Wide Awake and Dreaming

Two years, seven months, three weeks and five days. That's how long they have been doing this, and each time she assures herself that when it's over she won't come back. She shouldn't need this. She doesn't need this, but there's something about it - something about him - that keeps drawing her back in, keeps her coming back for more.

This time it was a triple fatality. A potions accident caused the roof of the ramshackle, tiny house to collapse, crushing the occupants. The neighbors had called the aurors quickly enough, but it was still too late. Healer Granger was in the twentieth hour of her twenty-four hour shift, and had worked with them for over six hours, trying to heal their mangled bodies, and guide her team to assist. They had cast spell after spell, but it had all been in vain. The parents had both died in casualty and their daughter had followed them less than four hours later, not even old enough to attend Hogwarts.

They told her that there was nothing else she could have done. She had done her best. Even magic can't fix everything. A part of her still believed that if she had been a bit faster, a bit better, a bit more knowledgeable, then she could have saved them. It was never enough for her, and she took each loss personally.

That's why she sent the owl. She was off two days hence, for the whole weekend. She would apparate halfway and have the whole weekend for her penance, so that she could return to work on Monday with a fresh slate and a clean soul. He would come the other half to meet her and give her the release that she needed.

She knew it was wrong of her - one more thing that made her broken, wrong. Ron couldn't stand her guilt, her need to hold on to the pain, and they had many rows over her inability to 'just let it go, already,' before he had given up on her and they had called it quits. That was before she discovered the way to ease her burden, to work the pain from the inside to the outside and cleanse herself of the taint. That was before she started meeting Charlie and he helped her to heal - from the war, from her work, from her life - and taught her to let go of her burdens.
She needs him now, in a way that she doesn't want to need him, or need anything, but Friday night comes and she packs her bags and apparates to the little villa in Austria to wait for him to arrive. He doesn't keep her waiting long, just long enough that the butterflies are trembling in her stomach and her skin itches with some unidentifiable tension.
He doesn't touch her when he arrives, just looks at her in a way that seems to penetrate into the depths of her soul. He moves close to her - so close that she can feel his breath on her skin. She knows that he is searching for something from her that she isn't ready to give, but she just shrugs out of her robe, lays it on the vanity, and then meets his gaze.

"I'm ready."

His eyes are resigned and a little sad as he nods, and she knows that he wishes it didn't have to be this way almost as much as she does.

She lies over the end of the bed, feeling exposed and vulnerable, and her caresses the smooth globes of her backside with his calloused hand, and tugs gently on the thong that exposes her ass completely to his gaze. He arranges her to his liking, and the rough caress of his hands as he pulls her ass backward and pushes her head and shoulders toward the bed excites her. She feels her skin begin to flush. There is a slight rustling behind her as he sheds his own robe and prepares himself for her. He uses one hand to tug her thong upward, making the fabric pull at her ass and pussy, and as she adjusts to this new tightness, he brings his hand down hard on one side of her ass.

As he makes this first contact, heat blooms through her skin, a sharp pain that quickly dissipates. She starts to feel warm for the first time in days, and he builds up a steady rhythm of stings, and heat, and pain. Each slap is powerful and she can imagine the muscles of his forearms contracting with each strong blow, and she trembles under his skillful touch.

After a while, Charlie pauses, rubbing his roughened palm along the smooth skin, and she can feel the heat where his skin touches hers. It momentarily soothes her, then Hermione feels him tug her tiny panties down around her knees, and his wand pressed to the tiny opening of her asshole as he says the spells to prepare her.

It's not always like this. Sometimes he flips her over, so that he can stare into her eyes and devour her mouth as he takes her, grinding her sore ass into the coverlet. This is what she wants, tonight - what she needs - and he reads her like a book. It's that little extra spark of pain as his hips slam against her, that extra full feeling as he stretches her smaller passage with his girth. She sucks in a breath and feels her tight little nipples rub against the bedspread as he spears her open with two fingers, working the lube inside and stretching her passage for his thick cock.

He pauses for a moment, as the blunt head of his prick rests against her asshole, and she begs, "Please, fuck me." He can't hold back against that and he obliges, sinking slowly into her depths as she stretches open around him. He doesn't stop until he's buried balls deep inside of her, and she gives a little cry of pleasure/pain.

That's his cue to start pounding into her, slowly at first - nearly out and then all the way back in - but he soon picks up the pace. She meets him stroke for stroke. Then he reaches below her and starts strumming her clit in time, until she is nearly incoherent with pleasure, giving voice to broken cries and babbling pleas for "more" and "harder" and "yes."

Finally, he pinches her clit hard and slams into her, as he tells her, "Come for me, Hermione. Come." She trembles and cries out, unable to resist, and he follows a few strokes later, with a grunt, as he fills her with his release.

For all of his roughness before, he is twice as gentle now, and eases careful ly out of her. He whispers soothing words of comfort that she is beyond understanding, and strokes her carefully, as if she were one of his injured dragons. When she is calmed and floating a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, he helps her up into the bed properly and rubs a cooling lotion into her abused skin. She falls asleep, knowing that he will be there when she awakes, and that she is rarely troubled by dreams when he is near.

In the morning, he will be there beside her, waiting to see if she is ready to talk about whatever troubles her. Sometimes in the half-light of dawn, she will share her burdens with him.

After they may make love, as he chases the last of her worries away. On other days, she will push him away, goading him for a fight, and he will sigh, and hurt her some more until she feels punished enough. He never stops until she is ready, until he has broken her enough that she can be whole again.

After the weekend, they will part company. He will hold her close and kiss her forehead as they say goodbye. He'll return to his life, and she to hers. Until the next time, when they'll meet again, somewhere in the middle.