never trust a big butt and a smile (obeetaybee) wrote,
never trust a big butt and a smile

FIC: Good-night, my love

Title: Good-night, my love
Summary: In a combat zone she is, unarmed and alone.
Rating: R
Warnings: Darkness, a bit of Stockholm Syndrome. Vulgar words describing sex acts.
Characters: Hermione, Ron, Harry and unnamed until very end Death Eater.
Word Count: Somewhere around 2,705
Disclaimer: Not my characters, and no money is being made. JK Rowling owns all, and no copyright infringement is intended.

How could she have imagined this end? How could she have imagined she’d be here, hiding, her wand broken into pieces alongside her and the sounds of screaming and the smell of burning flesh all around her? Never did she imagine she’d be breathing through her mouth shallowly to keep herself from gagging a few feet from a dead body she used to call friend.

In a combat zone she is, unarmed and alone. Alone, she was not expecting to be alone.

She lost Ron. She lost Harry. Everyone she loved is gone. She saw Ron fall, saw the red streaks knock him from his feet and backwards, over the wall. Ginny dead, Dean dead, Seamus, dead, Oliver, dead. Now Ron. Her Ron is gone and she’s alone.

She can hear them coming closer, and curling into a ball, she hopes against hope if she can’t see them then they can’t see her.

She fails.


Awakening, she finds herself bound, gagged and blind. Her breathing labors in her chest as panic threatens to overwhelm her. Was she left to die here, where ever here is, alone? She kicks out and discovers her legs are free. She has to calm down. Her lips are fused shut and if she hyperventilates, she will pass out and possibly die for real. She uses the wall behind her hands as leverage as she gets her feet under her and pushes herself into a standing position. Magic binds her hands, silencing and blinding her.


She begins to shiver violently, her fingers exploring the stone behind her. It’s wet and slimy. A dungeon. Of course. She keeps her fingers pressed to the wall as she walks carefully around the perimeter of her cell until she comes to something hard that strikes her right below her knees. She loses her balance and collapses forward onto something hard and above the floor. A bench.

Her breathing quiets as she rests her cheek to the cool wood and the sounds of the cell overtake her. Water drips from somewhere and too-close squeaking announces the presence of rats. She swings her body up into a sitting position and brings her barefeet onto the bench. Her head falls forward and rests on her knees. Her shoulders and arms are beginning to ache from strain of being held behind her back.

With nothing better to do while she waits, she falls asleep and the sense of time passing has left her. The sounds of the bars grinding open awaken her at once. Someone is here with her. She pushes herself to her feet, and she stumbles against the edge of the bench until she falls backwards into the corner of the cell. A hand brushes against her cheek and she flinches away.

“Hungry?” a voice whispers, making it impossible for her to identify. She wishes her jaw wasn’t enchanted shut; she has the urge to bite the hand stroking her face. “Of course you are. You’ve been here for a full day. Who knows how long it’s been since your last meal.”

The smell of something else wafts into the room. It has a heady scent, and reminds her autumn. Straw. Against her will, her face rises and she sniffs the air. There’s another smell overpowering the other and it makes her begin to tremble. Her empty stomach contracts and growls loudly against her will. She whimpers.

The stranger beside her chuckles. “I knew you must be hungry, pet. The food will be placed on the floor in front of the bench when I leave. The straw is for your bed. You will also find water in a pail beside the food. You will be released from the mouth bind for one hour. Sleep and we’ll converse in the morning.” A light kiss is pressed to her forehead and then his warmth is gone. Her arms are still tied painfully behind her back, but it doesn’t matter anymore. The food, she follows the scent to the bench and like an animal she lowers her head and drinks the broth and water deeply. When complete, she walks on her knees until she can feel the rough straw biting into her skin. She collapses forward and once again, sleeps.

When he arrives the next morning, she fights against him. This causes him to chuck her lightly under the chin as he pulls her into his lap and holds her tightly against his chest. His warmth and the beating of his heart calm her. She fights back tears as he jolts her shoulders and wave of pain causes a muffled cry out before she can stifle it. She makes the sounds again, knowing if she could she'd be screaming. A muscle spasm vibrates throughout her body. He releases the magical binds that hold her with a whispered enchantment. Her arms drop to her sides, and a moan tingles against her closed mouth as the sensations of pins and needles overtake her deadened limbs. She sobs against her closed mouth, moisture falling from her nose and onto his robes.

He smells, he smells…clean, she realizes. He wipes away her tears and snot with a piece of linen and shushes her cries. He wraps his arms tightly around her and he rocks her back and forth. How long do they sit like that, bodies entwined together?


Ron Weasley has only one thing on his mind as he recuperates. He stares at the ceiling as remembers. Over and over, he remembers.

He watched as their black robes swept through the ruins of the castle searching for survivors. He saw through slitted eyes as they dragged her from behind the rubble where he forced her to hide. They underestimated him, leaving him for dead when he was so close. After they left with their prize, he waited as his life bled from him, only a name keeping him alive until the medi-wizards arrived.



It becomes routine, quickly. Every day he comes and she allows him to hold her. As long as she cooperates, he leaves something for her. Blankets are first and then pillows. A few days later, the bind that hold her mouth closed is taken away and does not return. She’s in no hurry to lose the blind over her eyes. With it in place she finds it easy to imagine he is someone else.

The first time he tilts her chin and presses his lips softly to hers she thinks of Ron.

She allows herself the luxury of fantasy until she feels him growing under his robes. His cock twitches against her and she pulls away. Pushing off his lap, she slaps his hands away and pulls herself into a ball. She refuses to allow him to touch any more that day.


His kisses taste so sweet and she is still blinded when his hands drift down her neck and into the collar of her robes. He helps her to stand and leaves her there as he walks away. The cell opens and the sounds of shuffling feet are heard. Something is placed by her feet and by the sound of sloshing, water is easy to discern. The water splashes onto the bottom of her robes and she gasps in surprise as the warmth trails down her ankles and in between her toes.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to wash you. A fortnight you’ve been here and no one has given you the courtesy of allowing you a bath. If you would like, I will build a fire; let me lead you to it.”

Orange and red blossom behind her blinded eyes when he ignites the logs. Her body reacts to the heat and he pulls her back against his chest to keep her from walking into it. He wraps his arms around her, brushing her hair to the side, dropping feather soft kisses against her neck.

Who is this? She wonders for the millionth time as his kisses cause her knees to weaken. Why this? Why not pain? Why was he so gentle, so calm with her? A fortnight has passed. How has so much time gone by with nary a thought of freedom?

His fingers find the grimy collar of her robes again and he pulls them away from her where they drop in a puddle at her feet. He turns her around and his breath audibly catches in his throat as he stares at her naked body.

“You are beautiful,” he whispers.

Save me, she thinks to herself. Before I fall in love with this stranger, this Death Eater.

The water is so warm and cools against her skin almost immediately as he washes her. Her hair gives him some trouble as he fumbles with the curls, but when he is done, he wraps her in a warm, clean robe and guides her to sit on the rug under her feet. He pulls a comb through her hair and she resists the urge to cry out as he hits a particularly tough tangle. “I’m sorry,” he whispers over and over again until done.

They sit like that for what feels like hours, orange and red dancing behind her closed eyelids and the fire warming her goose-pimpled skin. To her surprise, she’s the one who turns her head and seeks the comfort of his mouth against hers.

He lays her down on the hearth rug, and spreads open her robes, and she feels her nipples harden with either the chilled air or the anticipation of his touch. When it comes, his moist mouth enclosing around the hardened nub her back arches in pleasure. His fingers drift over her body, causing her stomach to shiver and tingle against her will.

When he leaves her a moment later, she’s ashamed of herself and cries herself to sleep.


It takes Ron exactly a fortnight to recuperate enough to walk out of St. Mungo’s on his own. Harry is there, waiting with a slight smile, leaning heavily on the cane he will have to use for the rest of his life. He knows about Ron’s obsession with finding Hermione and can find no fault in his logic. He vows to help Ron in anyway he can and Ron pulls him in for a hug and they cry together, mourning all they’ve lost in the final war.


She tries to be aloof the next few times he comes into her cell, but his gentleness unnerves her and once again she finds herself in his lap, her body yearning for his touch. She wants to jump away, to scream, to fight, but she’s so tired and he’s so warm. His lips are soft as they touch hers and his hands are gentle and rough the first time he cups her naked quim.

She gasps against his open mouth and she feels his smile as his tongue touches hers. He gently pets her until wetness drips against his fingers. Teasing, they’re teasing her, touching, probing and then leaving her before starting their maddening rhythm again. She tightens her arms around his shoulders, desperately hoping he won’t leave her before...

This time her imagination summons Harry and it’s his cock she imagines sliding into her cunt when his fingers finally breach her entrance. It takes her exactly two minutes to come against his hand and he holds her firmly, her body clenching and vibrating against his fingers. She can smell herself on his fingers as he gently pulls them from her body. When his mouth lowers to her in farewell, she can taste herself on his tongue.


She knows without a doubt the next time he comes she will allow him to fuck her.

When she awakens, she allows the robe to drop from her body. Her nakedness is the first thing she wants him to see when he comes to her. Anticipation has left her in a constant state of arousal and she waits. When the morning crawls by without him, she grows uneasy. He’s never not come. She crawls to her water bucket and takes a small sip, already wondering if he’s grown bored of his pet.

A few minutes later she begins to shiver and drops to her knees to find her discarded robe and pulls it on. After what feels like hours, she covers her ears with her hands and rocks back and forth, fearing the worst. She curls into a ball, pulling the blanket over head as she waits.

She throws off the covering and jumps to her feet as the sound of the cell door opening fills her head. He’s here! He didn’t forget about her! She smiles in the direction she imagines the door to be and begins to untie her robes as masculine hands cover hers.


Her body begins to tremble violently. What magic is this? What is he doing to her? She pulls her hands from the Not-Ron’s and turns blindly away before collapsing in a heap where she stands. Her hands cover her face. “Ron is dead, Ron is dead…” she chants and her voice is rusty from disuse.

“No, no, Hermione, I’m here. Look at me. I’ve found you.”

He tucks a finger under her chin and pulls her face up towards him and the magic blinding her falls away. Her eyes open and Ron is there, staring down at her, a Ron with a large nasty scar running from his temple to his chin. But it’s Ron and he’s alive and with a sob, her arms fly around his neck and she’s crying uncontrollably.

Ron believes it is because she’s happy to be found, to see him again, to be freed and he’s right, but a part of her is crying because with the release of her final bind, she knows he’s dead.

Harry is blurry through her tears as he leans against the cell door. Ron helps her stand and in between the two of them, she’s able to leave her prison for the first time. They make their way to the stairs leading to the light and she stops at the sight of a body crumpled at the bottom.

Hermione stares at the back of her captor and her grip on Ron and Harry tighten. “Who is he?” she whispers, still unable to speak without a rasp.

“Was” Ron says, unable to keep the triumph from his voice. “Rabastan LeStrange. Last of the missing Death Eaters. I saw him when he left me for dead. I saw him stun you and then take you from castle before the Auror reinforcements arrived. I’m sorry, Hermione,” he voice breaks on her name.

Hermione places her hand on his arm and shushes him. “Let’s get from here first.”

She can’t help but stare as Harry uses his wand to push the body to the side so they can ascend the stone staircase. Her foot hovers over the step for a moment before she turns back.

“Hermione?” Harry asks as she releases his arm and walks towards the dead body.

“I need,” she clears her throat. “I need a minute with him.”

Ron takes a step towards her. “Hermione! What is this?” Harry takes his arm and Hermione puts up a hand to stop him.

“Just a moment, Ron, please?

The look in her eyes breaks his heart, but he nods and Harry lets go.

She kneels in front of Rabastan, thankful her back is towards her men so they can’t see the tears falling onto his face. With trembling fingers, she brushes the hair away from his forehead and closes his sightless eyes. A sobs threatens to overtake her and she brings her fist to her mouth and blocks it before it can be released. She leans forwards and places a kiss against his slack lips.

“Thank you,” she whispers as Ron calls her name. She wipes her face and squares her shoulders before standing and turning back. A smile overcomes her at the sight of her men, alive and whole. Harry’s cane clacks against the stone as both he and Ron embrace her hard before she allows them to lead her to the light.

One last look she tries to deny herself, but fails. Good-night, my love.
Tags: fanfic

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