a step back. She told him that she would be the reasonable one, and he agreed that he would stop no questions asked as soon as Hermione said one word. But the problem was that the weight of Ron’s much larger body pressing down the length of her own felt amazingly new and perfectly familiar and he was biting and kissing his way across her shoulder as much as the neckline of her t-shirt would allow.

“You’re really here? They won’t take you away from me again.” Ron had paused and softly whispered into Hermione’s neck where his teeth had just been bruising her skin. Hermione’s breath hitched at the childlike sense of fear mingled with dogged determination that seeped through Ron’s voice.

It was that moment that her responsible self came to a very reasonable conclusion. No one was ever going to take her away from him again. Hermione knew of no conceivable reason why she would ever want to not be with Ron. There would be no more petty jealousies on either of their parts. Hermione wasn’t going to leave any room for the doubt or fear that they had been dealing with for so long. It was silly to wait for some flower strewn bed at a seaside resort off in some vaguely near future, when what they needed now was to be there for each other. She was going to give Ron the one thing that no one could take back, and she was going to do it right now.

“No. They won’t.” Hermione gave Ron a gentle nudge on the shoulder, wordlessly asking him to give her some room. He did so without speaking, and when Hermione could see his face she knew that he was doing his best not to beg her to let him continue. She would not have him beg for her, not like he had that night. Ron rolled over to her side as Hermione began to sit up and move to the edge of the bed.

“Don’t go.” Ron gently grasped her hand as she stood up. Hermione turned to him, her body alive with excitement and nervous anticipation. Hermione did not want to reassure him with words. She had suddenly decided that this was one of the rare cases when it would be best if she did not explain the situation to Ron.

Instead, Hermione gave his hand a slight squeeze before letting it go. The resigned look on Ron’s face turned to a sheepish grin when Hermione, rather than Apparate out of the room, took off her robe. Hermione watched while Ron scooted over in his bed, apparently under the mistaken impression that she was going to literally just sleep with him. As he did that, Hermione’s mind was whirring trying to decide which to remove first: her pajama bottoms or her oversized t-shirt. When a quick check of the length of the hem of her shirt informed her that it would indeed cover her, Hermione decided to go with bottoms first. Afraid that she would lose all the courage she had somehow summoned in the past few minutes, Hermione avoided Ron’s eyes as she pulled down her pajamas as well as her knickers. Once they were off, there really was no going back in her mind.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked up as she stepped out of the pool of discarded clothing at her feet. Ron was staring at her, his mouth slightly open. He looked a bit like the victim of a rather well done Confundus Charm. Ron moved his gaze slowly from Hermione’s face to the place on the floor where her knickers were nestled in the pile of flannel pajama bottoms and back to blink wordlessly at her.

Hermione went boldly ahead with her plan of action and reached down to take off the last bit of clothing she had on, but as she grasped her shirt, Ron was suddenly right in front of her. He was bent down to kiss her and as his lips met hers, Ron’s hands found her bare bum. Hermione gasped into his mouth as his tongue twisted against hers. His hands were so warm compared to the cold night air, Hermione wanted desperately to feel more of Ron’s skin against hers. Hermione pushed up the shirt that Ron was wearing, sliding her hands up his back, torn between not breaking their kiss and feeling his bare chest against her own.

Ron released her and broke their kiss so quickly, Hermione was afraid that she had done something wrong. When she opened her eyes, it was to find Ron peeling off his shirt. He was beautiful, but Hermione barely had time to appreciate the scene before her, as Ron leaned over and pulled her own shirt over her head.

“Hermione…” Her name was woven into a sigh of deep appreciation and longing. It was almost impossible for Hermione to feel self conscious at that moment. Ron’s eyes were unabashedly devouring her naked form and she was returning the favor as much as she was able while he still wore his pajama bottoms. Without warning Ron scooped Hermione up and deposited her on the bed. She laughed with the pure delicious joy that comes from simply being with the person that one loves. She heard Ron chuckle as he slid into the bed alongside her, and the first thing that she noticed was his bare legs against hers.

Before Hermione could even process the fact that she and Ron were naked and in bed together, his face was above hers and he was kissing her again in earnest. Her hands seemed to wander on their own path, down his back, up his sides, and down his chest causing him to suck in air when she traced her fingers around his nipples. Ron’s body felt divine under her hands and she wanted to know every centimeter of it by heart. She rubbed the pads of her thumbs against his nipples again, hungry for the reaction.

Hermione was not disappointed, Ron practically growled into their kiss before breaking it. His free hand came up to cup her breast just before his tongue darted out to taste her hard nipple. In typical Ron fashion though, he did not stop with just one taste. He was treating her breast as if it were an ice cream and Hermione thought that her body might just explode. She moaned and squirmed beneath him, trying some how to ease the ever increasing ache inside her. As she did so, her thigh pressed into Ron.

He swore.

So did Hermione. Ron was hard and ready… for her. It was the reality of a thousand prefect’s bathroom fantasies, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of her. Hermione began to gently rub her thigh against Ron’s hard cock, hoping that he would not be able to hold back any longer, wanting to feel what it was like take him in, to be filled with his hard flesh. Ron swore again and his hand slid down to still Hermione’s leg.

Hermione whimpered as Ron put a slight bit of distance between himself and her torturous movements. Her whimper turned into a moan though, as Ron once again took her nearest breast in his mouth and began to suck on her nipple like a lolly.

So far into the ascent to orgasm, Hermione had lost all restraint. Her hips bucked once involuntarily and several times after as Hermione attempted to rub herself against Ron’s hand. His first two fingers already slick with her juices, slid inside of Hermione. Ron’s thumb had landed exactly where Hermione needed it to be, and she ground her hips down onto Ron’s hand. Three, maybe four pumps of her hips and Hermione was letting loose a string of barely coherent curses under her breath as she came.

Gazing down with a look of utter amazement, Ron pulled away from her as Hermione caught her breath. Instead of a sense of calm and completion though, Hermione felt almost wild with desire. It was as if coming with Ron had increased her hunger rather than sated it. She still ached to have him inside of her. Releasing Ron’s hair and allowing her hand to wander down his stomach, Hermione found that his cock was still hard. She circled her fingers around it and Ron moaned and collapsed flat on the bed. With more energy than she should have rightly had by this point in the night, Hermione practically popped up to straddle Ron.

Not in the least bit shy, Ron grasped his own cock. He held it steady as Hermione slid back and forth to position herself above him. The swollen head found its place and Ron moved his hands to Hermione’s hips. She bit her lip and stared down at Ron as long as she could while she slid down, taking his hard shaft inside. Her eyes fluttered closed and she could almost feel herself stretch to make the rest of their flesh meet. It might have hurt, like she had always read that it would, but it was the most delicious pain she had ever experienced. The ache within her finally began to ease and it was then that Hermione realized that it was an ache of emptiness. She felt her body tighten its walls against Ron.

Ron was inventing swear words, the likes of which would make wizarding sailors blush. Hermione began to rock her hips as she had against Ron’s hand, but this was so much more than that. She could feel Ron’s cock moving inside of her. As he pulled forward on her hips she could feel him slipping out of her body, and when he stopped, she slid back down. Ron’s breathing was shallow and ragged. Hermione surged forward once more and the again and again as her body caught the rhythm and pattern of movement.

“Oh for the love… Merlin… fuck…” Ron’s hips began to buck up to meet her and soon Hermione was being held and just holding on. Ron’s grip held her fast at her waist, her hands on his chest doing her best to stay upright as he pounded into her with quick uneven thrusts. Hermione was gasping for air when, Ron buried himself inside her and pulled their bodies tight. “Hermione!”

Gulping for air, Hermione’s eyes flew open when Ron screamed her name. She watched all the tension wash from his face, as his release pulsed into her. Ron’s grip loosened and his hands slid down to the sheets. Hermione did not move; she could still feel Ron’s heartbeat inside her own body. When her arms began shaking a moment later, though, Hermione reluctantly lowered herself to Ron’s side. She felt their bodies separate and Ron shuddered beneath her.

Wordlessly, Ron wrapped Hermione in his arms. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks and her mouth before he pulled the covers over their entwined bodies. Hermione lay with her ear on Ron’s chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly return to its normal rate as sleep overtook him. As her eyes drifted shut, a tired smile crept across Hermione’s face. Her last conscious thought was of the way Ron had looked the last time he had called her name.

With no energy left for dreaming, Ron and Hermione slept peacefully… until the next morning, when they woke to Molly’s shrill screams at finding Harry in Ginny’s bed.