1"Behind Closed Doors" By Kross

a/n: I don't own Harry Potter…I simply enjoy using the characters conjured up J.K. Rowling for my own sweet pleasure.

Pairing: Hermione/Ron and Hermione/Mystery man

Time: This takes place in Hermione's 6th or 7th year at Hogwarts, she is NOT a second year.

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She awoke with his tongue dancing on the flesh below her belly button, her hips arching up to lessen the space between his tongue and her pleasure. His hands roamed her body as he kissed his way to her neck. Hands on hips. Hands on stomach. Hands on breasts. His weight on her, pressing her into the mattress, delighted her. Her breath grew ragged as he teased her; the brushing of lips and the scraping of teeth was nearly too much for her to bear.

Her body flamed up, heat ravaging her like she desired him to ravage her. He dragged his tongue from collarbone to collarbone before she took his face in her hand. Her fingers closed around his rough chin and she was welcomed by the scratch of a straggly beard. She forced her lips down on his and grasped at his firm, round butt with her free hand. He felt familiar to her, yet somewhat strange all together.

Hermione thought back:

"I can't handle this pressure, Hermione!" Ron had yelled at her. "I will never be able to measure up when you constantly compare me to Harry."

"I don't compare you like that! You mean more to me than Harry ever did…it was only a fling."

"A fling that affects every aspect of this relationship…I don't want to be pressured into having sex with you. You mean more to me than a casual fling would…I want to make you feel special." He grew sad.

"You do, Ron."

"I can't live up to your expectation! I'm not sure if I even want to try," he had said coldly before wandering away from her.

She could feel him against her thigh and she could hear his desires in the pants emitting from his throat. "Did you change your mind?" She moaned as he delved into her. She was silenced as they moved together in a beautiful rhythm. She tried not to, but she could only compare this to her first time, with Harry.

He was more than she had expected, and he lacked the virginal clumsiness and the sentimental attitude. He was a skilled lover, and she couldn't help but worry if he had lied about being a virgin.

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In the morning she was alone. She awoke to rumpled bed sheets, a scratch on her thigh, and a tingling lip that had been bitten in passion. She awoke to a hollow room, empty, echoing with the noises of the common room below. She wondered where he had gone. The night was a blur. Had he even stayed and slept once they had finished? Had he left in the morning? She paused to gather the sheets around her body before getting out of bed. She dressed in a daze, taking a long while to button her jeans and to pull on a loose knit sweater.

The stairs creaked as she took slow steps to the common room. The stairs felt the same as they had each morning and each night. Hermione felt different, however. There was something different about today, something remotely strange about the way she felt, light hearted and warm throughout the depths of her body. Today was a new day, strange and foreign.

Her feet touched the landing of the stairs on the first floor. The common room was bursting with a myriad of second years. Hermione mused about her life as a second year. Oh, the joys of being twelve and unaffected by the hormones adrift in the castle hallways. Castle hallways filled with men that were mere boys in the weeks before school started. Long-haired sixteen and seventeen year old men with lithe, muscular bodies, all of whom were willing to swim in any young woman who crossed their paths. No longer could Hermione swim; she was drowning in the sex that flooded her lungs in each classroom.

"Hermione…" Ron cooed behind her, his hands grazing her hip bones with the rough pads of his palms. "I'm sorry about last night."

She turned slowly and allowed his embrace. Her eyes level with his lips, she watched as his succulent lips formed around each word. She rose up on her toes, cradling his jaw in her soft hands. She leaned in to kiss him, but stopped. She fingered his skin and a thought bloomed in the recesses of her mind. The man she had made love to last night had more facial hair than Ron did.

"Oh, you like my stubble?" He asked, with a slight smile.

"Ron…did you…trim it since yesterday?" She asked with a degree of tact.

"No." He said with slight dismay. "Why? Would you have liked me to? I can shave if you'd like that better."

"No...no…keep it, I rather like it." She turned away. It was then that the seed of suspicion was planted in her mind.

She moved from Ron's arms. Her steps were heavy as she walked towards the door on the opposite edge of the room. "Ron," she started. "I have to go…I don't feel so well."

She did not wait for him to respond. Before he had time to utter a word she was gone. Hermione wandered out into the hallway, ignoring the Fat Lady's kind morning greeting. Hermione's head began to swim with wonder. As she neared the main hallway and the breakfast tables, she noticed it. The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team had scraggly beards. A handful of Ravenclaw boys had some scruff. Even Draco Malfoy sported a well groomed goatee that, by evening, needed taming. It could have been anyone.

She thought back to the night before. Something had felt out of place then. Now, the only thing that felt out of place was Hermione.

"It's funny how these things just sneak up on you…" she whispered.

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So…what do you think? Who do YOU think it is?

Meg/Kross

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