IMPORTANT
Oh, yes, this is an update. And a big one. This update is to celebrate my 7th wattpad anniversary tomorrow! I am immensely thankful for all of you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write fanfiction. Not many authors can branch into both and I certainly couldn't do it without your support.
To celebrate, I will be hosting an AMA on my instagram for the next 24 hours. You can ask me anything. About Draconian, Finite, Astoria or even about me. Catch me on my instagram story (HEPBURNETTESWP) for the AMA!
x Noelle
PS: This chapter is R-rated. Only for readers 16+. I'm sirius (sirius is gross) (but I really am serious).
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SHE WRAPS HER coat tightly around herself. It's chilly out tonight. If she cuts through the alley, she can make it back to her flat in record time.
A flash of white light blinds her.
On instinct, her hand darts to her wand. But she falters when the bright light coalesces into a singular unit. A...dog? She blinks at the Jack Russell terrier. Just looking at it fills her with warmth. It bounds around a little, and she swears she sees it bark silently at the shadows, before it trots over to sit at her feet.
"Hello," she whispers. Without thinking, she reaches out to it like she would a normal dog.
The dog leaps up, tail wagging, and scampers down the street. When she doesn't move, it returns to her, barks silently again, and runs back down. Her eyes widen as she recognises the gesture.
Follow me.
So she goes. The dog runs several steps ahead of her, across the junction, round the corner. Then it speeds up, its form becoming blurry, until it collapses into a swirl of white mist.
She stops. "Ron?"
The man in front of her lowers his wand. "Didn't anyone teach you not to follow strangers?"
"It's a Patronus. I figured anyone who can cast one couldn't possibly be Dark."
"Obviously you don't remember Umbridge."
She manages a faint laugh, but it falls flat in the silence. The air between them is tense, but she can't blame him. After all, it's been months—months—since their last meeting. And the last time, he'd had her pinned to the wall, kissing her with a relentless passion.
"So," she says at last, "how've you been?"
"How the hell do you think I've been?" he bursts forth, dragging a hand through his hair. Under the dim light, she sees that he hasn't shaved again. A faint five o'clock shadow dusts his jawline, and dark circles lie beneath his eyes. "I went back to the White Wyvern the next day to look for you. No one even remembered you. What happened?"
"I read Yaxley's mind. He'd arranged for the White Wyvern to be a permanent meeting place for him and several other Death-Eaters. Dolohov, MacNair and the Carrows would all be there the week after. I couldn't stay. I wiped everyone and got my parents out of the country as well," she explains, before studying him. "How did you find out where I live?"
"Your sister," he says shortly. He doesn't sound too happy about that. "I asked her for months. She said that as your Secret Keeper, she couldn't put you in danger. But then earlier today, she finally told me. She thinks that since I'll probably die in the final battle tomorrow, it's not like I'll have a lot of time to harm you anyway."
It's clear that Daphne meant that as a joke, and that Ron takes it as one. But it doesn't stop the twist of anxiety in her stomach. The final battle is tomorrow. So far, most her visions have proved to be true. But she doesn't know whether the first one she's ever seen will be. A world without Ron Weasley... That's not something she wants to think about.
"Will you be at Hogwarts tomorrow?" he asks, when she doesn't say anything.
"No. My fight's over. I'm a spy, not a fighter. I'll be useless out there on the battlefield. Andromeda asked me to protect one of the safehouses, so that's where I'll be."
"Good. I mean, it's not that I don't think you can fight, because you obviously can... It's just—you'll be safer this way."
She swallows hard and nods. "And you?"
"Me?" He grins, full of Gryffindor bravado and daring. "I've been looking forward to this for the past three years. This is my fight now."
"I know."
His smile fades. "We'll see each other again, won't we, when all this is over? Me, and you, when it ends and if we're still..."
"Yeah."
"We will," he says, more vehemence in his tone now. "I promise. And if I don't make it out alive...or if you—" His voice breaks and he lets out a shaky breath. "Fuck it."
He kisses her.
This time, she knows what to expect. It's not a first kiss, not even a second kiss. They're not in Knockturn Alley, and there's no client waiting for her. There is only him. His hand curls around the nape of her neck as his mouth seals over hers. He doesn't waste any time teasing her. Instead, he bites down her bottom lip, and his tongue slides against hers with increasing familiarity.
He tastes of tea and candy. Bittersweet. She whimpers and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. With her body pressed against his, she feels rather than hears his low groan of approval reverberate from his chest. She sucks gently on his tongue and he moans again—a needy, hungry sound that makes her toes curl. Oh, she likes that. She likes it so much she does it again.
With a sharp exhale, he drags his mouth away from her. "Fuck, Astoria, we shouldn't... if we don't stop, I don't think I can—"
She shuts him up with another kiss. "My flat's upstairs."
"Are you sure?"
She smiles against his lips. "A hundred percent."
She leads him into the building and he follows. It's not like her to be so bold. But her Pureblood upbringing seems to have gone out the window, and all that remains is a desperate want—need—for this man. Ron. No one else.
He can't seem to stray far from her, or even keep his hands off her on their way up. His hand on the small of her back when he guides her up the stairs. His breath tickling her neck as he comes up behind her on the landing. He sweeps her hair aside and sucks hard on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. It distracts her so much that she almost forgets to undo the locking charms on her door.
The moment she steps in, his lips are back on hers. He pins her against the door, with his arms secured around her waist and his erection pressed against her thigh. Any other Pureblood would be more subtle, she thinks, but she likes that Ron doesn't care one bit. He's bold and demanding and utterly expressive in just how much he wants her, and she loves that. She loves...
Too fast, Astoria.
She shuts her mind up for a bit and focuses on pulling off his worn jacket. Layers. Too many layers between them when all she wants is to feel his skin. To see if he's really as warm as he seems. He pulls back briefly to yank his shirt over his head, then flashes her a crooked, almost boyish smile that cuts straight to her heart. It's clear that he's spent many a day in battle because it shows. His chest is broad and firm, although lined with scars, and the muscles along his shoulders ripple as he pulls her close again.
She smiles back at him and presses her lips over his heart, then laves her tongue over the scar on his collarbone. He shivers and groans into her neck, before he tugs her coat off. Her blouse, bra and jeans follow. Each discarded piece of clothing brings her closer and closer to him, until his warm skin is flush against hers, and he's curled his tongue around her nipple.
His fingers slip under her knickers and she yanks him up for another fierce, bruising kiss. He pulls away just briefly enough to murmur, "Bed?"
"Bed."
"Okay, then. Up." It takes awhile for her to realise what he wants. She huffs a laugh and loops her arms around his neck, so that he can lift her up. His palms slide up her thighs, warm and rough against her skin. "Where to?"
"Left."
He carries her into the bedroom, almost stumbling in his haste to get there. All the while, she doesn't let up. She kisses his Adam's apple, then sucks on his neck until he hisses out a curse that's disturbingly un-Gryffindor. He tosses her down with an artless grace and crawls over her. He helps her get the rest of her clothes, and his, off and slides his fingers into her warm, wet heat again. Damn him. He's really bloody good at this too.
It's not his first time. She can tell by the confident way he moves; the way he coaxes sounds out of her with every shift of his hand. She thinks that he might have a fascination with her neck, because he seems to like burying his face against her. As if feeling her pulse flutter and race against his lips is the only way of confirming that they're both very alive in the dead of war. He's hyper-focused and sensitive to her every reaction, and there's a quiet strength to him without being overtly dominating.
He won't allow her to hide or stay quiet. He presses his thumb down on her mouth to pry her bottom lip from her teeth; and pins her down with one hand to keep her from moving away when he buries his tongue inside her. When he finally enters her, her breath catches on a sharp gasp.
It's not her first time. But it feels like it is. It makes her want to forget every romp she ever had with her past two boyfriends. No one has ever filled her so completely before. Her head falls back onto the pillow; her eyes shut tight. He pauses and kisses the corner of her mouth.
"Astoria."
She opens her eyes. It's then that she realises that he just wants her with him. No layers, no subterfuge, no hiding away. The past is behind them, the future is unclear and the war is just an afterthought. There is only him and her. She pulls him down until their noses brush, then lifts her hips, urging him to move.
And he does.
Later, when they're spent and she's on the verge of drifting off, he curls himself around her. He brushes away a lock of her hair and kisses the shell of her ear. "Do we win?" he whispers. It's the first time he ever asks her about the future.
She laces her fingers through his and smiles. "Yes."