Title: Hermione Granger in the Common Room with a Candlestick
Author: mugglemama
Characters/Pairings: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: erotographomania, fingering,and magical charms (cause I'm indecisive like that)
Other Warnings: Abuse of an innocent candle holder
Word Count: 1,900-ish
Summary/Description: Hermione tries to write a 'Ron-appropriate' love letter – and ends up a victim of her own words.
Author's Notes: My first Daily Deviant post -- I'm a Deviant Virgin, be gentle with me.



In conclusion, I think Professor Flitwick's analysis of the charm is brilliant, although I can't help but wonder if, with some simple modifications, it could have even greater defensive application.

Hermione looked down at the letter she had just spent one hour –and almost two feet of parchment– drafting, and groaned in frustration. She crumpled the missive and hurled it into the fire blazing in the empty Gryffindor common room. 'Absolute rubbish,' she admonished herself. Hermione didn't know how many letters she had written to Ron over the years (certainly far more than he had ever written to her) but now that things were finally 'settled' between them – and they faced a long school year apart – words seemed to take on greater meaning.

'Not that Ron would want to read some ridiculous purple prose filled love letter,' she concluded.

Hermione laughed aloud as she imagined Ron's horrified expression should she suddenly start quoting the impassioned words of Beethhoven, "My thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved..."

'Ron would more likely be a fan of Anaïs Nin's letters: "I want to do things so wild with you that I don't know how to say them."' Could she say them? Hermione wondered, could she write to Ron about all the wild things she thinks about doing with him?

Curling up in the corner of the settee, she pulled out a sheet of fresh parchment, determined to write a more 'Ron-appropriate' letter.

Dear Ron, she began again.

It's half three and the common room is empty. Even so, I've settled myself into our favourite seat by the fire under the cover of several protective enchantments, as I really didn't have much desire for company this evening. That's not completely true – it's just that the company I crave is so very far away.

I miss you. It's that simple.

I knew Hogwarts would not be the same without you and Harry – especially you. Even when the common room is full and bustling with activity, it seems so empty without you here. I find myself turning to share an interesting fact I've discovered with you, only to realise you aren't here. Several times the first week back I almost missed breakfast because I was waiting for you to come stumbling sleepily down the stairs before we could go eat.

Heavens, I have it so bad I even miss helping you with your homework.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to confess – I loved helping you with your homework. I know I made a point of protesting, but honestly I was thrilled to have the chance for your undivided attention. It also gave me the opportunity to be physically close to you. I enjoyed watching the little ways you reacted while you worked, the narrowing of your eyes as you concentrated, the way you fiddled with your quill when you were bored.

Yes, I definitely enjoyed the quill part, watching you twirl it between your fingers, the way you'd absently stroke the barbs of the feather… You see, I love your hands. Have I never told you that? Well, it's true.

At first I was fascinated by the patterns of freckles, later I noticed your hands' strength and power. Eventually I began to wonder what it would be like to hold them – or even better, to be held by them.

Now I have to ask myself, is it better to wonder than to know?

Because now that I know what your hands feel like on my body, I don't know how I'm going to go without while we're apart. I know how gentle your touch can be when you brush my hair back from my face before kissing me; I know how rough your hands can feel when you squeeze my arse as your lips ravish mine.

When you touch my breasts… Your fingers teasing and tickling my nipples, grazing them with the barest of touches, then alternately a bit more aggressive – rolling them between your fingers, tugging not-quite gently… then you add your mouth, sucking and nibbling…

Hermione noticed the last few lines of her letter were written in a shakier hand, the words on the page conjuring images that made it difficult to concentrate: laying on Ron's bed, the glow of the candles lighting his hair into an even brighter fiery mess as he bends over her breasts, his mouth on one, his long freckled fingers working their magic on the other…

Hermione could feel the all too familiar tightening of her nipples, the sensation an all too usual accompaniment to thoughts of Ron lately. Looking down, she noticed the hard points straining against her pyjamas. With an unsteady hand she reached into the slackened opening of her dressing gown and unbuttoned the first few buttons of her pyjama top, the cool air of the draughty castle on her bare breasts adding to her arousal.

After a quick glance to make certain she was still alone (not that anyone would have been able to see her if she wasn't), Hermione lightly grazed her fingers over her sensitive nipples. The effect was not quite the same as when Ron's talented hands were on her body. Besides, she was much too impatient a person to tease herself the way Ron so enjoyed playing with her. She tugged and rolled her nipples, closing her eyes to replace the reality of her small ink stained fingers with the image of Ron's long freckled ones.

Despite her best efforts, Hermione was still only teasing herself – that ultimate release still out of her grasp, yet it's necessity rapidly increasing.

She had been like this with Ron, that last night they were together before she boarded the Hogwarts Express. His hands on her breasts, his lips on her body were not enough that night. Not even the pressure of his muscular thigh pressed against her centre was sufficient, no matter how much she wriggled or rubbed against him. She'd needed more – and he'd understood perfectly.

With unsteady hands, she reluctantly set her nightclothes to right and returned to her correspondence, wanting to share her memories with Ron if she couldn't share her body.

I can't stop thinking about our last night together. Sometimes I find myself sitting in class, smiling foolishly to myself at the memory of your touch. I've no doubt you are very proud of yourself for proving such a distraction from my studies. I must say, I am rather relieved 'Legilimency' is not part of the current Seventh Year curriculum.

When it's late and I'm alone (like I am now) I imagine I can still feel you laying next to me, tangled together on your rickety old bed. I can feel the comfort and warmth of your body. Maybe that night was one of those 'now or never' moments. I have to admit, I literally ached for you. I still do.

Even now, as I sit here in the common room, my body yearns for yours. Nothing I can do for myself matches the intensity of my body's reaction to you. And I've tried, believe me I have. Does that shock you? Do you touch yourself and think of me? I hope you do.

I remember your hand rubbing ever so persistently over my knickers, but still it wasn't enough, not this time. I felt so empty. Then, following a whispered "Is this alright?," you slowly inched my knickers down my legs, leaving me bare before you.

When your hand went back between my legs, I remember being embarrassed that you would discover how aroused I was, how wet I was for you. Your rather loud groan as you touched me made it clear you approved – and only served to make me wetter. By the time you slid one of your gloriously long fingers inside me, all hesitation and embarrassment had burned off.

The addition of a second finger – thrusting deep inside me, occasionally touching a place I'd only ever read about – was my undoing. Clenching muscles I'd never used before, I was amazed at how strong they felt, squeezing your fingers as I came apart in your arms. Of course, this (as you well know) was not my first orgasm but it was certainly my most intense.

I can't help but wonder, if your hand felt that amazing, what would the addition of your talented tongue add to the equation? Would you be interested in such a thing?

And what about your penis cock? How would it feel to have you buried deep inside me? I know I said I wanted to wait to have sex, but I'm not so certain anymore. Really, all I'm certain of right now is that I love you and that I want you.

Perhaps we can make arrangements to meet somewhere private during the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend?

I can hardly wait to see you (only two more weeks!). Until then, take care and be safe.

Love From,
Your Hermione

By the time she completed her letter, Hermione's body was completely on edge. The tightening of her nipples had now progressed to a full-on throbbing between her legs. She hadn't been exaggerating, she was aching.

Hermione knew from experience she was too far gone for a leisurely wank in the bath. She needed relief and she needed it NOW.

Suddenly she remembered a spell she had once seen Fred (or was it George?) cast on an unsuspecting Percy's chair – one that set the seat to vibrating uncontrollably. She searched the room looking for something appropriate, finally deciding on a tall round silver candlestick.

The the candlestick felt heavy in her hand as laid on the sofa, her nightgown pushed up to her waist. Hermione closed her eyes and prayed she remembered the spell correctly, emitting a tiny shriek of relief when the candlestick began to shake wildly. She touched the cool metal to the crotch of her damp knickers, the intensity of the vibration causing her to instantly arch her hips off the cushions.

Her mind quickly filled with images of Ron. She hadn't told him everything in her letter. While she spent a lot of time thinking of him touching her, her imagination also churned with thoughts of touching him. She wanted to see him spread naked before her, his long lean body hers to explore – and enjoy.

The image of licking every freckle she could find no sooner entered her mind then she was crying out Ron's name in release.

Hermione tossed the candlestick aside, it's jarring motion too much for her sensitive body. Locating her wand shoved in the cushions of the sofa, she waived it aimlessly toward the candle holder as it clattered across the floor, causing to jerk to a halt.

After several minutes spent recovering her strength, Hermione finally managed to pull herself together enough to lift the protective enchantments and gather her belongings. Half way up the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory, she suddenly turned and hurried back to the common room.

Summoning the useful candlestick, she resumed the trek to her bed. 'After all, it's going to be a long two weeks,' she reasoned.