neville and hermione

She flipped on the light switch and gasped, startled to see her husband asleep at the dinner table. Neville awoke up instantly, his instincts honed in the war against Voldemort not dulled by the years that have passed. Hermione took in the melted down candles and the warming charm that has the soup still steaming hot. "Oh, Neville, I'm sorry. Honestly." She remembered now him making her promise to come home on time today. It's nine o'clock in the evening.

"Hermione." Neville stood up. He didn't give her an expaserated-yet-understanding smile and reassure her that it's okay. Not this time. "I'm going to bed." He walked out of the room and Hermione heard his footsteps going up the stairs.

Hermione stretched to relieve her sore muscles and sat down. She picked up a spoon and began to eat. She was hungry and besides it'd be a worse offense to let this meal Neville prepared for her go to waste. He's really angry this time, she reflected as she ate. She knew he had reason to be angry too. She'd have to do something to make it up to him.

After she'd eaten and cleared away the dinner things, Hermione went upstairs. She paused outside her bedroom door to shed every stitch of her clothing, then she opened the door and stepped inside. Neville was sitting up in bed, reading. He looked at her in her nakedness and there was only cold anger and bitter hurt on his face. Hermione dropped to her hands and knees and crawled across the carpet to the bed. She started to crawl up onto the bed, but Neville stopped her with one word.

"Down."

She understood by the look on his face that it wasn't a rejection. He was going to forgive her but he was going to make her earn it. She felt her nipples tighten. She folded her legs under her and lowered her head until her forehead rested on the floor, offering total abject submission.

"Why were you late tonight, Hermione?"

"The wizengamot rejected my proposal. They called it too radical. I had to rewrite it."

"Did they approve the new proposal?"

"They don't reconvene until next Tuesday."

"So you didn't have to stay at the office half the night working. You could have left it for tomorrow."

Put that way, Hermione realized just how bad her problem was. She knew she was a workaholic but once some injustice or mystery provoked her passion, it consumed her and became everything until she'd fixed or solved it. Neville supported her but he'd been coming in second to work more and more the last few months. "Yes, I could have," she admitted her guilt. She wondered how he'd punish her, whether he'd make her suck his cock and then go sleep leaving her unsatisfied and forbidden to relieve herself, or whether he'd flog her pussy. Ever since he'd shaved her pussy for that particular punishment, she'd kept herself smooth and bare.

"Hermione," Neville sighed. He knelt beside her and stroked her hair. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I love you," Hermione told him sincerely.

"I know you do. I love you too. But I won't put up with this anymore."

"I won't work late so often anymore, I swear."

"You vowed that the last time." He stopped stroking her hair. "Are you still committed to me, Hermione? Am I as important as goblin tax discrimination to you?"

"Yes, yes," she cried. "Oh, Neville, you're the most important thing in the world to me."

"I believe you." He kissed her hair. "I'm going to help you remember that," he said softly. He stood up and his voice was sterner when he spoke next. "Get on your back on the bed. Hands on the headboard until I tell you that you can move them."

Hermione hastened to obey him. She laid back on their bed and grasped the iron lattice of the headboard. Neville gestured for her to arch up and when she did, he slid a thick pillow under her bottom. He'd talked about training her arsehole but the idea of anal sex and arseplay was still repugnant to her. Was he going to do it now, would this be the price of a second chance? Hermione knew to spread her legs without being told.

"Raise your knees."

Hermione obeyed, planting her feet flat on the mattress. Neville stroked her clit tenderly. "You're so wet already, that's good." He slid two fingers into her pussy and began to pump in and out. He fucked her like that for a good few minutes, until Hermione wanted badly to come. She couldn't though, she needed more. And Neville gave her more, putting another finger inside her. She grasped his intentions when she felt a fourth finger penetrate her.

He was going to fistfuck her. Correction, he was going to try to fistfuck her, because his whole hand wouldn't fit inside her. It just wasn't possible. "It won't fit," Hermione panted. She was already stretched uncomfortably. "Neville, I wouldn't be able to take it."

Neville pressed a kiss low on her belly, just above her pussy. "Yes, you will. There'll be pain, and that's your punishment for what you've done to us but you'll bear it because we're strong." He gave her clit a quick lick. "And then there will be pleasure because I love you more than anything." He wriggled his fingers inside her.

Hermione moaned.

He fucked her like that until she'd forgotten her fear and she was focused only on the orgasm that remained out of reach. She was pumping her hips, fucking him back, about to beg, when he began to work his thumb into her pussy. Hermione groaned. His hand was so much wider than his cock or any of their toys. She'd never been stretched like this before. It was a burning sort of pain. She clutched the headboard and fought the instinct to struggle, making low animal sounds as her husband slowly forced his hand into her.

"Shh, shh. The worst is over, love." Hermione raised her head and looked down her body. Neville's wrist was sticking out of her. His entire hand was in her pussy. He'd done it. He flexed his fingers, making her cry out, then he curled his hand into a tight ball. Hermione realized with an equal mix of horror and anticipation that this was only the beginning, that he'd only put his fist inside her. The fucking was only now starting.

Neville burrowed his fist deeper into her pussy. Hermione moaned. This was a feeling of utter possession. Along with the physical sensations, she was experiencing a flood of emotions. "Neville," she moaned her husband's name.

He eased his fist back a little and then pushed forward again. He found a rhythm and kept going, fucking her for what seemed like hours, sending her higher and higher until she felt disconnected from everything but the feel of his fist in her pussy. "Neville," she murmured over and over.

"Look at me, Hermione."

She looked at him.

"You'll always remember this, won't you?"

"Of course." How could a woman ever forget this?

"And you'll always remember to come home to me, won't you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He smiled at her lovingly, then he lowered his face and gave her the pleasure he'd promised.