Title: Interrogation
Author: mugglemama
Characters/Pairings: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Authority figure roleplay and body writing
Other Warnings:
Word Count: 4,398
Summary/Description: Hermione watches Ron conduct an Auror interrogation – she likes what she sees.
Author's Notes:



"Mrs Weasley!"

Hermione jumped with a start as the door to her tiny cupboard of an office burst open. "Thank goodness you're still here."

"Mr Dinwiddie? What is it?"

"There's no time to waste, come with me," her supervisor replied breathlessly as he abruptly turned toward the door. "Bring some parchment and quills," he called over his shoulder.

Gathering the requisite supplies, Hermione rushed after the portly department head. "Sir, can you tell me what's happening?" she asked as they scurried through the maze of corridors encompassing the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Mr Dinwiddie, please."

"There's been a raid," he finally explained. "Damned Aurors–"

Hermione stopped in her tracks, leaving Dinwiddie to charge ahead. "A raid?" she squeaked. 'Was Ron hurt?' 'What about Harry?' Her mind whirled with worry for her husband and best friend.

"–never let anyone know their plans, serves them right…" Dinwiddie grumbled, unaware of Hermione's distress.

Coming to her senses, Hermione rushed ahead and grabbed his arm causing him to come to abrupt stop. "Sir, please, my husband…is he all right? Was anyone injured?"

Confusion covered Dinwiddie's round face as he stared at Hermione's hand clutching his sleeve. "Your husband?" Hermione's grasp involuntarily tightened as he spoke. His eyes softened as he realised the reason for her concern.

"Now, now, my dear. Nothing of that sort." He pat her hand in reassurance. "Everyone is fine, but we still must hurry." He resumed walking, albeit at a slower pace. "The Aurors conducted a successful raid earlier this evening," he explained quietly, evidently fearful of being overheard even though the Ministry was empty at this time of night. "They're raising a great fuss about getting all the interrogations done as quickly as possible."

"What can I do to help?" Hermione asked, although she feared she already knew the answer.

"As you know, we are terribly short staffed at the moment, what with Adare on maternity leave and Merrififer's mother dying. Carbunkle's still at that conference in Brussels…and a Ministry legal representative must be present for any confession to be deemed admissible–" Hermione nodded her understanding. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to sit in on an interrogation."

"Sir, I've only just transferred from Magical Creatures. Really, I don't think I'm qualified yet–"

"Nonsense," he said cutting off her argument as they came to a stop in front of a row of unmarked doors at the end of a deserted corridor. "You're more than qualified. Just follow the Auror's lead, take notes and make certain the damned fool doesn't use any undue, er, coercion."

Before Hermione could ask for any further instruction, the door directly behind them opened and a load voice boomed, "Dinwiddie!" Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office came storming forward. Hermione was please to see Harry following behind Robards. They exchanged a quick smile. "About time," the seasoned Auror bellowed. "Dammit man, we don't have all night!"

Hermione was surprised, and more than a bit impressed, to see the normally affable Mr Dinwiddie meet Robards' cold stare with one of his own. "There would have been no delays, had protocol been followed and proper notice given."

"So sorry we didn't better plan the timing of our discovery of a plot to blow up St Mungo's," Robards countered. Hermione gasped at nature of the suspects' crime.

"Well, let's not wait any longer," Harry interjected, bravely stepping between the two department heads. "Hermione, I assume you're here to lend a hand?"

"Yes, well, if Mr Dinwiddie thinks I can be of some assistance," she said hesitantly, "then I suppose I can–

"Brilliant! We've got two interrogations waiting, sir," Harry said, turning to Robards. "Shall we get started?"

"Excellent suggestion, Mr Potter. Dinwiddie, come with us," Robards barked.

"Actually, sir, I thought perhaps Hermione could assist our interrogation…" Harry's voice trailed off as Robards glared at him. "Or not," he muttered under his breath.

The closed door across the hall opened suddenly and Hermione barely contained her relief at seeing Ron come charging out.

"Where the hell is my legal rep?" he shouted. "This damn tosser in here is just about pissing himself he's so eager to talk." He suddenly spotted Hermione and a huge grin lit his face. "Hey! What're you doing here?"

"You two know each other?" Robards asked.

"Y-yes," Hermione responded, sneaking Ron a confused look. 'Wasn't this man at our wedding?' she silently asked. Ron ignored her, keeping his focus on his superior officer.

"Fine, then you can go with Weasley."

"Um, sir, perhaps…" Ron started as Robards turned to leave.

"Is there a problem, Weasley?" he growled.

"No, sir," Ron and Hermione replied simultaneously.

"Good." With a curt nod, Robards led Harry and Dinwiddie to another unmarked door at the end of the hall. Harry looked back over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, causing Ron to stifle a chuckle.

"I didn't think you'd be doing this sort of thing, not yet anyway," Ron said once they were alone.

"Me neither," Hermione sighed.

"Don't be nervous, you'll do fine." He reached out to tuck some hair behind her ear. "Nothing to it," he said with a wink. "Shouldn't take long, he's fit to burst."

"How do you know that? You're not permitted to question suspects without a Ministry legal representative present."

"Don't worry," he said with a laugh, "I didn't break any rules. Promise I didn't ask him a single question." Ron put his hand on the knob of the interrogation room but didn't open it immediately. Sighing, he turned to face Hermione. "Look," he said, "this bloke's a total arse and you might not like the way I talk to him, but I know what I'm doing. You have to trust me."

"Of course." Hermione snorted indignantly.

"In this room I'm not your husband, I'm an Auror conducting an interrogation. If you forget that, I'll end this interview and wait for another rep, understand?"

"Fine, Ron," she huffed, becoming increasingly annoyed. "Can we get on with it? I'd like to get home before sunrise."

"As you wish," Ron said. With a shake of his head and a resigned laugh, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

"Miss me?" Ron shouted as he charged into the room, slamming the door behind him once Hermione had entered. "You can sit over there," he told Hermione sharply, pointing to a seat at the opposite end of the large table from the suspect.

Hermione wasn't sure what to expect a man accused of plotting to blow up London's wizarding hospital to look like, but it certainly wasn't the fellow sitting before her. He was of average build, average height with nondescript brown hair. Other than a slightly overgrown moustache, there was frankly nothing outstanding about him.

"Well, well, well. Who have we here?" The suspect leered at Hermione, his oily voice causing her stomach to clench.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but it was Ron's voice that filled the room: "None of your fucking business who she is!" Hermione was instantly taken aback by Ron's abrupt attitude and was prepared to introduce herself anyway when she caught the look of challenge in Ron's eye – daring her to interrupt when just moments ago she had agreed to trust his tactics. She remained silent.

Despite Ron's shouting, the suspect continued to stare at Hermione. Ron slammed his hand on the metal table. "You look at me when I'm talking to you, McCallum!" Despite his best efforts to appear unfazed, McCallum visibly cringed when Ron moved closer. Grabbing the arms of McCallum's chair, Ron spun the man around to face him directly. "She's here to make certain I don't wipe the floor with your pathetic arse. Don't make me have to send her out. It could be hours before the Ministry can scare up another lawyer – hours spent with just me for company." His voice became quieter but infinitely more menacing as he spoke, moving his face closer and closer to the suspect's, his hands still gripping the arms of McCallum's chair, but never actually touching the man himself.

As Ron hovered over the suspect, Hermione noted that while Mr McCallum was of average size, her husband was far from it. The tall, gangly boy who constantly hunched his shoulders to appear smaller had grown into his body – quite well of the chatter of the ladies in the Ministry canteen was to be believed. While he would never be brawny, he was exceptionally fit; those hunched shoulders had broadened, confidence now held them straight and firm. The large feet and hands that plagued him in his youth now seemed perfectly in proportion to his powerful frame. She felt a familiar tingle in her breasts as she stared at his body but tried to shove the thoughts aside and concentrate on the interrogation.

Ron pushed himself away from McCallum, causing the smaller man's chair to tip precariously on the back two legs before settling with a thud. The metal feet of the chair screeched on the concrete floor as McCallum turned to face the table once again.

Ron silently summoned a thick file from across the room and slapped it onto the table in front of McCallum.

"I'm not going to bore you by going over all the evidence we've accumulated against you over the past few months." Hermione heard the suspect's sharp intake of breath at Ron's words.

"Oh, didn't you know we'd been tracking you all summer, ever since you arrived in London? Did you think we'd just stumbled on your little secret club?" Ron open the file roughly, causing the table to shake slightly. "I admit, we didn't know until recently that you were planning something as stupid as an attack on St. Mungo's, but we knew you were up to something. But as I said, I'm not going to bore you with the details…"

Ron grabbed a stack of photographs from the top of the file. "I'm not going to show you all the surveillance photos we have of all your visits to Knockturn Alley." Ron slammed a portion of the moving pictures face down on the table. "Or the meetings with almost every known piece of magical scum" –SLAM– "or the pictures of you entering and exiting the cellar where the explosives were manufactured" –SLAM– "or the statements from informants." As Ron smacked each stack of documents to the table Hermione and McCallum both flinched at the sound of his hand striking the metal surface, even though they knew it was coming. McCallum's face grew paler as each item was disclosed.

"Really, there's no need to go over all the results of the trace magic analysis or the examination of your wand. Do you want to know why I'm not going to ask you about all this?" Ron closed the file and slide it across the table. McCallum did not reply.

"I asked you, do you want to know why?" Ron growled, his face inches from McCallum's, who nodded feebly. "I can't hear you," Ron taunted.

"Y-yes," McCallum croaked.

"Cos you're going to confess." Ron took a quick glance at his wristwatch. "Within the next five minutes I reckon."

Hermione wondered how Ron thought he'd accomplish a confession or garner additional information for use against the other accused suspects without questioning McCallum in depth regarding the evidence. Part of her, the swotty schoolgirl who always had to have the right answer, wanted to interrupt and tell Ron that he should absolutely ask McCullum about each and every piece of paper in that file. Another part, a much larger part, said to trust Ron's instincts.

"You know who's down the hall right now?"

McCallum shook his head. "No."

"I'll tell you." Ron sounded almost cheerful. "My best mate, and fellow Auror, Harry Potter. You've heard of Harry Potter, haven't you McCullum? The man who defeated Voldemort?"

"Of c-course." McCallum stammered, clearly confused by the point of Ron's discussion. Hermione had to admit, she was perplexed as well.

"Harry's having himself a bit of a chat with a friend of yours, a Mr Baskov. Sound familiar?"

"I…I don't know who you mean–"

"Cut the shite, McCallum. You think scum like Baskov isn't going to turn on you in a heartbeat if given the chance? You don't think he's down there right now telling Potter how this was all your idea, that you're the ringleader?"

"I don't know–"

"Probably spinning a tale of blackmail or a phoney investment scam as we speak. Had you set up a shadow company, didn't he? No doubt he has a paper trail manufactured to put everything on you, saying he had no idea what you were using the money for."

"But I didn't…I mean–"

"Are you willing to take the risk? You trust Baskov to cover your sorry arse, when faced with the Head Auror and Harry Potter questioning him? The only way to save yourself is to tell us everything – and to beat Baskov to it."

Ron walked over to Hermione and picked up some of her parchment and an extra self-inking quill, setting both in front of McCallum. "I want you to write every fucking detail of your sick, twisted plot. I want to see, in your own hand, what you and that sadistic fuck Baskov had planned." Ron stood behind McCallum and braced his hands on the table on either side of now trembling man. "Start writing," Ron ordered.

Hermione could do little but stare at her husband as he watched McCallum write out his confession, occasionally asking questions or demanding more detail. There was no hint of the jovial boy she had grown up with. For the entire duration of the interrogation, Ron had not made one wisecrack, not given even a hint of a lopsided grin. He had been right, in this room he was not her husband – he was an Auror, fully in command of the situation, bending the suspect, and even Hermione to some extent, to his will.

Certainly, she had seen Ron in take charge before – when defending her, fighting Death Eaters, even flashes in the bedroom – but nothing on this scale. Ron filled the room with presence, his body and personality left no room for defiance. His bright blue eyes, usually sparkling with at least a hint of mischief, seemed darker, colder. Hermione clenched her thighs to ease the ache developing there as she imagined Ron turning that power on her.

Once McCallum was finally finished detailing the extent of his crimes and both Hermione and Ron had witnessed the document, Ron called for McCallum to be transported and locked up until the Wizengamot was able to convene and review his testimony. Three loud knocks on the door indicated that the guards had arrived. As McCallum approached the closed door, Ron suddenly grabbed his shoulders and pushed him against the wall.

McCallum glanced fearfully at Hermione, expecting her to intercede. "She can't stop me now," Ron snarled. "Her job is to make certain I don't kick the shit out of you before you confess. Interrogation's over, arsehole." Ron pressed his forearm against McCallum's throat, causing the prisoner to gasp for air.

"You're a right bastard, you know that McCallum. A hospital? A fucking hospital? What the bloody hell is wrong with you? I swear by all that's magical, five minutes alone with me and you'd be begging the Ministry to bring back the Dementors. You so much as step one toe out of line in prison, I'll make certain I get that five minutes. You understand?"

"Y-yes," he choked.

Ron released the sputtering man and pulled open the door, tossing McCallum at the waiting guards. "Get this fucking piece of filth out of my sight."

After slamming the door closed, Ron leaned back against it, taking a few deep breaths before meeting Hermione's eyes. "Sorry 'bout that…that bit at the end," he said almost sheepishly, he ears turning a faint pink.

"He's an absolutely horrid man. The things he and Baskov were planning… You handled the entire encounter brilliantly."

When Ron quirked his mouth in response, Hermione held up a halting hand. "Don't you dare say anything about 'a tone of surprise'."

"I wasn't going to," he chortled, looking even more like his usual self.

Hermione studied Ron's relaxed form: long frame leaning back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded over his chest, shoulders slightly bent.

"How to you do…that?" she asked, flapping her hand at this body.

"Do what?"

"Go from being all relaxed and carefree to being so, so…commanding. So intimidating…and fierce."

"Fierce?" Ron drawled, clearly amused at this wife's reaction.

"Like a lion," she continued, her voice becoming somewhat breathless. "It's as if you turn on a switch…"

"Turn-on, eh?" Ron pushed himself away from the door and sauntered across the room to stand behind the seat Hermione still occupied at the table

Hermione didn't noticed Ron's movement, too lost in her own thoughts. "…demanding obedience, daring anyone to defy you…"

Ron took off his Auror robe and threw onto the chair beside Hermione, causing her to startle at his close proximity. "Do you like the thought of obeying me, Hermione?" he asked as he rolled up his shirt sleeves, his voice low and gruff as it had been earlier.

"W-what?" she stammered, chills racing over her body as Ron leaned in closer.

"I bet you do," Ron whispered into her ear. "Not all the time, mind you," he clarified, brushing her hair off to the side and nuzzling the nape of her neck. "But sometimes, I think you'd like to turn that big brain of yours off for a while and have me take…command." Hermione simply moaned in response to his observation, as he chose that moment to worry her earlobe between his teeth, biting down harder than usual.

Ron abruptly stood up and stepped to the side to stare down at Hermione. "You all right? You're looking a wee bit flushed."

"I-it's rather hot in here," she stubbornly replied, struggling not to give into her urge to strip every scrap of clothing from her body and beg her husband to take her – right here, right now, as hard and fast as he could.

"Take your robe off."

"No, thank you, I'll be fine."

"I said, take off your robe. It wasn't a suggestion." Hermione looked up at the sharpness in Ron's voice. His arms were crossed and his head was titled slightly to the side, as if challenging her to defy him. "I will not tell you again."

Once more Hermione found herself at war with her own thoughts, torn between defiance and trust. Trust won.

She slowly undid her Ministry robe and slipped it off her shoulders. Ron stepped closer to help her remove it, bringing his bulging crotch directly in front of her face. With each twitch of his cloth covered cock, Hermione's fingers itched to take him in hand. She wanted to wrap her hands around his hardened shaft, swirl her tongue over his sensitive bell-end. She craved the feel of him pulsing in her mouth as the cinnamon coloured hairs of his bollocks tickled her palm while she fondled them.

A quick glance at Ron's smug face, proved he knew exactly what she was thinking. "I don't understand," he said, stepping behind her chair once more, removing temptation from view. "If you're so warm, why are these so hard?" He slid his hands slowly over her shoulders as he spoke. His long fingers brushed over her aching nipples, circling them at a maddeningly slow and erotic pace before rolling them roughly between his thumb and forefinger.

"Ron," she moaned. "We can't, not here."

"Why not?" He unbuttoned her blouse almost to her waist, letting his fingers slip inside her bra to better torture her breasts. "Door's locked from the inside, you know that. Besides," he whispered in her ear, "you're gagging for it."

Hermione made an obligatory, though not exactly heart-felt, squeak of indignation at his accusation.

"I think it's time for you to write your confession." Hermione sputtered in confusion as Ron withdrew his warm hands from inside her shirt and gathered a quill and parchment to set in front of her.

Leaning forward, Ron braced his hands on the table in front of her, trapping her body against his. "I want you to write every detail of how much this 'big bad Auror' act turns you on," he said, his voice mimicking the tone he took with McCallum earlier. "I want to see, in your own hand, what you want me to do to you. Confess how wet you are, how much you want my cock inside you." Ron picked up the quill and put it in Hermione's hand.

"Start writing, Mrs Weasley," he whispered hoarsely.

Hermione's hand trembled. She didn't want to sit and write about her arousal, she wanted Ron to satisfy it, to enflame then quench it; bring her to the release her body was aching for. She decided the best way to force the issue was to defy him.

"No." Hermione slammed down the quill, pushing back from the table as hard as she could so that she stand and face him. "Your behaviour was coarse and ill-mannered. You would not even permit me to introduce myself–"

"Introduce yourself!" Ron roared, kicking the chair away that stood between them. "If that fucking arse didn't recognise you, there was no bleedin' way I was going to fucking tell him you're my wife. I already wanted to rip his goddamned heart out through his arsehole just for looking at you, for talking to you that way. Think how much worse it would have been if he'd known our connection."

"I could always use my maiden name," Hermione suggested.

"No fucking way! We've been over this already, I want the world to know your mine–"

"Just not the criminals," she interjected.

Ron's voice softened as he took a step closer. "Look, this was our first time working a case together, I doubt it'll be our last. I'll just have to find a way to deal with it."

"I want the world to know I'm yours too, Ron."

"In that case," he said, the mischievous glint returning to his eye, "have a seat, Mrs Weasley." Hermione squealed as Ron suddenly lifted her to sit on the edge of the table. He reached around her and picked up her discarded self-inking quill.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing my confession." Ron pulled the sides of Hermione's open blouse further apart. "I confess I'm a hot-headed jealous git." He stroked the nib of the quill lightly between her breasts, leaving a faint trail of ink. "I confess I'm helplessly in love with every inch of you."

He popped open the front clasp of her bra and pushed the cups aside. "I'm especially fond of this part," Ron said, cupping her breast. He teased the hardened nipple with his tongue before drawing in into his mouth.

Ron used his free hand to lightly pass the feathered end of the quill over Hermione's other breast. The combined sensation of tickling and sucking soon had Hermione clutching at his hair and moaning his name.

"Equally in love with this tit," he whispered cheekily, switching sides. Once he felt he had driven Hermione into a sufficient frenzy, he pulled back. Taking advantage of Hermione's distracted state he proceeded to circle the pink centre of her breasts with the nib of the quill.

"Ron!" Hermione cried, horrified to see her areolae ringed in dark ink.

"I must admit, this has fascinated me for years," Ron said, ignoring her protests and drawing a line down the centre of her lips. "It's washable," he murmured against her lips.

Ron traced his tongue slowly along the mark he had drawn before nipping her bottom lip. Hermione darted her tongue out to lick the tender flesh. Ron groaned in response. He buried his hand into her hair and angled her head as he bent to kiss her. When Ron finally raised his head, they were both breathing heavily. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, her ear and finally along her throat.

Pushing the hair off her neck, Ron brought the quill tip to rest on the sensitive spot behind her ear.

"What are you writing?" Hermione asked as Ron scribbled lightly.

"My initials." He smiled with approval at this handiwork.

"Marking your territory are you?"

"Nah, just some of my favourite spots." Ron then leaned in and covered the spot with his mouth.

Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione and lowered her to the table, lavishing particular attention to an especially favoured birthmark on her abdomen before moving on to her navel –and then lower…

"That tickles," Hermione protested meekly, as Ron alternated between rubbing the nib of the quill and the feather end along the inside of Hermione's thighs. Sliding her knickers off hastily, Ron spread her legs wide and swirled the feather over her swollen clit. Hermione bucked her hips in the air in response. "Please Ron," she begged.

Unable to hold back any longer, Hermione reached for the fastening of Ron's trousers, clawing at them frantically. "Stop teasing. I need you now."

"Fucking hell," Ron groaned, tossing the quill aside. Freeing his cock, he wrapped his arms around Hermione's legs and pulled her to the edge of the table roughly, sheathing himself inside her with a forceful thrust.

"God Ron," she cried, tightening her legs around him. Her heels dug into his arse, holding him deep inside her.

"Fuck woman, you trying to kill me?" Ron pumped his hips as hard as he could, the metal table underneath them shaking from the power of his movements.

Hermione arched off the table as she cried out his name in release, her body clenching Ron's cock tight. She buried her face in his throat, biting the straining cords of his neck as he came with a shout.

They collapsed in a sweaty ink-smeared heap, panting for breath. Ron finally found the strength to raise his head and smile down at Hermione. "I swear, I'll bark orders at you everyday for the rest of our lives if it'll lead to sex like this."

"Not likely."